Synopsis;
This is the third of a 3-part article, which is about my battle with smoking. In this posting, I describe why I decided to try hypnosis to quit smoking; how I became aware of the part of me that was responsible for smoking. I describe my hypnosis experience and the amazing results; the complete elimination of my desire to smoke.
"A Smokers Story; Trying Hypnosis” part 3 of 3
- My Last Cigarette -
The last cigarette I ever smoked was on February 6, 1985 at 1:45pm, in front of an office building in Huntington, Long Island, New York.
I looked at the directions on the piece of paper that was on the seat of my car. "Long Island Expressway East to Rt. 110 North, Huntington..." During the hour and a half drive from Staten Island to Huntington, Long Island, I had smoked half a pack of cigarettes. Although I was determined never to smoke again, a part of me was very resistant to this healthy decision. I pulled into the parking lot, parked the car and got out. Pacing and smoking in the parking lot, I was all too aware that it was 1:45 pm and my appointment was at 2:00.
The chill of that February wind was cutting through my parka and I thought how nice it would be, not having to go outside to smoke these cursed things any longer. However, until then, I was going to smoke the hell out of them. As I took my last drag from my last Marlboro Light 100, I felt many emotions all at the same time. These were conflicting emotions. The thoughts going through my head were equally conflicted. I felt that I was about to lose my best friend. My cigarettes were always there for me.
They were consistent in a very inconsistent world.
They always looked the same.
They always smelled the same.
They always tasted the same; I could always rely on them.
When I was nervous, they calmed me.
When I was hungry, they took the edge off my appetite.
When I was stressed, they relaxed me.
When I was bored, they gave me things to do with my hands.
They told people not to mess with me, "I’m a smoker, I’m a tough guy".
Nevertheless, I also knew that these "friends" killed my father, who died of lung cancer after years of smoking. I was intelligent enough to know, that given time, my cigarettes would kill me too. I knew that I couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing. I started each day by coughing for five minutes, until I coughed up the yellow mucus that was stuck deep down in my lungs. I knew that I couldn’t handle this ordeal of trying to stop this habit any longer. I knew that the past year had been the worst year in my life and it was all because of my friend, Mr. Marlboro Light 100’s.
However, most importantly, I knew that I had made a promise to my son Aaron and I had visions of the tears in his eyes. Similar to the tears that welled in my eyes, fourteen years earlier as I saw my father die, after lung cancer ravaged his body.
I could picture Aaron in front of my coffin, the same way I had stood in front of my father's.
I could feel his pain… his anger!
His anger with me, that I continued to smoke while knowing it, was going to kill me.
I could feel his anger at me because I chose my addiction to, my love of tobacco over the love of my family!
The same anger I felt at my father for never listening to me, when I pleaded with him to stop smoking.
The same helplessness I felt, to see the strongest man I knew shrivel up like the cigarettes he smoked.
You might ask, how stupid was it for me to witness my father’s death from lung cancer and still became a three pack a day smoker… how do you explain that. I don’t know if there could be an adequate explanation. It is a testament to the ability of the American Tobacco Companies, who were able to get me to become a three pack a day smoker, after seeing what smoking did to my father.
I decided at that moment that this hypnosis stuff must work... would work! I pictured myself driving home to Staten Island, later that day as an ex-smoker. I would not put my son through what I went through. I would quit today. I exhaled the smoke from my lungs, looked at the filter of that Marlboro Light 100, my "friend"… dropped in on the concrete sidewalk, in front of that office and crushed it under my foot.
As I walked up the stairs to the second floor, I did not know what to expect. I had a basic understanding, that hypnosis works with the part of your mind that makes you smoke. I had no idea how the experience would change my life so profoundly and in so many different ways.
The door to the office was open and I walked in and hung my parkas on the coat rack.
The office waiting room was 15’ X 20’. There were a few chairs and a few coffee tables. As I walked around the office, I noticed that the walls were covered with thank-you letters. Some were type written, some hand written all describing the results of their hypnotic experience. It seemed that Al (the hypnotherapist) did more than help people stop smoking; he used hypnosis for a lot more. Although the majority of thank-you letters were from ex-smokers, there were many letters from professional golf players, nail biters, and stutters, along with articles about hypnosis. The information I read about hypnosis made me even more curious and impressed with the subject of hypnotherapy.
This would be my first experience with hypnosis and the questioning and doubt about the hypnosis process started in earnest. The doubt and concern was caused by a part of my subconscious that I now call the “Smoker Part”. This part began to strongly let its presence known, making me doubt if hypnosis would work for me. The inner voice in my head urged me to stop this useless attempt to quit smoking. It was threatened by this process and would do whatever it could to get me to either stop or fail in my quest to quit smoking. I was quite used to my smoker part. Over the past year, I had tried to quit multiple times and it was this smoker part that consistently pushed me back to smoking. That was its job; keeping me smoking and he did it oh so well.
The office was quiet except for the muffed sound of voices from the other side of a door. Behind that door, Al was hypnotizing another smoker and my smoker part and I knew we were to be next. I had mixed feelings with the decision to quit smoking. The logical, intelligent, reasonable part of my mind wanted me to quit, but the smoker in me still refused to let me become the non-smoker I wanted to be. Then the door opened and a woman walked out, thanking Al for all he had done. Al walked out behind her, saying that a thank-you was nice but a letter for his wall would be even nicer.
Al was about 5’5” and 220 pounds. He had a long scraggly beard and wore a “Harvard” sweatshirt. He introduced himself to me after his previous client left and we went into his back office where I was directed to sit. We spoke for an extended period about hypnosis, smoking, addictions and more. He asked me to sit on a recliner with new age music playing in the background. Then it was time for hypnosis.
I pushed back on the recliner and got into a comfortable position enjoying the softness of the leather, as he began to describe relaxing my body, starting from the top of my head. As Al asked me to relax the muscles in my face, my mind had a different idea; it was not going to oblige. Relaxation was not what it wanted; tension was.
“Who is this guy?” the voice in my head said, referring to the hypnotist.
My smoker part was not going to give up this addiction without a fight. As in the past, it threw up more and more walls, trying to make me ignore the truth; that I wanted to and needed to quit.
“Don’t listen to this weirdo!” My smoker part screamed in my head.
“If he is such a great hypnotist, why doesn’t he hypnotize himself into losing some weight?”
“A real professional!” sarcasm dripping from the voice.
“A sweatshirt?”
“Really!”
“How about a shirt and a tie?”
“What if he is a weirdo? I’m not going to close my eyes!”
The sound of the smoker in my head was drowning out Al’s voice.
Then it got even weirder. Instead of one voice in my head; the smoker telling me to continue to smoke and get out of the office, another voice came into my mind.
“Shhhh…” it said,
“You just spent $350 on this. It worked for Nick. You have an opportunity to end your year from hell, right now… and what about Aaron?”
This new voice calmed me; I stopped fighting and doubting.
“Give Al a chance to help you quit; you know it’s what you really want” it said.
This new voice helped me remember what I truly wanted… to finally and permanently quit smoking.
I finally quieted the smoker part of me, and as soon as I did, I felt a wonderful feeling of confidence and resolve wash over me. This new voice replaced the smoker’s voice. It was the voice of my “Healthy Part”, it was very welcome and I embraced it, listened to it and followed its direction.
I quickly started to feel as if I were falling asleep. The more Al spoke the harder it was for me to keep my eyes open. Although I felt a slight tingling feeling and I was slightly cold, I was very relaxed, my thoughts were drifting but I heard everything being said. I found it curious that Al had said that I could not open my eyes and although I tried to open them, I couldn’t. He said I could not raise my arms and again, I tried but couldn’t. I was beginning to believe that it could…. would work.
Being in hypnosis was not what I had expected it to be. I was expecting a feeling like general anesthesia. I expected to feel… different. I expected…
Actually, I did not really know what to expect.
Very soon, I was totally involved in the visual world Al was describing. He had me see a beautiful beach in the summer. I was alone sitting on a chair looking at the horizon.
He then had me see my future as a smoker and it wasn’t pretty.
After what seemed to be ten minutes (which turned out to be fifty) he said that he was going to bring me out of hypnosis. He said that when he said “five” after counting from “one”, my eyes would open and I would be wide-awake.
Amazingly, on the count of five my eyes did open. The process dumbfounded me. I was also concerned that, although I was relaxed and it felt very good, I actually doubted that I was hypnotized; I had heard everything said. I was expecting hypnosis to be a lot more impressive than it turned out to be. I prayed that it had worked, but I was dreading that it did not.
Driving home after the session ended, I was anxious.“When will the urge hit?” I had never driven by myself, in this car without a cigarette burning. Now I was cruising along the Long Island Expressway Westbound, on my way home and I dared to let myself think…
“Can I really be an ex-smoker!” The thought thrilled and scared me at the same time.
“Can it be this easy?” And it was.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“What if an urge comes? Does that mean it didn’t work?”
The “What-if’s” were being asked all the way home.
I turned onto the entrance to the Verrazano Bridge and as I did a truck without using his signal, cut me off. As my road rage exploded, I felt my blood pressure jump, I cursed, I did a nasty gesture at him with my middle finger and yet, I found two minutes later, that I was laughing.
I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and realized that for the first time in years, I did not light up a cigarette when I was stressed. The urge just wasn’t there! It was not that I was repulsed by having a cigarette; I just didn’t have the urge!
I was an ex-smoker!
Over the next few days I started noticing the ashes, the burn marks on the seat of my car, the yellow haze on the windshield but most of all I noticed the smell in my car. When I got in the car, I realized what I had been subjecting my wife to. I began to realize how discourteous I was as a smoker. I also allowed myself to dream that I actually was an ex-smoker.
That weekend I cleaned my car and the ex-smoker that I am today, was born. To be honest, I had a few urges for a cigarette over the following weeks, but they were easy to resist and by the end of the month, I can say that I did not even think about smoking again. It has been almost 23 years and I can honestly, easily and confidently say that I will NEVER smoke again.
It was my first experience with hypnosis but far from my last. Again, this was before the Internet and I began to read all I could from the library on the amazing topic of hypnosis; the centuries old process that finally cured me of my tobacco addiction.
Little did I know at that time that in fifteen years, I would be going to hypnotherapy school and start a business called,
HYP4LIFE- Improving Your Life Through Hypnotherapy.
If you are a smoker and would like to quit smoking by using hypnotherapy, call me at
(908) 852-4635
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
"A Smokers Story; the Smoker’s Wall" Part 2 of 3
Synopsis;
This is the second of a 3-part article, which is about my battle with smoking. In this posting, I describe how the decision to quit was helped by my son. I describe what “The Smoker’s Wall” is and my first attempt to quit smoking. Describing my year from hell as I go through a year of repeatedly trying to quit and continually failing. And how, through a synchronicity, a twist of fate, I learned of hypnosis. How I found a hypnotherapist in Long Island, NY who finally helped me to permanently quit smoking.
"A Smokers Story; the Smoker’s Wall and my Year from Hell" part 2 of 3
A wall forms between a smoker and his loved ones each time they raise the subject of smoking cessation. They want him to quit and be healthy because they love him and even if he knows the dangers associated with continued smoking, the part of his subconscious that is designed to smoke, throws up his "Smoker's Wall". This wall is tall and thick, growing taller and thicker with each plea from a loved one to stop smoking.
My wall was reinforced with each fight over smoking between my wife, Chris and I. She was as aware of the dangers associated with smoking cigarettes as I was, but Chris was a non-smoker, someone who never smoked. My "smoker part" was so strong, that no matter who spoke to me about quitting, Chris, my mother (who quit smoking after my father died), my sister, my son, even if it was my own thoughts about quitting smoking, the wall went up immediately.
That wall is strong, immovable, and impenetrable however, in one loving, unexpected, non-premeditated conversation with my son, in the hallway of our apartment; my smoker's wall came crumbling down. I slowly turned to look at my son; his eyes darted from the cigarette, burning in my cupped hand to my eyes and back again.
"But you smoke, Daddy" he said "and if you get cancer and die, I won’t have anybody to play with". He put his small, soft hands on my cheeks with tears welling up in his perfectly blue eyes, looked into my eyes, shaking his head and said, "Please, Daddy, don’t smoke any more."
I found my "Last Straw". I stubbed out the cigarette I was smoking, took my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, crushed it into a ball and said,
"For you Aaron, I’m gonna quit, 'cause I love you'".
A smile came across his face as he took my hand and dragged me into our apartment and at that moment I truly felt that I was going to quit.
"Mommy!" he shouted enthusiastically to my wife who had just finished cleaning the dishes in the kitchen,
"Guess what?… Daddy is going to quit smoking! He promised!”
Chris dried her hands and picked up my daughter, Amy who was joining in on the excitement gave me the smile that always made me melt. The whole family was jubilant with my decision to quit. Although I thought I saw a bit of skepticism reflected back to me in the eyes of my wife.
Before Aaron went to sleep that night, he ran over to the recliner I was sitting in and jumped up on my lap. It was late so I picked him up and carried him into his room. Amy was asleep already. As I usually did, I tossed him on his bed as he put his arms up for his "kiss goodnight". As I leaned over him to kiss him on the forehead, he threw his arms around my neck and said, "I love you, Daddy… Remember you promised …no more smoking… OK?"
With a kiss to his forehead, I said, "Promise!" and I meant it!
I closed his door half way and walked into Amy’s room. The stuffed animals seemed to be smiling at me as I quietly kissed my baby daughter goodnight. She was sleeping with her thumb in her mouth and I stood looking down at her. A feeling that every father of a little girl knows, enveloped me. This feeling of love, protection and pride filled me as I thought of not being there for her. I had to be there for my little girl, the way that my wife's dad, who died of a heart attack due to his smoking, was not able to be for his little girl.
Going to sleep that night, many things went through my mind.
“I really HAVE to quit…
I really WANT to quit…
I CAN do it…
I will never smoke again!”
This determination lasted 8 hours, until I was in my car driving to work the next day…
-“My year from Hell”-
I had finally decided to quit smoking but I didn’t know how I would be able to do it. The drive to work the morning after my decision to quit smoking was sheer torture. I was thinking of nothing but smoking and that torture continued for a year. The year was 1984, which was not only a very scary novel, but was also what I called, “My year from hell”. That year I became a professional “quitter”, I must have quit smoking 100 times, I was miserable and I thought the misery would never end.
I was at work at Pathmark one day towards the end of my year from hell and was speaking with Nick, the produce manager. We were both in the same situation, smokers who were married with kids and both desperately wanting to quit. We were both in the break room and as I usually did, took my cigarettes from my pocket and offered Nick one. He refused, saying that he had finally been able to quit!
“What!” I said with a shocked look on my face…
“How?”
He looked at me and with a smirk and a shrug, quietly said, “Hypnosis”.
“What the hell is Hypnosis?” I said, thinking it could be a way I could finally end this painful year.
“My cousin”, Nick began to say, “smoked for 25 years and just like you and me has been trying to quit for years. He heard from his friend, about a guy, who uses ‘hypnosis’ to help people, like us, quit smoking. He said that he went to this hypnotist and he quit smoking in only one session. I waited a month” he continued, “to see if my cousin would go back to smoking, like you and I always do but he hasn’t smoked in over a month and he even said that he’ll never smoke again! So, I got this guy’s number and got hypnotized! And Ga… I swear to God, I don’t even miss them! I haven’t smoked in almost two weeks, but the real crazy thing is that I really believe I won’t smoke anymore!”
I need to digress here a little…
At the time, I had not even heard of a synchronicity, which is, according to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronicity)
“the experience of two or more events which are causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. The concept does not question, or compete with, the notion of causality. Instead, it maintains that just as events may be grouped by cause, they may also be grouped by their meaning. In order to be synchronistic, the events must be related to one another temporally so as to rule out direct causation.”
Now, what does that mean? A coincidence may be just that, a curious connection between events, a synchronicity is a coincidence that presents itself to you, for a purpose. That said…
My awareness of hypnosis was stirred, I had heard from a very reliable source, my smoking buddy, that he and his cousin were hypnotized to quit smoking, and it worked. So, my thought process was, if it worked for them, it could… hopefully work for me. However, this was well before the internet. Now you just Google, “Hypnosis + smoking” and you have a thousand hits to choose from. Then I looked in the yellow pages and found nothing.
So, when my niece informed me that she was going to a hypnotist in Long Island, to quit her smoking habit, I almost fell off my chair… What a coincidence! (NOT! No such thing as a coincidence… synchronicity yes; coincidence, no. This was the second.)
My mother won a small NY lotto; her ticket had 5 out of 6 numbers and paid $2000. It was the day after I told her about the hypnosis coincidences and she called and said that she knew I didn’t have the $350 for the session and that she was insisting that I should make the appointment and that she would love to pay for it; it would be my belated birthday gift. It was also the third “coincidence” and I was curiously amused by the weirdness of it all.
The next day at work, I went next door to the pizzaria for a coke and a slice and to look at the magazines Pete, the owner had behind the counter. Waiting for my slice to heat up, I flipped open an old Playboy it opened to a page with a quarter page advertisement which read;
“Learn Hypnosis and get all the girls you want!”
I wasn’t interested in “all the girls”, but the word “Hypnosis” seemed to be twice as large as the other words. I could not believe my eyes. This was the fourth time in so many days that I had been hit in the head by this hypnosis stuff! Now I may be a little thick headed sometimes, but even I had to acknowledge that something I didn’t quite understand was behind this.
I called my niece’s hypnotherapist and made an appointment.
The story continues next week…11/16/2008
"A Smokers Story; Trying Hypnosis” part 3 of 3
This is the second of a 3-part article, which is about my battle with smoking. In this posting, I describe how the decision to quit was helped by my son. I describe what “The Smoker’s Wall” is and my first attempt to quit smoking. Describing my year from hell as I go through a year of repeatedly trying to quit and continually failing. And how, through a synchronicity, a twist of fate, I learned of hypnosis. How I found a hypnotherapist in Long Island, NY who finally helped me to permanently quit smoking.
"A Smokers Story; the Smoker’s Wall and my Year from Hell" part 2 of 3
A wall forms between a smoker and his loved ones each time they raise the subject of smoking cessation. They want him to quit and be healthy because they love him and even if he knows the dangers associated with continued smoking, the part of his subconscious that is designed to smoke, throws up his "Smoker's Wall". This wall is tall and thick, growing taller and thicker with each plea from a loved one to stop smoking.
My wall was reinforced with each fight over smoking between my wife, Chris and I. She was as aware of the dangers associated with smoking cigarettes as I was, but Chris was a non-smoker, someone who never smoked. My "smoker part" was so strong, that no matter who spoke to me about quitting, Chris, my mother (who quit smoking after my father died), my sister, my son, even if it was my own thoughts about quitting smoking, the wall went up immediately.
That wall is strong, immovable, and impenetrable however, in one loving, unexpected, non-premeditated conversation with my son, in the hallway of our apartment; my smoker's wall came crumbling down. I slowly turned to look at my son; his eyes darted from the cigarette, burning in my cupped hand to my eyes and back again.
"But you smoke, Daddy" he said "and if you get cancer and die, I won’t have anybody to play with". He put his small, soft hands on my cheeks with tears welling up in his perfectly blue eyes, looked into my eyes, shaking his head and said, "Please, Daddy, don’t smoke any more."
I found my "Last Straw". I stubbed out the cigarette I was smoking, took my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, crushed it into a ball and said,
"For you Aaron, I’m gonna quit, 'cause I love you'".
A smile came across his face as he took my hand and dragged me into our apartment and at that moment I truly felt that I was going to quit.
"Mommy!" he shouted enthusiastically to my wife who had just finished cleaning the dishes in the kitchen,
"Guess what?… Daddy is going to quit smoking! He promised!”
Chris dried her hands and picked up my daughter, Amy who was joining in on the excitement gave me the smile that always made me melt. The whole family was jubilant with my decision to quit. Although I thought I saw a bit of skepticism reflected back to me in the eyes of my wife.
Before Aaron went to sleep that night, he ran over to the recliner I was sitting in and jumped up on my lap. It was late so I picked him up and carried him into his room. Amy was asleep already. As I usually did, I tossed him on his bed as he put his arms up for his "kiss goodnight". As I leaned over him to kiss him on the forehead, he threw his arms around my neck and said, "I love you, Daddy… Remember you promised …no more smoking… OK?"
With a kiss to his forehead, I said, "Promise!" and I meant it!
I closed his door half way and walked into Amy’s room. The stuffed animals seemed to be smiling at me as I quietly kissed my baby daughter goodnight. She was sleeping with her thumb in her mouth and I stood looking down at her. A feeling that every father of a little girl knows, enveloped me. This feeling of love, protection and pride filled me as I thought of not being there for her. I had to be there for my little girl, the way that my wife's dad, who died of a heart attack due to his smoking, was not able to be for his little girl.
Going to sleep that night, many things went through my mind.
“I really HAVE to quit…
I really WANT to quit…
I CAN do it…
I will never smoke again!”
This determination lasted 8 hours, until I was in my car driving to work the next day…
-“My year from Hell”-
I had finally decided to quit smoking but I didn’t know how I would be able to do it. The drive to work the morning after my decision to quit smoking was sheer torture. I was thinking of nothing but smoking and that torture continued for a year. The year was 1984, which was not only a very scary novel, but was also what I called, “My year from hell”. That year I became a professional “quitter”, I must have quit smoking 100 times, I was miserable and I thought the misery would never end.
I was at work at Pathmark one day towards the end of my year from hell and was speaking with Nick, the produce manager. We were both in the same situation, smokers who were married with kids and both desperately wanting to quit. We were both in the break room and as I usually did, took my cigarettes from my pocket and offered Nick one. He refused, saying that he had finally been able to quit!
“What!” I said with a shocked look on my face…
“How?”
He looked at me and with a smirk and a shrug, quietly said, “Hypnosis”.
“What the hell is Hypnosis?” I said, thinking it could be a way I could finally end this painful year.
“My cousin”, Nick began to say, “smoked for 25 years and just like you and me has been trying to quit for years. He heard from his friend, about a guy, who uses ‘hypnosis’ to help people, like us, quit smoking. He said that he went to this hypnotist and he quit smoking in only one session. I waited a month” he continued, “to see if my cousin would go back to smoking, like you and I always do but he hasn’t smoked in over a month and he even said that he’ll never smoke again! So, I got this guy’s number and got hypnotized! And Ga… I swear to God, I don’t even miss them! I haven’t smoked in almost two weeks, but the real crazy thing is that I really believe I won’t smoke anymore!”
I need to digress here a little…
At the time, I had not even heard of a synchronicity, which is, according to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronicity)
“the experience of two or more events which are causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. The concept does not question, or compete with, the notion of causality. Instead, it maintains that just as events may be grouped by cause, they may also be grouped by their meaning. In order to be synchronistic, the events must be related to one another temporally so as to rule out direct causation.”
Now, what does that mean? A coincidence may be just that, a curious connection between events, a synchronicity is a coincidence that presents itself to you, for a purpose. That said…
My awareness of hypnosis was stirred, I had heard from a very reliable source, my smoking buddy, that he and his cousin were hypnotized to quit smoking, and it worked. So, my thought process was, if it worked for them, it could… hopefully work for me. However, this was well before the internet. Now you just Google, “Hypnosis + smoking” and you have a thousand hits to choose from. Then I looked in the yellow pages and found nothing.
So, when my niece informed me that she was going to a hypnotist in Long Island, to quit her smoking habit, I almost fell off my chair… What a coincidence! (NOT! No such thing as a coincidence… synchronicity yes; coincidence, no. This was the second.)
My mother won a small NY lotto; her ticket had 5 out of 6 numbers and paid $2000. It was the day after I told her about the hypnosis coincidences and she called and said that she knew I didn’t have the $350 for the session and that she was insisting that I should make the appointment and that she would love to pay for it; it would be my belated birthday gift. It was also the third “coincidence” and I was curiously amused by the weirdness of it all.
The next day at work, I went next door to the pizzaria for a coke and a slice and to look at the magazines Pete, the owner had behind the counter. Waiting for my slice to heat up, I flipped open an old Playboy it opened to a page with a quarter page advertisement which read;
“Learn Hypnosis and get all the girls you want!”
I wasn’t interested in “all the girls”, but the word “Hypnosis” seemed to be twice as large as the other words. I could not believe my eyes. This was the fourth time in so many days that I had been hit in the head by this hypnosis stuff! Now I may be a little thick headed sometimes, but even I had to acknowledge that something I didn’t quite understand was behind this.
I called my niece’s hypnotherapist and made an appointment.
The story continues next week…11/16/2008
"A Smokers Story; Trying Hypnosis” part 3 of 3
Saturday, November 1, 2008
"A Smokers Story; the Decision to Quit" part 1 of 3
Synopsis;
This is the first of a 3-part article, which is about my battle with smoking. How and why I became a smoker, the causes of my desire to and difficulties with quitting smoking; The frustration and anger dealing with the process of smoking cessation along with my contempt of the American Tobacco Companies. The cause for my final decision to quit smoking.
"A Smokers Story; the Decision to Quit" part 1 of 3
The decision to quit smoking may very well be one of the most important decisions in the life of a smoker. This decision may also be the start of a horribly demanding, miserably frustrating and a very necessary step, if they want live longer. Every smoker who wants to quit, has had an incident, his “last straw”, which causes him to change his mind about the habit of smoking. Suddenly he wants to quit, his decision is not caused by his mother, wife or child, the decision is and can only be made by him, the smoker. If a loved one of a smoker wants him to quit, but the smoker is not committed to the quitting process, it as a forgone conclusion that the smoker will continue to smoke. The most important part of the quitting process starts quite simply with the decision to quit and this decision must come from the smoker him or herself.
I have found from personal experience as an ex-smoker and from the stories related to me by the many smokers I have hypnotized, that there are very common scenarios when a smoker makes that all important decision to quit.
Whether for physical reasons, such as an inability to catch their breath or emotional reasons as wanting to see their children grow, smokers come to a critical juncture in their lives when the decision to quit smoking is made. Some smokers have no problem stopping the habit of smoking. They make the decision, throw their cigarettes away and never look back… but they are in a very small minority. The vast majority of people trying to become healthy by quitting smoking have an incredibly difficult time. They feel deprived and are angry all the time.
If the smoker, after deciding to quit, cannot, the anger he feels may be directed inwardly, towards himself. He feels that he is weak, with no willpower and is continually angry, frustrated and disappointed with himself. When he does try to stop smoking, "Cold Turkey", his anger and frustration increases, becoming redirected towards the world and unfortunately, towards those who love him and who have been asking him to quit. Therefore, with this decision to quit firmly planted in his mind, the smoker who wants to quit is now in for a wonderful journey of anger, frustration and stress 24/7.
If the smoker is a stress smoker, it is doubly hard to quit, since the stress generated by trying to quit only increases. Moreover, because stress had always been dealt with in the past by smoking more cigarettes… Well, you can see the problem. This situation is a smoker's "Catch-22", Damned if you do (quit smoking) and damned if you don't.
- My Story –
In 1983, I was working as a Customer Service Manager at the Pathmark Supermarkets in the Middlesex Mall in South Plainfield, New Jersey. Long story short, I was a three pack a day smoker and after indulging myself for 11 years, I found that, although I was smoking, I truly wanted to quit. I was all too aware of the dangers inherent in smoking; my father died from smoking related lung cancer, yet my addiction was so strong that I could not picture my life without having cigarettes in it. I was married and had two small children, who were the light of my life. As a smoker in a job that I hated, I did not care if my life was shortened by smoking. However, that feeling had changed after my children were born. Now, that I had the strong desire to quit, I found that I could not stop the addiction designed by the American Tobacco Companies to ensnare me (and all smokers) in this life shortening habit. Although I consciously knew how bad smoking was; I saw my father die of lung cancer nine months before I was married, I couldn’t even try. I couldn't imagine in my wildest dreams that I could function without my Marlboro Light 100's.
- My "Last Straw" –
It took twelve years of smoking before I was ready to consider quitting. I would never let my children see me smoke. Although they could smell it on me and could hear the arguments between their mother and I over smoking, they never saw me actually smoke. One evening after dinner, I was having my "after dinner smoke". As was my habit, I went into the hallway of our apartment with my cigarette and ashtray, sat on the step and surrendered to my addiction. As I took a deep drag, filling my lungs with smoke, I heard the doorknob turn and my son, Aaron unexpectedly came into the hallway. Hearing the opening of the door, I transferred my smoke from my right hand to my left cupping it, out of sight by my left leg. My son walked over and sat on the step next to me in a huff. Earlier that day he had been playing with his friend Mike and Mike's grandfather.
"How come Mickey has two Granddaddies and I don’t even have one?" he asked, questioningly tilting his head and looking a little angry. "Lot’s of my friend's talk about their Grandpa's… How come I don’t have a Grandpa, Daddy?” I believe in telling your children the truth, so when he asked the question, my response was truthful and sincere.
“Well, Aaron, both mommy’s daddy and daddy’s daddy died”.
“How did they die", he asked, looking deeply into my eyes, his expression turning from anger to curiosity. I considered a "white lie" to soften how they died and to ignore the obvious similarities between his Grandfathers and his father. I had never lied to him before and thought better about it, deciding, although it would be obvious and painful, the truth was my only option.
I said, looking down at my feet, trying to avoid eye contact,
"Both your Granddad's smoked, and that’s how they got sick and died… Smoking causes a lot of diseases" still looking down at my feet, I felt the gaze of my seven year old burning into the side of my head and I tried not to look at him. I explained how my father smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and how his mother's father, my father-in-law smoked heavily. I tried to rationalize to him and myself about addictions and how self-destructive they can be;
how they cause children to lose their parents;
how grandchildren can grow up never knowing the love of a granddaddy.
The more I explained to Aaron, how he became grandfather less, the more I realized that I needed to quit smoking. The more I tried to rationalize my addiction the less the argument had any validity. The more I avoided eye contact with my son, the joy of my life, my reason for smiling, the more my defenses fell…
The story continues next week…11/9/2008
"A Smokers Story; The Smoker’s Wall" - Part 2 of 3
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Anger Management and the Adolescent Child
Synopsis;
This article is about Jack, a high school freshman who was adopted after years in the foster care system. At 15, he and his adopted family are concerned with his inability to control his temper. Using hypnotic intervention, I was able to assist Jack in understanding why he had problems with the control of his anger. We uncovered that rejection was the cause and that the inability to control anger is very common with the adopted child. I also discovered my frustration, with how many people failed to do what was right for Jack.
The phone call from Jack’s mother started the same as many others had. A mother, concerned about her adolescent son and his inability to handle anger. “My son has anger management issues”, Diane started the conversation with the anxiety, fear and helplessness many mothers of adolescent children have. After talking with her for ten or fifteen minutes, I felt that hypnotherapy could help. I told her that anger management goes with pre-teens as peanut butter goes with jelly. She laughed but after hearing the stories of his overreaction to minor social frustrations, I sensed that there may be more to Jack’s anger management issues than that of a typical High School freshman. We scheduled our first session on Monday, January 7, 2008 at 5:30.
When I meet a new client, our initial conversation is very important; it sets the parameters and gives me the information I need to design the specific hypnotic process that would be the most effective. This initial conversation gives me insight into the cause of the issues that the person has and allows the person to address any concerns they may have. These concerns can include if they can be hypnotized, if hypnosis can help, can I as the hypnotist have the skills necessary to help, etc. Although we spoke on the phone, I did not know any specific information about the problems Jack was having, except that it pertained to his inability to control his temper. I knew that I must find what was causing his excess anger, in order to minimize, eliminate or assist him in controlling it. I say “excess” anger, because as I would later discuss with Jack, there is nothing wrong with anger; it is a necessary part of our psychological makeup, which is actually necessary if we are to survive in this culture. Problems arise when the anger becomes excessive. When a child overreacts with uncontrollable anger, the results can be obviously devastating to those around him and to the child himself. This is where the use of hypnosis can be so beneficial.
“How does this anger manifest itself?” I asked, looking at Diane. She proceeded to tell me how Jack had a problem in school with some of his fellow students. I asked Jack, who was sitting patiently and quietly, to join our “adult” conversation. As our discussion got into more detail, I learned how he reacted to his perceptions of being rejected, which seemed to be a exceptionally sore spot for Jack. In my mind, I decided to explore why rejection was so painful for him.“Does Jack see a counselor, therapist or school psychologist?” I asked, curious if Diane had tried traditional therapeutic intervention. Her response made me even more comfortable with her decision to see if hypnosis could help. “The psychologists I have sent him to have not worked and he is getting worse, not even a little better. He seemed angrier with this therapist. That’s why I wanted to try you”. She continued to relay the results of Jack’s therapies; saying that talk therapy and drugs did not seem to help and only would make him tired and irritable. As we spoke, Jack was intent on our conversation, quietly listening, occasionally nodding with approval; he did not seem agitated at all.
Jack is a 15-year-old, 5’10”, high school freshman with dark blond hair and bright eyes, which were intently focused on me. I knew that I was being evaluated; was I going to be just another adult social worker, just like all the rest? On the other hand, will I be able to help. I decided to turn the conversation around to Jack and involve him in the discussion, but I did not get the chance.
“Those guys [the therapists] didn’t care about me, the more we talked the madder I got,” he said staring at his feet. “They kept telling me that I shouldn’t let the other kids bother me… That I shouldn’t act this way or that way and the pills they gave me just made me tired…” He continued explaining how the past therapeutic methods were useless. I realized that both mother and child agreed that there was a critical need for intervention but had not found the right one…yet.
I was impressed with the mature and rational way Jack was discussing thedifficulty he had controlling his anger. One question puzzeled me… As we spoke, it was obvious that Jack had two supportive and loving parents. I learned that there were issues with his father, but nothing that was abnormally intense. They were the typical altercations between a father and his adolescent son. I asked Diane when she had noticed that the anger issue had started. I wanted to determine if the problems causing his anger might have been formed in his youth, from a repressed traumatic experience that was manifesting now. Yet I also felt that he was too young to have such repressed memories. Diane answered my question as to when the anger issues started…
“He’s adopted… and when he…” She was speaking but I stopped hearing as soon as I heard the word “adopted” that word made many flags go up and I instantly knew the direction I needed to go with Jack. I asked Diane to wait as I began to write down notes to myself as to the questions I wanted to have answered. I asked Diane to start from the beginning… his birth.
Diane told me Jack’s history. His birth mother gave him up for adoption when he was three years old. Jack told me she walked him up to his first of many foster homes, rang the doorbell, turned and walked away. Jack never saw her again and the last memory he has of his birth mother, was of her back as she left him with complete strangers. He was in foster care for 4 years. Jack would relay to me that he was shuffled around for those 4 years (which we call his “formative years”, I would wonder what was forming…perhaps, anger?). He was sent to live with different “nice” families. He told me that he would come home to find his (foster) “sister” had left and he had a new (foster) “brother”. When he was almost 7 years old, having spent 4 years in foster care, he was about to be adopted! He was elated! A family was going to adopt him! However, his new mother after a few months, informed the adoption agency, that she couldn’t “bond” with this little boy and he was sent back to foster care.
Within a year, another couple, looking to adopt, was again considering him. Diane and Joe finally adopted Jack. At 7 years old, he was finally adopted by the loving family he is with now. Now, eight years later, I am sitting with Jack and his mom, trying to find out why he has anger management issues. I thought that I would be much more surprised if he did not have anger management issues.
In the past 5 years, I've had three other clients who had children with anger management issues and all three children had been adopted. Unfortunately, I found that trying to work with adopted children with anger management issues could be a bumpy and frustrating two-way street. Two of the three did not respond well to hypnosis, while one young man was adopted at birth and was younger that Jack. His anger management issues were not related to adoption and were merely coincidental (even though I do not believe in coincidence). The two other adopted children had almost the same backgrounds as Jack and I was apprehensive that we might have similarly negative results. In both previous cases, the young men who were adopted in their early teens were so used to trying to manipulate their life situations, that they could or would not allow themselves to be hypnotized.
They feigned being hypnotized, which I was easily able to observe and after a few sessions, I told their parents that although I would be more than happy to continue working with their sons, the boys were not willing to allow themselves to be hypnotized. Although the boys protested and claimed that, they were hypnotized, I explained to their parents that I felt that they had become so self-protective, that they could not give up their perceived control. I suggested that hypnosis could be an effective method for rapid change, but that they initially needed a professional, licensed therapist for long-term therapy.
Now I had in a very similar situation. An adopted boy with anger management issues, with a very disturbing childhood. The comparison between Jack and the two other boys was obvious and I was not very optimistic that the results would be different. I would learn that the expression “third time’s a charm” has a certain amount of truth to it. There were many similarities between these three children and a few huge differences. Jack really wanted to control his anger. He was not being forced to come to me because his parents wanted him to control himself; he wanted to control his anger. He was sincere, involved, concerned and very involved in the process. He did not use a façade to feign hypnosis while trying to manipulate his environment as the other boys did.
After we had discussed the issue that instigated his bouts of uncontrolled anger, I knew what the common factor was. In retrospect, it was so obvious, but it was only obvious to me. I was not a family member who was so very involved with Jack’s well being, I was an impartial, rational and totally objective hypnotherapist. The common factor that initiated all Jack’s bouts of uncontrollable anger was rejection.
The normal pressures on adolescents are intense. These pressures contribute to rage in even the most well balanced child that comes from a nurturing family life. Mix the pressures of adolescence with the life experiences that Jack has had and when he is rejected in any way, by anyone; whether the rejection is actual or only in his perception… Jack explodes. After Jack, Diane and I spoke a little longer, I felt that I had enough information and I wanted to try hypnosis. I was still concerned that Jack, as the two prior adopted boys, would not allow himself to be hypnotized. Jack was very interested and involved and my concerns began to diminish and very soon would be completely gone.
Jack said he would be more comfortable if his mother were not in the room. Diane and I agreed, but I did tell Jack that the door to the hypnosis room would have to be open. As he settled into the recliner, I knew I needed to begin with addressing the subject of rejection.
“I know that what I am about to say may hurt,” I began, “but realize that I am not saying it to hurt, I am saying it to bring it up so you are aware of the problem…” I looked at him and said, “So take a deep breath, I don’t want you to comment right away, I want you to first think about what I’m about to say and then I’d like you to tell me what you are feeling… OK?… ready?”… Jack nodded and I said,
“When it comes to rejection, there is no one that knows more about it than you.” He took a breath, not really knowing how to react. I described to him what I thought he was feeling. I described feelings ranging from anger to sadness to hopelessness, he agreed with my observations. We began a long discussion on what he felt was the shortcomings of his past therapies. We were beginning to be comfortable with each other and I felt he was willing to try hypnosis. He was now able to trust me, which was a huge leap of faith on his part, considering his past; I was surprised he could trust anyone. After the first attempt to go into hypnosis met with a small amount of resistance, which is normal with boys his age and to my elated surprise on the second attempt he went relatively deeply into hypnosis.
He became a great hypnotic subject, not only going into hypnosis easily and deeply, he was looking forward to our sessions. This is not usually a big deal, but in Jack’s experiences with therapies, which only made him angrier, the fact that he actually wanted to return for additional sessions, demonstrated to me that the direction I was heading was the correct one. While hypnotized, Jack began to open up and understand his feelings about rejection. He was now, remembering his rejection in a different way. In the past, his memories of his rejection were unemotional, detaching from emotions was the way he was able to cope with the excruciating pain of rejection. However, when he was rejected, the energy needed to keep is anger in check was not enough; the result was an explosion of anger. He was also now allowing the emotions associated with those memories to be accessed.
He was able to accept that he had every right in the world to be as angry as he wanted. He started down a new path, one in which he could accept himself for who he is. As I worked with Jack, he began to accept, along with a better understanding of the cause of his anger, that he had no responsibilities for his situation and the frequency and severity of his bouts of anger began to decrease noticeably. I am optimistic about his ability to control his anger. I had been concerned that he wouldn’t allow himself to go into hypnosis. Now he is an excellent hypnotic subject.
In the past my experiences with adoptive children were not successful, now with Jack, I relished his success. The other children in his situation were not willing to be hurt again and thus, would not allow themselves to trust anyone, stagnating their personal health, development and growth. Jack had learned a wonderful life’s lesson; that he can allow himself to trust again.
I noticed a surprising amount of anger in the room, but it wasn’t coming from Jack. I realized that I was very angry! My anger was a general anger not directed at any one in particular. I was incensed that this sensitive child had been dealt a very raw deal, which was wrong in so many ways that I could not even start to list. How many people failed to do what was right for Jack?
Was it, his birth parents?
Yes, of course, if they were a loving average couple, I would not be writing this; Jack would be just the average kid with the average kid-type problems, in the average school, blissfully unaware that his average life could have been much, much different.
Was it the foster care system?
Somewhat, an overburdened system being run by overworked, underpaid, hopefully good meaning bureaucrats. It would be hard to point a finger at people who are working under the difficult conditions that they are. I suppose we could point a finger at politicians, but that would be too easy and would be futile.
Was it the adoption agency?
Sure, an organization that is making a profit from the desire of couples who cannot have a child and want to adopt, along with a child who has no one and wants to simply to be in a family that loves, respects and wants him.
Or was it his first adoptive family?
Let us look at the preceding sentence, “His First adoptive family”. Was Jack a puppy that was too much trouble to bother to “housebreak”? What could they have possibly be thinking? How could a couple who want to adopt a child, make the colossal decision to adopt that child only to “change their mind” and send the child back to the agency? How could anyone be that cold as to raise the hope of a child and then send this young boy back to the shelter as if he had no feelings or any rights?
The strange thing is that although they were at perhaps the top of the list of whom to blame for Jack’s anger management issues, they may have done him the largest of favors. For if he had stayed with these people who were so insensitive that they would have sent him away, Jack would never have met Diane and Joe, the wonderfully loving parents that he fortunately has now.
I am thankful to have met Jack and his family and hopeful that the difficult childhood that Jack has had, will no longer negatively affect his future. It had been a few weeks since our last session and I was curious as to how Jack was doing. I called and spoke with Diane who said that Jack is doing much better; he had an incident, which had caused him to be angry, but he controlled it well. I mentioned that we all get angry, it is part of life, but it is the method we use to control that anger which is so critical. When Jack had that recent angry incident, Diane had asked him if he wanted to make an appointment to see me. He said that he felt confident that he could handle it himself.
His response reminded me of the old addage about the fisherman and the fish. “Give a man a fish you feed him for a day, teach him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”. After we spoke, I felt quite confident in Jack’s ability to handle his anger and I felt privileged to be the person to give Jack his “fishing pole”.
This article is about Jack, a high school freshman who was adopted after years in the foster care system. At 15, he and his adopted family are concerned with his inability to control his temper. Using hypnotic intervention, I was able to assist Jack in understanding why he had problems with the control of his anger. We uncovered that rejection was the cause and that the inability to control anger is very common with the adopted child. I also discovered my frustration, with how many people failed to do what was right for Jack.
***
Anger Management and the Adolescent ChildThe phone call from Jack’s mother started the same as many others had. A mother, concerned about her adolescent son and his inability to handle anger. “My son has anger management issues”, Diane started the conversation with the anxiety, fear and helplessness many mothers of adolescent children have. After talking with her for ten or fifteen minutes, I felt that hypnotherapy could help. I told her that anger management goes with pre-teens as peanut butter goes with jelly. She laughed but after hearing the stories of his overreaction to minor social frustrations, I sensed that there may be more to Jack’s anger management issues than that of a typical High School freshman. We scheduled our first session on Monday, January 7, 2008 at 5:30.
When I meet a new client, our initial conversation is very important; it sets the parameters and gives me the information I need to design the specific hypnotic process that would be the most effective. This initial conversation gives me insight into the cause of the issues that the person has and allows the person to address any concerns they may have. These concerns can include if they can be hypnotized, if hypnosis can help, can I as the hypnotist have the skills necessary to help, etc. Although we spoke on the phone, I did not know any specific information about the problems Jack was having, except that it pertained to his inability to control his temper. I knew that I must find what was causing his excess anger, in order to minimize, eliminate or assist him in controlling it. I say “excess” anger, because as I would later discuss with Jack, there is nothing wrong with anger; it is a necessary part of our psychological makeup, which is actually necessary if we are to survive in this culture. Problems arise when the anger becomes excessive. When a child overreacts with uncontrollable anger, the results can be obviously devastating to those around him and to the child himself. This is where the use of hypnosis can be so beneficial.
“How does this anger manifest itself?” I asked, looking at Diane. She proceeded to tell me how Jack had a problem in school with some of his fellow students. I asked Jack, who was sitting patiently and quietly, to join our “adult” conversation. As our discussion got into more detail, I learned how he reacted to his perceptions of being rejected, which seemed to be a exceptionally sore spot for Jack. In my mind, I decided to explore why rejection was so painful for him.“Does Jack see a counselor, therapist or school psychologist?” I asked, curious if Diane had tried traditional therapeutic intervention. Her response made me even more comfortable with her decision to see if hypnosis could help. “The psychologists I have sent him to have not worked and he is getting worse, not even a little better. He seemed angrier with this therapist. That’s why I wanted to try you”. She continued to relay the results of Jack’s therapies; saying that talk therapy and drugs did not seem to help and only would make him tired and irritable. As we spoke, Jack was intent on our conversation, quietly listening, occasionally nodding with approval; he did not seem agitated at all.
Jack is a 15-year-old, 5’10”, high school freshman with dark blond hair and bright eyes, which were intently focused on me. I knew that I was being evaluated; was I going to be just another adult social worker, just like all the rest? On the other hand, will I be able to help. I decided to turn the conversation around to Jack and involve him in the discussion, but I did not get the chance.
“Those guys [the therapists] didn’t care about me, the more we talked the madder I got,” he said staring at his feet. “They kept telling me that I shouldn’t let the other kids bother me… That I shouldn’t act this way or that way and the pills they gave me just made me tired…” He continued explaining how the past therapeutic methods were useless. I realized that both mother and child agreed that there was a critical need for intervention but had not found the right one…yet.
I was impressed with the mature and rational way Jack was discussing thedifficulty he had controlling his anger. One question puzzeled me… As we spoke, it was obvious that Jack had two supportive and loving parents. I learned that there were issues with his father, but nothing that was abnormally intense. They were the typical altercations between a father and his adolescent son. I asked Diane when she had noticed that the anger issue had started. I wanted to determine if the problems causing his anger might have been formed in his youth, from a repressed traumatic experience that was manifesting now. Yet I also felt that he was too young to have such repressed memories. Diane answered my question as to when the anger issues started…
“He’s adopted… and when he…” She was speaking but I stopped hearing as soon as I heard the word “adopted” that word made many flags go up and I instantly knew the direction I needed to go with Jack. I asked Diane to wait as I began to write down notes to myself as to the questions I wanted to have answered. I asked Diane to start from the beginning… his birth.
Diane told me Jack’s history. His birth mother gave him up for adoption when he was three years old. Jack told me she walked him up to his first of many foster homes, rang the doorbell, turned and walked away. Jack never saw her again and the last memory he has of his birth mother, was of her back as she left him with complete strangers. He was in foster care for 4 years. Jack would relay to me that he was shuffled around for those 4 years (which we call his “formative years”, I would wonder what was forming…perhaps, anger?). He was sent to live with different “nice” families. He told me that he would come home to find his (foster) “sister” had left and he had a new (foster) “brother”. When he was almost 7 years old, having spent 4 years in foster care, he was about to be adopted! He was elated! A family was going to adopt him! However, his new mother after a few months, informed the adoption agency, that she couldn’t “bond” with this little boy and he was sent back to foster care.
Within a year, another couple, looking to adopt, was again considering him. Diane and Joe finally adopted Jack. At 7 years old, he was finally adopted by the loving family he is with now. Now, eight years later, I am sitting with Jack and his mom, trying to find out why he has anger management issues. I thought that I would be much more surprised if he did not have anger management issues.
In the past 5 years, I've had three other clients who had children with anger management issues and all three children had been adopted. Unfortunately, I found that trying to work with adopted children with anger management issues could be a bumpy and frustrating two-way street. Two of the three did not respond well to hypnosis, while one young man was adopted at birth and was younger that Jack. His anger management issues were not related to adoption and were merely coincidental (even though I do not believe in coincidence). The two other adopted children had almost the same backgrounds as Jack and I was apprehensive that we might have similarly negative results. In both previous cases, the young men who were adopted in their early teens were so used to trying to manipulate their life situations, that they could or would not allow themselves to be hypnotized.
They feigned being hypnotized, which I was easily able to observe and after a few sessions, I told their parents that although I would be more than happy to continue working with their sons, the boys were not willing to allow themselves to be hypnotized. Although the boys protested and claimed that, they were hypnotized, I explained to their parents that I felt that they had become so self-protective, that they could not give up their perceived control. I suggested that hypnosis could be an effective method for rapid change, but that they initially needed a professional, licensed therapist for long-term therapy.
Now I had in a very similar situation. An adopted boy with anger management issues, with a very disturbing childhood. The comparison between Jack and the two other boys was obvious and I was not very optimistic that the results would be different. I would learn that the expression “third time’s a charm” has a certain amount of truth to it. There were many similarities between these three children and a few huge differences. Jack really wanted to control his anger. He was not being forced to come to me because his parents wanted him to control himself; he wanted to control his anger. He was sincere, involved, concerned and very involved in the process. He did not use a façade to feign hypnosis while trying to manipulate his environment as the other boys did.
After we had discussed the issue that instigated his bouts of uncontrolled anger, I knew what the common factor was. In retrospect, it was so obvious, but it was only obvious to me. I was not a family member who was so very involved with Jack’s well being, I was an impartial, rational and totally objective hypnotherapist. The common factor that initiated all Jack’s bouts of uncontrollable anger was rejection.
The normal pressures on adolescents are intense. These pressures contribute to rage in even the most well balanced child that comes from a nurturing family life. Mix the pressures of adolescence with the life experiences that Jack has had and when he is rejected in any way, by anyone; whether the rejection is actual or only in his perception… Jack explodes. After Jack, Diane and I spoke a little longer, I felt that I had enough information and I wanted to try hypnosis. I was still concerned that Jack, as the two prior adopted boys, would not allow himself to be hypnotized. Jack was very interested and involved and my concerns began to diminish and very soon would be completely gone.
Jack said he would be more comfortable if his mother were not in the room. Diane and I agreed, but I did tell Jack that the door to the hypnosis room would have to be open. As he settled into the recliner, I knew I needed to begin with addressing the subject of rejection.
“I know that what I am about to say may hurt,” I began, “but realize that I am not saying it to hurt, I am saying it to bring it up so you are aware of the problem…” I looked at him and said, “So take a deep breath, I don’t want you to comment right away, I want you to first think about what I’m about to say and then I’d like you to tell me what you are feeling… OK?… ready?”… Jack nodded and I said,
“When it comes to rejection, there is no one that knows more about it than you.” He took a breath, not really knowing how to react. I described to him what I thought he was feeling. I described feelings ranging from anger to sadness to hopelessness, he agreed with my observations. We began a long discussion on what he felt was the shortcomings of his past therapies. We were beginning to be comfortable with each other and I felt he was willing to try hypnosis. He was now able to trust me, which was a huge leap of faith on his part, considering his past; I was surprised he could trust anyone. After the first attempt to go into hypnosis met with a small amount of resistance, which is normal with boys his age and to my elated surprise on the second attempt he went relatively deeply into hypnosis.
He became a great hypnotic subject, not only going into hypnosis easily and deeply, he was looking forward to our sessions. This is not usually a big deal, but in Jack’s experiences with therapies, which only made him angrier, the fact that he actually wanted to return for additional sessions, demonstrated to me that the direction I was heading was the correct one. While hypnotized, Jack began to open up and understand his feelings about rejection. He was now, remembering his rejection in a different way. In the past, his memories of his rejection were unemotional, detaching from emotions was the way he was able to cope with the excruciating pain of rejection. However, when he was rejected, the energy needed to keep is anger in check was not enough; the result was an explosion of anger. He was also now allowing the emotions associated with those memories to be accessed.
He was able to accept that he had every right in the world to be as angry as he wanted. He started down a new path, one in which he could accept himself for who he is. As I worked with Jack, he began to accept, along with a better understanding of the cause of his anger, that he had no responsibilities for his situation and the frequency and severity of his bouts of anger began to decrease noticeably. I am optimistic about his ability to control his anger. I had been concerned that he wouldn’t allow himself to go into hypnosis. Now he is an excellent hypnotic subject.
In the past my experiences with adoptive children were not successful, now with Jack, I relished his success. The other children in his situation were not willing to be hurt again and thus, would not allow themselves to trust anyone, stagnating their personal health, development and growth. Jack had learned a wonderful life’s lesson; that he can allow himself to trust again.
I noticed a surprising amount of anger in the room, but it wasn’t coming from Jack. I realized that I was very angry! My anger was a general anger not directed at any one in particular. I was incensed that this sensitive child had been dealt a very raw deal, which was wrong in so many ways that I could not even start to list. How many people failed to do what was right for Jack?
Was it, his birth parents?
Yes, of course, if they were a loving average couple, I would not be writing this; Jack would be just the average kid with the average kid-type problems, in the average school, blissfully unaware that his average life could have been much, much different.
Was it the foster care system?
Somewhat, an overburdened system being run by overworked, underpaid, hopefully good meaning bureaucrats. It would be hard to point a finger at people who are working under the difficult conditions that they are. I suppose we could point a finger at politicians, but that would be too easy and would be futile.
Was it the adoption agency?
Sure, an organization that is making a profit from the desire of couples who cannot have a child and want to adopt, along with a child who has no one and wants to simply to be in a family that loves, respects and wants him.
Or was it his first adoptive family?
Let us look at the preceding sentence, “His First adoptive family”. Was Jack a puppy that was too much trouble to bother to “housebreak”? What could they have possibly be thinking? How could a couple who want to adopt a child, make the colossal decision to adopt that child only to “change their mind” and send the child back to the agency? How could anyone be that cold as to raise the hope of a child and then send this young boy back to the shelter as if he had no feelings or any rights?
The strange thing is that although they were at perhaps the top of the list of whom to blame for Jack’s anger management issues, they may have done him the largest of favors. For if he had stayed with these people who were so insensitive that they would have sent him away, Jack would never have met Diane and Joe, the wonderfully loving parents that he fortunately has now.
I am thankful to have met Jack and his family and hopeful that the difficult childhood that Jack has had, will no longer negatively affect his future. It had been a few weeks since our last session and I was curious as to how Jack was doing. I called and spoke with Diane who said that Jack is doing much better; he had an incident, which had caused him to be angry, but he controlled it well. I mentioned that we all get angry, it is part of life, but it is the method we use to control that anger which is so critical. When Jack had that recent angry incident, Diane had asked him if he wanted to make an appointment to see me. He said that he felt confident that he could handle it himself.
His response reminded me of the old addage about the fisherman and the fish. “Give a man a fish you feed him for a day, teach him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”. After we spoke, I felt quite confident in Jack’s ability to handle his anger and I felt privileged to be the person to give Jack his “fishing pole”.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Reflections on a Past Life Regression Workshop
Synopsis;
This article gives you an overview of what happens during a “Past Life Regression Workshop”. My workshop is base on one offered by Dr. Brian Weiss, author of the non-fiction bestseller “Many Lives, Many Masters” and as seen on Oprah.
This article gives you an overview of what happens during a “Past Life Regression Workshop”. My workshop is base on one offered by Dr. Brian Weiss, author of the non-fiction bestseller “Many Lives, Many Masters” and as seen on Oprah.
****
I presented another Past Life Regression Workshop on Sunday 9/28/2008 at The Institute for Spiritual Development in Sparta, New Jersey. My workshops are usually scheduled for 4-5 hours and I suppose the cliché is appropriate, when I say, “Time flies when you’re having fun”. Today’s was no exception; we had a lot of fun and the time just flew by.
The day was miserably rainy and dark with many people cancelling. Due to all the cancellations, we had a very small workshop with only five participants, which made it warm and personal. All through the workshop, there are many questions and answers and everyone was very involved.
The agenda for my Past Life Regression Workshop is,
- There is a brief introduction period, where we meet each other. As we all settle in, I encourage people to share any experience they may have with hypnosis or their views about past lives.
- I introduce myself, giving my background and how I became interested in hypnotherapy and Past Life Regressions, including my workshops with Dr. Brian Weiss, Neale Donald Walsch, Paul Aurand, Suzanne Northrup and John Holland. I also share my views on and have a discussion about the subjects of the soul, reincarnation, your life’s purpose, beings in “The Light”, ESP, psychic/mediums and more. I reinforce my belief in all of my workshops, that this entire discussion is based on opinion… not on verifiable facts; that when it comes to metaphysics, no one truly knows the truth. The only way we will truly know the actual “truth” about these subjects is when we are out of our bodies and in “the light”.
- We continue with an in-depth discussion about how hypnosis and a PLR work.
- Participants view a DVD about the true story of a young boy who experiences memories of a past life as a fighter pilot during WWII and the way his family assists him.
- I then introduce the participants to three experiences with hypnosis. The first is a hypnotic induction called “Heavy Hands”, where I have the participants picture a yellow page book placed on one hand while imagining helium balloons lifting up the other. We then discuss that experience. The purpose for this exercise is have the participants feel what hypnosis is and to ask questions about their experience, so that they don’t question hypnosis during their regression. The second is called, “A Deepener”. It is to allow a person to go deeper into the hypnotic state; the more often you are hypnotized the easier you can be hypnotized. The third is having participants experience an actual past Life Regression.
- At the end of the workshop, I ask if anyone would like to discuss and share his or her experience.
A few interesting things happened today, that I would like to share with you. During the “Heavy Hands” exercise, all participants hold their arms out, extended from their bodies. People react differently to the experience, but all learn how the mind can affect their perceptions in powerful ways. After the exercise, which lasts a few moments (during which time, the participants are sitting with their arms extended out in front of them), most people feel a tension in their shoulders. I noticed Roger, a participant, was rubbing his shoulder, which seemed to me more than the others did. I asked him if he was all right and he told me that he has bursitis in his shoulder and that the exercise did irritate it. I was concerned and wanted to help, if I could. I asked him if he wanted to try a hypnotic technique to see if it might help with the pain. He agreed and I did a procedure called a “instant induction” and then did pain relief management, using a healing technique called “Reiki”. I am pleased to say he was quite pleasantly surprised with the positive results of the 5-minute intervention.
Then during the third hypnotic experience, which is the actual Past Life Regression component of the workshop, all the participants are hypnotized. I access the depth of the hypnotic state of each participant and decide on the speed in which we go through the life that they were visiting.
Joann, a married woman came to the workshop wanting to understand how a Past Life Regression works. She came to the workshop with a certain amount of healthy skepticism, not cynicism. Being a cynic, a person refuses to change their mind about a current believe, even after undeniable proof to change is offered to them. JoAnn was not a cynic. Because the group was so small, I was able to spend more time in deepening everyone in the group and I observed that JoAnn was having a very powerful experience. At first, during the beginning of the regression she was smiling and happily involved with the images she was receiving. Soon after her expression changed, becoming more somber and very soon tears flowed from her eyes. After the regression ended, she needed a few moments to compose herself. When she felt more comfortable, she shared with us that the regression explained many deep-seated problems and answered many questions that she had been dealing with for years. I thank her for sharing her experience with us.
Although I have conducted dozens of PLR workshops, they are always different and I am always awed by the power to heal that Past Life Regression Therapy can offer.
I want to thank Joann for her email testimony, which she has sent to me and can be found on the testimonial page on my website http://www.hyp4life.com/
Friday, September 12, 2008
9/11 Post Script
This is a postscript to yesterday’s posting “911 a Remembrance and a Sharing”.
Yesterday was 9/11/2008 and I had hoped that there would have been an assembly in our school to remember the tragedy and honor the victims and heroes on that day. Instead, we had what has turned out to be the standard and obligatory “Moment of Silence” at 9:00 am. I am frustrated and angered that seven years have passed and no politician has proposed a National Day of Remembrance. Although I know that we will never forget, we need to honor those 2,948 innocents who died that day. We must honor and acknowledge the heroes… Not only the NYC firefighters, police officers and EMT’s who valiantly gave their lives to save their fellow New Yorkers, but those in Washington DC at the Pentagon and those amazing, courageous, civilians on Flight 93, who sacrificed their lives to stop the fourth attack on our soil, by crashing their plane into a Pennsylvanian field.
For the past two years, I have been teaching US History, so it seemed appropriate that in our US History classes, we would do a memorial to 9/11/2001 on September 11, 2008. I was impressed and quite proud of my students, most of whom were 8 or 9 years old on that day, seven years ago. I shared my experience and those students, who were willing to, shared theirs. I then showed a PowerPoint presentation to the class, who were quiet and respectful. If the government will not designate yesterday as a day of remembrance, I sure will.
During the Christmas holiday 2001, my wife and I went into New York City to see a Broadway play, which has been our holiday tradition since I became a teacher. We refused to allow terrorists to take that tradition from us. I was aware of the fear of terrorist attack in the eyes of the people around me and within my own heart when I saw military personnel in combat uniforms, carrying M-16 rifles in the streets of NYC. We walked through the streets that we both knew so well; being Brooklynites, walking through NYC was a normal experience. However, that evening was different. As we walked by a firehouse, the lights and sirens went on and the large red garage door opened. As the fire truck started to inch its way out of the firehouse, everyone standing, waiting began to applaud the firefighters; our heroes. New Yorkers, who are noted for their impatience, aloofness and abruptness, embraced their heroes and here we were, showering these firefighters in the appreciation they so rightly deserved, an appreciation that was non-existent before 9/11. The memory of being a part of a group of strangers cheering for those firefighters in Manhattan has stayed with me for these past seven years. But then, the feeling faded. The heroes are still there but we went back to our own lives. The cheers stopped… The applause quieted down, like the clapping at the end of the last act of a Broadway play, just faded away. We just stopped noticing and acknowledging them.
Although I am new to bloging, I will attempt to attach some PowerPoint presentations of the attack and the aftermath on this posting, not for those of us who have become more or less hardened to their subject matter. Becoming “hardened” may not be the right description, but I feel, in order to keep from crying continuously, we need to become a little… hardened. The PP presentations I will be attaching are for those children who, like my two beautiful granddaughters, were born after 9/11/2001, whose life, through no fault of their own will be described as the “Post 9/11” generation. The beauty of the web and blogs is that these PP presentations will be around (hopefully) long after we are all gone. So that future post 9/11 generations will have accurate sights and sounds of the attack that changed the world, in order to always remember. And hopefully the old adage will come true… “Those of us who forget history are doomed to repeat it.”
The PP presentation that I plan to paste onto this blog may just soften you and if you are by yourself with no one around, and you feel a tear or two well up… let them flow… it’s OK to cry.
Yesterday was 9/11/2008 and I had hoped that there would have been an assembly in our school to remember the tragedy and honor the victims and heroes on that day. Instead, we had what has turned out to be the standard and obligatory “Moment of Silence” at 9:00 am. I am frustrated and angered that seven years have passed and no politician has proposed a National Day of Remembrance. Although I know that we will never forget, we need to honor those 2,948 innocents who died that day. We must honor and acknowledge the heroes… Not only the NYC firefighters, police officers and EMT’s who valiantly gave their lives to save their fellow New Yorkers, but those in Washington DC at the Pentagon and those amazing, courageous, civilians on Flight 93, who sacrificed their lives to stop the fourth attack on our soil, by crashing their plane into a Pennsylvanian field.
For the past two years, I have been teaching US History, so it seemed appropriate that in our US History classes, we would do a memorial to 9/11/2001 on September 11, 2008. I was impressed and quite proud of my students, most of whom were 8 or 9 years old on that day, seven years ago. I shared my experience and those students, who were willing to, shared theirs. I then showed a PowerPoint presentation to the class, who were quiet and respectful. If the government will not designate yesterday as a day of remembrance, I sure will.
During the Christmas holiday 2001, my wife and I went into New York City to see a Broadway play, which has been our holiday tradition since I became a teacher. We refused to allow terrorists to take that tradition from us. I was aware of the fear of terrorist attack in the eyes of the people around me and within my own heart when I saw military personnel in combat uniforms, carrying M-16 rifles in the streets of NYC. We walked through the streets that we both knew so well; being Brooklynites, walking through NYC was a normal experience. However, that evening was different. As we walked by a firehouse, the lights and sirens went on and the large red garage door opened. As the fire truck started to inch its way out of the firehouse, everyone standing, waiting began to applaud the firefighters; our heroes. New Yorkers, who are noted for their impatience, aloofness and abruptness, embraced their heroes and here we were, showering these firefighters in the appreciation they so rightly deserved, an appreciation that was non-existent before 9/11. The memory of being a part of a group of strangers cheering for those firefighters in Manhattan has stayed with me for these past seven years. But then, the feeling faded. The heroes are still there but we went back to our own lives. The cheers stopped… The applause quieted down, like the clapping at the end of the last act of a Broadway play, just faded away. We just stopped noticing and acknowledging them.
Although I am new to bloging, I will attempt to attach some PowerPoint presentations of the attack and the aftermath on this posting, not for those of us who have become more or less hardened to their subject matter. Becoming “hardened” may not be the right description, but I feel, in order to keep from crying continuously, we need to become a little… hardened. The PP presentations I will be attaching are for those children who, like my two beautiful granddaughters, were born after 9/11/2001, whose life, through no fault of their own will be described as the “Post 9/11” generation. The beauty of the web and blogs is that these PP presentations will be around (hopefully) long after we are all gone. So that future post 9/11 generations will have accurate sights and sounds of the attack that changed the world, in order to always remember. And hopefully the old adage will come true… “Those of us who forget history are doomed to repeat it.”
The PP presentation that I plan to paste onto this blog may just soften you and if you are by yourself with no one around, and you feel a tear or two well up… let them flow… it’s OK to cry.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
9/11/2001 - A Remembrance and a Sharing
Whether it was the assassination of JFK or the explosion of the Challenger, there are those experiences in your life that become indelibly etched into your memory. Even more than weddings, birthdays, graduations etc. these life altering, shared, catastrophic experiences stay in your memory, your psyche for your entire life. You remember every detail, every emotion, where you were, what you were doing, who you were with. When a catastrophic event happens, your experiences surrounding the event will always stay in your mind. Even after 45 years, I could tell you, in detail, my experience as a 13-year-old living through the assassination of a president. Those who have had the events on 9/11/2001 be their first experience with a shared, catastrophic event, will realize in their future, just how long the memory will last… forever.
We will always remember that day.
In the sharing of our mutual experiences on that fateful day, we can, along with the experience, share our fear, pain, anger, frustration and profound sadness. In so doing, find that the memories of that day can become a little more bearable.
On that note, I would like to share with you, my experience of 7 years ago, today.
It was a perfect morning; the sky was a beautiful pale blue without a single cloud, the temperature was in the mid to upper 70’s and there was a comfortable breeze.
My day started like any other and ended with the death of the innocence of the American people.
As I drove to my school on Foothill Rd. in Bridgewater NJ, I may have been driving a little fast when I saw the lights in my rearview mirror. The officer was a graduate of the Voc-Tech and let me go with a smile and a suggestion to slow down.
I entered my shop and turned on the equipment and the lights. My shop was the Supermarket Careers Program at Somerset County Vocational Technical High School, where I taught special needs High School students, supermarket skills. Tuesday was the day for our Herr’s Potato Chip delivery and Eddie our driver was right on time, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Did you hear the news? A plane hit the World Trade Towers!” he said as we went into my office. I turned on the radio and my jaw dropped when I heard the first reports of what had happened.
The fear was in the voice of the DJ, but he was in control. “I thought it was a small plane, but I am seeing it on CNN now, it was a commercial plane a big one! Oh MY God! Another plane just hit the other tower! … my God”
I went numb.
I decided to take my students to the library as the announcement came through the PA system into the room. “Please stay in your classrooms we will have information soon.” “Let’s go to the library,” a student said, “there’s a TV there”. I decided to ignore the announcement to stay in class even before my students asked me to leave. In the library, many teachers and students stood, sat on chairs and the floor around the TV. CNN was on and the videos of the explosion in the first tower and the second plane hitting the second tower were playing repeatedly. Then a live, shaky picture showed the first tower collapsing.
Silence… mouths agape and everyone gasped.
I was in shock and distracted by the events that were unfolding and to my responsibility to my students. Seeing the first tower fall made me realize that I had at least four family members working in the shadow of the World Trade Center. True panic seized me. I took out my cell and frantically started calling family members but the lines were all busy. The family members I was able to reach had no news.
The last bell rang and the busses took the students home, the faculty and staff said their good-byes and I slowly walked through the parking lot to my car. I thought that although I had walked to my car the same way for the past eleven years, this walk was very, very different. The school is located under the flight plans for Newark Airport and there are always planes flying overhead. The plane-less sky would greet me for the next few mornings and was an eerie feeling foreboding of the many more changes that were to come.
Driving home, I noticed how light the traffic was and quickly noticed the first American flag on a home next to the school, then another and another. I didn’t know where they had all been stored, but it seemed that every house was proudly flying the red, white and blue. It filled me with a powerful connection with every other driver on the road, every pedestrian, every other American. Yes, they were able to hit us hard. They hurt and killed us, but the sight of all the flags gave me a feeling of closeness, connection and a communion with every other American I passed. We were in this together.
I turned unto the street where I live and my neighbors were out waving flags and screaming at passing cars. It was a surreal feeling, no traffic, no planes in the sky, no one on the roads, until I turned the corner and it would seem that my neighbors had gone completely insane. But these were insane times; I parked my car and went into my home hugged my wife a little longer than usual, called my kids just to hear their voices and let them hear mine and tried to find out if my family working at ground zero were… alive.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I couldn’t eat, I just wanted to go to sleep to wake up and realize that it had only been a nightmare but I couldn’t sleep either. Lying in bed till 3:00 am watching the news, seeing the planes repeatedly hitting the towers, seeing the towers repeatedly collapsing, I could not stop nor did I try to stop the tears and finally, I slept.
The next day at school, the fear continued. The Principal asked me to order an emergency delivery of food that could be stored at the school to feed students and faculty for at least a week. Plans were made to be able to quickly move all students and staff into the gym, where there was plastic and duct tape to seal us inside in the event of chemical or nuclear attack. The food in the supermarket and additional supplies, delivered over the next weeks was stored in the school. The plan was that in the event of another terrorist attack, we (students, staff and faculty) would use the plastic and duct tape to seal ourselves into the gym, where we could survive on the stored water, cup-o-noodles and potato chips. The plan was that we would stay, all together in the gym for the duration. Thank God, it had not become necessary to determine if plastic sheets and duct tape could have saved our lives.
Over the next few months, fears subsided and so too did our pride and connectedness.
That Thanksgiving, our family got together for that most traditional of American holidays. For the prior twelve years, I had made a speech before we all ate our meal. My speeches were always filled with humor, inside family jokes and more importantly, the things we should be thankful for over the past year. As tradition had it, I was prepared with a speech on this less than traditional Thanksgiving… this Thanksgiving was very different. My speech that day was considerably shorter than usual. It started; “I’d like to thank God for allowing ALL our family to be here” and I named those family members whom, we were all so concerned about and who were now sitting around the table. “This Thanksgiving” I continued, “we can be so thankful that all of our loved one are here and healthy. But, I would ask for a moment of silence for the over two thousand families whose Thanksgiving was so cruelly taken away.” We ate our food and dried our tears.
9/11/2001; 7 years and a lifetime ago
I believe there is something cathartic in the telling and sharing of this experience. The fact that others feel the way you do and have similar experiences can lessen your fear and anger. I would love to hear from you and be able to post your experiences in the comments section.
Thank you.
We will always remember that day.
In the sharing of our mutual experiences on that fateful day, we can, along with the experience, share our fear, pain, anger, frustration and profound sadness. In so doing, find that the memories of that day can become a little more bearable.
On that note, I would like to share with you, my experience of 7 years ago, today.
It was a perfect morning; the sky was a beautiful pale blue without a single cloud, the temperature was in the mid to upper 70’s and there was a comfortable breeze.
My day started like any other and ended with the death of the innocence of the American people.
As I drove to my school on Foothill Rd. in Bridgewater NJ, I may have been driving a little fast when I saw the lights in my rearview mirror. The officer was a graduate of the Voc-Tech and let me go with a smile and a suggestion to slow down.
I entered my shop and turned on the equipment and the lights. My shop was the Supermarket Careers Program at Somerset County Vocational Technical High School, where I taught special needs High School students, supermarket skills. Tuesday was the day for our Herr’s Potato Chip delivery and Eddie our driver was right on time, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Did you hear the news? A plane hit the World Trade Towers!” he said as we went into my office. I turned on the radio and my jaw dropped when I heard the first reports of what had happened.
The fear was in the voice of the DJ, but he was in control. “I thought it was a small plane, but I am seeing it on CNN now, it was a commercial plane a big one! Oh MY God! Another plane just hit the other tower! … my God”
I went numb.
I decided to take my students to the library as the announcement came through the PA system into the room. “Please stay in your classrooms we will have information soon.” “Let’s go to the library,” a student said, “there’s a TV there”. I decided to ignore the announcement to stay in class even before my students asked me to leave. In the library, many teachers and students stood, sat on chairs and the floor around the TV. CNN was on and the videos of the explosion in the first tower and the second plane hitting the second tower were playing repeatedly. Then a live, shaky picture showed the first tower collapsing.
Silence… mouths agape and everyone gasped.
I was in shock and distracted by the events that were unfolding and to my responsibility to my students. Seeing the first tower fall made me realize that I had at least four family members working in the shadow of the World Trade Center. True panic seized me. I took out my cell and frantically started calling family members but the lines were all busy. The family members I was able to reach had no news.
The last bell rang and the busses took the students home, the faculty and staff said their good-byes and I slowly walked through the parking lot to my car. I thought that although I had walked to my car the same way for the past eleven years, this walk was very, very different. The school is located under the flight plans for Newark Airport and there are always planes flying overhead. The plane-less sky would greet me for the next few mornings and was an eerie feeling foreboding of the many more changes that were to come.
Driving home, I noticed how light the traffic was and quickly noticed the first American flag on a home next to the school, then another and another. I didn’t know where they had all been stored, but it seemed that every house was proudly flying the red, white and blue. It filled me with a powerful connection with every other driver on the road, every pedestrian, every other American. Yes, they were able to hit us hard. They hurt and killed us, but the sight of all the flags gave me a feeling of closeness, connection and a communion with every other American I passed. We were in this together.
I turned unto the street where I live and my neighbors were out waving flags and screaming at passing cars. It was a surreal feeling, no traffic, no planes in the sky, no one on the roads, until I turned the corner and it would seem that my neighbors had gone completely insane. But these were insane times; I parked my car and went into my home hugged my wife a little longer than usual, called my kids just to hear their voices and let them hear mine and tried to find out if my family working at ground zero were… alive.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I couldn’t eat, I just wanted to go to sleep to wake up and realize that it had only been a nightmare but I couldn’t sleep either. Lying in bed till 3:00 am watching the news, seeing the planes repeatedly hitting the towers, seeing the towers repeatedly collapsing, I could not stop nor did I try to stop the tears and finally, I slept.
The next day at school, the fear continued. The Principal asked me to order an emergency delivery of food that could be stored at the school to feed students and faculty for at least a week. Plans were made to be able to quickly move all students and staff into the gym, where there was plastic and duct tape to seal us inside in the event of chemical or nuclear attack. The food in the supermarket and additional supplies, delivered over the next weeks was stored in the school. The plan was that in the event of another terrorist attack, we (students, staff and faculty) would use the plastic and duct tape to seal ourselves into the gym, where we could survive on the stored water, cup-o-noodles and potato chips. The plan was that we would stay, all together in the gym for the duration. Thank God, it had not become necessary to determine if plastic sheets and duct tape could have saved our lives.
Over the next few months, fears subsided and so too did our pride and connectedness.
That Thanksgiving, our family got together for that most traditional of American holidays. For the prior twelve years, I had made a speech before we all ate our meal. My speeches were always filled with humor, inside family jokes and more importantly, the things we should be thankful for over the past year. As tradition had it, I was prepared with a speech on this less than traditional Thanksgiving… this Thanksgiving was very different. My speech that day was considerably shorter than usual. It started; “I’d like to thank God for allowing ALL our family to be here” and I named those family members whom, we were all so concerned about and who were now sitting around the table. “This Thanksgiving” I continued, “we can be so thankful that all of our loved one are here and healthy. But, I would ask for a moment of silence for the over two thousand families whose Thanksgiving was so cruelly taken away.” We ate our food and dried our tears.
9/11/2001; 7 years and a lifetime ago
I believe there is something cathartic in the telling and sharing of this experience. The fact that others feel the way you do and have similar experiences can lessen your fear and anger. I would love to hear from you and be able to post your experiences in the comments section.
Thank you.
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