If you could choose to live without a physical body, would you?

When I ask people this question, whether my clients or my friends, the answer is nearly always yes.

To clarify, this post is not specifically about:

  • Spirituality, the spirit or the soul (although it could be, depending on your beliefs); 
  • Cryonics, or the fantasy of having your brain frozen and stored until technology has developed to the point where you can be reanimated (although it could be, depending on your beliefs); 
  • Physical disability (although it could be, depending on your situation and experience).

I am speaking about the sense of freedom you could have if your physical body wasn’t confining you emotionally, mentally, relationally, spiritually and politically.

Anyone may feel this – no matter how outwardly successful they may be, or how comfortably and conventionally their body functions.

If you are, for example, read as a woman or femme or female or feminine, (no matter what gender you were assigned at birth), you will know that you cannot move through the world without your physical body being scrutinised.

You will be informed constantly that your body (and therefore you) is either too much or not enough, sometimes simultaneously, and the goalposts move faster than you can adapt to their constant repositioning. You are relentlessly beholden to the opinions and assumptions of others. (Or perhaps you are read as not feminine enough. )

You are constantly aware of being on show, and of the consequent risk of mockery or violence, so your energy is drained and your nervous system taxed by being on constant alert.

It’s hard to challenge patriarchy (or any other embedded societal structure) when it has your face gripped in its hands and is unblinkingly staring you out.

Imagine this not happening to you.

Imagine no more comments about your weight or your face or your presumed sexual capacity. Imagine that you could go where you wanted without fear.

Actually, people of all genders have replied to this question with a yes.

And this is not just about gender. Much of society believes that others owe them their bodies – whether in terms of race, class, or disability. What if we, as individuals, could choose not to have these bodies? We could be free of so many demands. 

What if we could exist without a body, and in our chosen invisible shapes and dimensions?

What if you could shapeshift your bodyless self, and be infinitesimally small in one moment, all-encompassingly huge in another.

And what if it was up to you whether you experience sensation at all? If you struggle with the demands of sensory processing, what would it be like to be able to choose what, and how much, you experienced? What if we could choose where our imagined external boundary is – if we even wished for one at all?

As a late diagnosed neurodivergent person, I now have greater understanding of my own relationship with touch and movement, and why it was never as straightforward as it seemed to be for others. Interoception and proprioception are hard work at times – what if we didn’t have to navigate them?

In contrast to much social media output, to feel less can be a luxury.

Imagine you could feel just enough to get by and more easily navigate a world that constantly threatens to engulf us with its own needs and desires?

I spent a number of years in somatic and sexual experiential spaces where (consensual) touch was central, and participants were encouraged to be fully present. When we experimented with up-regulating and down-regulating breaths, it occurred to me that some people are already feeling more than is comfortable for them, and not all of the processes we entered into were helpful. Some of us, because of our previous experiences or simply because of who we are, already feel too present. The only way to tolerate this is through self-removal, or dissociation.

Remove the physical body and there could be so much more, so much more to do and be. And what could sex be?

I’m aware of the multitude of beliefs and philosophies that hang off this thought experiment, and how we could go down any number of roads when talking about it. (And I’m aware that my utopia becomes a little fuzzy, because who would choose to lose their corporeality and who would keep it? And what power structures might ensue?)

I’m aware that technology can partially take us there. As can meditation. As can drugs. Partially.

So let’s come back to the beginning. If you could live without a physical body, would you?

Negligent apathy – the pandemic gift that keeps on giving

Close up of a wet pavement with a small segment of orange dropped on it.
Out walking a few months ago, I noticed a baby navel orange that had been dropped on the ground.

What happened to our capacity for relating?

There is something that I have been noticing for a while now, in every part of my life.

Over the last three years, our capacity to honour working arrangements, connections, friendships, and even simple responses has often become severely impaired. Of course, I include myself in this.

So how have we come to this normalisation of burnout? Behaving as if those around us are disposable, and it is simply too much effort to put ourselves in others’ shoes and understand the consequences of our actions, because we are just too zoned out.

We were already overloaded

Looking back to long before the pandemic, many of us were already at the limits of our capacity to endure stress. This might be due to a minority or global majority identity, past trauma, juggling survival (perhaps with disabilities, housing issues, chronic health issues, and/or chronic financial stress), and the sheer exhaustion of living in a society that is, increasingly, trying to kill us. Then there was and is climate change and the rise of fascism.

Even if we had ‘enough’ resources for the day or week or month, or even the year, and were in good health, the spectre of that changing was ever present.

When you’re already on the edge, small setbacks feel like big ones, and big ones feel like catastrophes. If you haven’t had time to recover from one thing, and another one happens, you are dealing with more than one layer of response, and these layers can quickly pile up. This over time is likely to reduce your capacity for empathy and your energy to receive others’ bids for attention or help, let alone your capacity to respond to them.

The impact of sudden change

We have all had different responses to the pandemic. But one thing is true, that we all had to adapt to Covid-19 very quickly. Over time, we realised our resources were shrinking : social, personal, and financial. While time seemed to stretch, and some felt persistently hopeful that we were almost out of the woods (we aren’t, still), many people found themselves with less energy. Many people stepped away from relating because it just took too much personal resource.

Remember the frenetic activity of those suddenly finding themselves at home all days? Creating mockups of famous paintings using saucepans and pet cats, learning Italian, and baking sourdough. Those whose labour keeps society propped up were neglected, while being expected to keep turning up for work, or they would lose everything.

The pandemic itself

If you have Long Covid, (or greatly fear getting it for all sorts of valid reasons) you will have been navigating that on top of the huge society wide denial by many governments that the pandemic is still happening. A very redundant form of individualism has been normalised and encouraged, as if to check whether others are okay – family wide, community wide, or country wide – is seen as laughable. An infantile notion of ‘freedom’ has been invoked, freedom from ‘lockdown’ which sounds carceral and something to be rebelled against, instead of a way to keep us all safe.

People as a whole have been encouraged since the start not to take the pandemic seriously. So many aren’t wearing masks now, or acknowledging the decreased capacities, and increased access needs, of a significant minority of people. I am sad to see this even in queer/left community. I wrote more about this here.

This is a trauma response

Before you think I am condemning all humans, it is very clear that this negligent apathy is also a trauma response. Many people have been struggling to connect the way they did before. They may have felt abandoned by close people, friends, partners, and the social system they exist in. They may have experienced multple bereavements, both due to Covid-19, waiting lists, or inadequate medical care due to a deliberately depleted NHS. They may have hated working from home, or been laid off work, or lost their business. They may have been evicted by a rogue landlord.

Life has changed, and this is the new normal, but many people still feel that we can get ‘back to normal’ with no consequence. I find this somewhat delusional – but I am well aware sometimes our delusions and denials are all we have in order to remain upright.

Traumatic dissociation is a major driver of what I am talking about in this post. Dissociation is a very valid survival response and most of us fall into it at some time or another. It may for example be masking a flight response, or a freeze, or any other response to overwhelm.

And what is hard to talk about here is that trauma can make us self-absorbed, selfish and worse. Trauma isn’t pretty. The fight response often isn’t, and the fawn safety response (tend and befriend, caretaking, or appeasing) tries to be pretty, but often can only be sustained on the surface. I’ve even noticed a hierarchy of trauma responses – basically fawn is the most acceptable, and fight the least – which deserves unpacking in another post.

How do we reframe our existence, heal, and reconnect?

I wish I had an immediate answer to this.

I admit that I have been shocked to the core by the behaviours and attitudes of people that I thought I knew. And I know I’m not alone in this. I’ve been baffled at being ignored, over and over, when attempting to maintain a collaboration. Again, I know I’m not alone. Endless one-sided initiation feels like a mug’s game, and trust seems in short supply now.

One thing this society does is divide and rule. The more we fight each other, the more we remain divided. I also know that it is not that simple, and in many cases of discrimination there definitely aren’t two equal sides.

I hear people in certain circles criticising individualism and insist on community all the way, especially in terms of transforming society from the extractive to the supportive. Which is fine, but many of us have not been trained in how to be in community, and we have no experience of how to do it at all, let alone well. And when we do try, very often abusers (emotional, financial, or sexual) find their way into positions of power. It happens over and over again.

There is a lot of work to do here, and a lot of healing and reconfiguring. And we have to start somewhere. As in therapy, sometimes all we can do to begin is make the unconscious concious, by naming what is going on and keep it from falling below the surface again.

Conference: Black Trauma in the Therapy Room

BME Voices Talk Mental Health Trauma Conference 2020

This Saturday I attended Trauma Conference 2020 – Black Trauma: When it presents in the therapy room. This excellent online event was put on by BME Voices Talk Mental Health.

The speakers were Dr Dwight Turner (psychotherapist, academic, and forthcoming author), Dr Keren Yeboah (psychologist and author of the study ‘Power and the ‘hidden self’: reimagining the therapeutic use of power in work with Black people diagnosed with psychosis’), Ebinehita Iyere (youth practitioner working with young people affected by the youth justice system), Sharon Frazer-Carroll (occupational therapist, organisational expert and founder of Time To Talk Black), and Dr Isha Mckenzie-Mavinga (psychotherapist, academic, and author).

A note on trauma

Trauma is a spectrum, not a binary. Despite the best efforts of many, society as a whole is only just beginning to comprehend the multifarious nature of trauma, what trauma means for people individually and collectively, and the different ways it can manifest. Many now accept that you don’t have to be a combat veteran, refugee, or incest survivor to be traumatised and to experience PTSD or CPTSD, and that trauma in your ancestry is likely to manifest in the present.

It’s also more understood that ‘minor’ daily incidents, known as microaggressions, can cumulatively cause a high level of distress in a person. And that ongoing fear of threat can cause as much harm as an actual incident. But some, especially those with power, may find it harder to accept that certain populations experience this more than others. The challenge comes when these same people realise that it is they themselves who are causing the harm. Without deep reflection, it is hard to own our acts and do the work.

The multiple impacts of systemic inequality

At the conference every speaker, in different ways, outlined the systemic construct of whiteness and Blackness (the racial complex that binds us) and its impact, through racism, on Black lives. We heard about trauma responses to racism and the impact on mental and physical health, including internalised racism (or our ‘internalised supremacist’), and how quickly you lose touch with your humanity when you are forced to adapt to a culture that someone else has created.

Gaslighting and double standards

We heard about the harms done by the white-constructed mental health system to Black patients with psychosis, (for example being criminalised on entering the mental health system, and having anger mislabelled as a pathology) and the constant location of issues solely within the Black community, and the minimisation of the racism that creates this.

Ancestral trauma held in the unconscious

We had an interactive discussion about whether Black trauma exists, and whether therapists should undertake specific training about it. We were reminded that in 2020 the (white) world is waking up to a reality that many have already lived with for a long time, and that white therapists need to do more self-reflection and investigation. The silence of early lockdown ’emphasised the noise in peoples’ heads’ – the ancestral trauma, bursting to speak, that is so often buried in the unconscious.

Examining racism in supervision and training

We heard about the process of unmasking racism in clinical supervision, and the reminder that Black therapists are impacted by racial trauma while also hearing about it, and yet sometimes feel unable to name racism to a white supervisor. And when a Black student is expected to educate the rest of the students in the room, and do the labour of caretaking White fragility, (and keep their own feelings in check to protect others as well as themselves within a white system), they cannot give time to their own development.

The whiteness of the therapy world

Self-care

For the last hour of the conference, the primary theme in the panel discussion was self-care. When Black therapists speak about interaction with white colleagues, the word ‘exhaustion’ quickly comes up. There will be times when Black therapists cannot be with white friends and colleagues, because of this exhaustion, rage, and hurt. White people cannot expect to be rescued from this – ‘It’s not about you’. One speaker spoke of ‘trying not to be drawn into other peoples’ awakenings.’ Another quoted: ‘Just because we are in the same storm, does not mean that we are in the same boat.’ White therapists are advised to read, especially outside therapy subjects, and process shame and guilt by finding a place where it’s okay to talk.

Challenging course leaders

How do Black trainees stand up and challenge their course leaders? One speaker sent their comments to all their leaders and fellow students, and spoke out on social media, adding: ‘Get your message right and don’t endanger yourself.’ It is important to create Black spaces if there were none previously. But ‘realise you can’t do it all.’

Beyond eurocentric trainings

In the Q&A, someone asked: ‘Where are the Black and Asian modalities?’ The response came: ‘Here we are!’ The teachers, supervisors, and learnings are already here! They need to be listened to, and training organisations need their wisdom and experience in order to build equality-based and culturally competent trainings from the ground up. There are plenty of people and organisations out there who can help: Kaemotherapy, Race Reflections, Me & White Supremacy, Radical Therapist Network, Resmaa Menakem, and others can all contribute to new forms of training that prove the organisations truly value every student equally.

When I attended the inaugural BME Voices Talk Mental Health conference back in October 2018, I was surprised to see so few other white therapists there, perhaps 10% of the delegates. This was an indication of the work we have to do to make counselling and psychotherapy truly reflective of all populations, in respect of both therapists and clients. However, after the events of 2020, and the increasing profile of Black Lives Matter, I suspect this year the numbers were greater.

There is a long way to go

Every speaker had something positive to say about how we might go forward. But it was also clear that, in many ways, things have barely changed in 30 years. There are of course many individuals of all backgrounds desiring change in the mental health system and psychotherapy – but the process is slow. And, unfortunately, it is not clear that organisations are truly listening. One major piece of evidence of this is the ScopEd project, a proposed framework for a hierarchical classification of therapists, and promotion of particular member organisations. ScopEd was not mentioned at the conference (as I recall), but I feel it fits strongly with the theme.

A missed opportunity

This is not the post to go into detail about this, but I will describe it in brief. There was an opportunity for some real systemic thinking to address the huge missing pieces currently within mainstream therapy trainings, (race, racism and white supremacy being one of the most significant, but not the only one). Instead a top-down medical and analytic model is being proposed, and many counsellors may be put out of business by being deemed incapable of taking paid work. This hierarchical structure does nothing to address racism, misogyny, homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, classism or ableism, and does not seem to address systemic factors at all, even though they affect all of us every single day, therapist or client. It also doesn’t address the access issues that prevent so many people (particularly Black, and working class) from training as therapists in the first place. While I would agree that training standards do need to be addressed, it is the counsellors who are bearing the brunt of this project, rather than the training organisations who trained them.

In his book How to be an antiracist, Ibram X Kendi states, over and over again, that it is racist policies that need to change, and that only working towards anti-racist policy will have meaningful impact. Sadly it feels as if this is being played out, however unintentionally, in the counselling world. Of course, good intentions mean nothing without deep reflection on the impacts of our actions.

I am very grateful to all the conference speakers for sharing so much, and to Helen George, founder of BME Voices Talk Mental Health, and co-host Leoni Cachia. I’m looking foward to the next one already.