Throughout my adult life, I have lived with the vague, uncomfortable sense that I was not a complete woman, whatever that may mean.  I had an affair before I was married, performed in the bedroom as I was supposed to, and looked like a woman.  I enjoyed being a mother and insisted on breastfeeding my baby when breastfeeding was not in vogue (1960s).  So what was missing??  I had no idea!  All I knew was that I had a nagging sense that something was missing, especially when I was in the company of other women and when I attended social events and watched how other women behaved around men, the flirting and the smiles and all the other normal female-male interactions.   But try as I might, I could not identify the source of my discomfort and feeling of being incomplete–that is, until sweet little Blossom arrived at the arena about a year ago.  

To set the stage, Blossom enters the arena unexpectedly and chooses to begin her life there by bunking with Constanza, an ego state that I have not yet mentioned in my posts.  Who is Constanza??  Constanza is that part of my personality who is flamboyant and on the verge of being out of control, who lusts after the hot, muscular bodies of athletes and movie stars.  She is the part who most women must, no matter how elderly they are, rein in by saying, “Whoa, Babe, don’t let anyone know about this thought!  Naughty, naughty!  Keep a lid on!”  

Constanza, in other words, is the person within me whose presence I would never reveal to a priest if I were to go to Confession.  Especially my Constanza, for she exists at the arena in the form of a huge, black, nasty-tempered, part-Appaloosa  mare with white spots on her withers and who paints the large lips at the end of her muzzle with cherry-red lipstick and who applies extensions to her eyelashes and gobs them with layers of black, sticky mascara.  Constanza is the part within me who believes she is God’s gift to males and is entitled to throw horrendous tantrums to get her way.  Constanza, in other words, is that part of me who, like a jack-in-the-box, must always remain hidden under the lid of “acceptability and appropriate behavior” but who more often than not is pressing and pushing the lid, trying to pop up to see what’s going on and what kind of havoc she can wreak. 

 

Yes, I’ve known my Constanza for a long time, and I’ve grown to love her despite her volatile temper and her flamboyant nature.  Since she has arrived at the arena, Constanza has become much more civilized, though.  Cowboy has tamed her, and the other parts, particularly First Protector, have loved and accepted her, and now she has the primary responsibility for meal and snack preparation.  She has a flair, especially, for preparing exotic treats for some of the more exotic creatures. Gemini, the wise old land turtle, is especially fond of Constanza’s deep fried beetles and succulently seasoned cabbage worms.  Constanza has won the appreciation of all who inhabit the arena, and she is at home there.  However, if each individual part were asked whether Constanza can be trusted one hundred percent to behave herself, I suspect that many parts would politely change the subject.  So that’s Constanza, the part chosen by little Blossom as a roommate.  Ironic, huh?  We’ll see. Please note:  Most of this dialogue excerpt is in maroon to mark it as being part of my dialogue.  However, I have used black text to denote the section in which Blossom explains why Jeanie, my little girl self, sent her away and told her never to return.  Some of you who have been victims of child sexual abuse may be able to relate to Blossom’s words here.   

*  *  * 

February 5, 2014 

While we are attending to the discussion between J.P. and Cowboy, there is another drama presenting itself in the area of the kitchen, to be specific, in the area we know as Constanza’s stall.  Constanza has been napping to get her rest before she is called upon to organize the kitchen forces for dinner preparation and before she must prepare the delicacies for J.P.’s reception.  She suddenly becomes aware through the fog of sleep that she is not alone in her stall, that she has company of the most unusual sort.  As her eyes begin to focus, she is aware that she is being watched by a being she doesn’t know at all and who does not belong in her stall or anywhere near it!  

This being is clad in a short-sleeved knit peasant-style top the soft shade of pink we often see in the tulips that herald the spring, and it is embroidered at the neckline with tiny blossoms in white and tints of pink.  Her skirt is a softly-flared denim the color of forget-me-nots.  It reaches modestly to four inches below her knees.  On her slender legs she wears smooth beige tights, and her sandals are dark brown leather with a design of tiny blossoms punched into the straps.  Her clothing, thus, is simple but feminine, comfortable but attractive.  

But what of her face and her hair?  She has an altogether pleasant face, round with features that one cannot describe as beautiful, exactly, but they are not unattractive.  Her lips are average and a natural shade of rose.  Her nose is not too large but is well-shaped and suits her face.  But her eyes, her eyes reveal her heritage, for they can be a bright blue, as blue as the bluebells of Scotland, and yet they can be as gray-blue as the stormy North Sea from whence her Viking ancestors arose.  Her hair?  In her younger years, her hair fell lightly into waves of soft brown, but now the waves of brown are, like the foamy sea, wisps and curls of soft white.  Age has had its way with this newcomer, but despite that, she remains comely and vital.  Now that we have studied her, let us once again witness the activity in Constanza’s stall so that we might gain some understanding of this new arrival’s personality. 

Constanza:  blinking, trying to focus her eyes, wondering if she is still asleep.  . .  Who are you??  What are you doing here??  In my stall, yet!  I don’t even know you!  Are you dangerous?? 

Blossom:  No, Constanza.  I am no danger to you.  I am no danger to anyone here, in fact.  I have come home, and home is where I am.  Well, maybe not specifically right here in your horse stall, for I’m not a horse.  I’m a woman, a sexual being.  

Constanza:  So what are you doing in my stall, watching me sleep??  You make me nervous.  I can’t figure out whether I’m asleep and dreaming about you or awake and actually talking to you.  If I’m talking to you, I shouldn’t be.  Or should I be?  Can you help me? 

Blossom:  Well, I’m not sure how to answer that question, Constanza.  

Constanza:  How do you know my name?  I haven’t introduced myself, and neither has anyone else.  So how do you know? 

Blossom:  I was guided here by Light, and Light told me that the best place for me to begin my homecoming was in your stall.  Light said that if there was part here who would understand me and have empathy for me, it would be you, Constanza.  So that is why I arrived in your stall.  I just more or less found myself here.  I hope you don’t mind too much.  

Constanza:  So what did Light tell you about me?  Did she say good things about me? 

Blossom:  Of course she did, Constanza!  Light is proud of you.  You do great work here, and you have had the courage to make changes in your behavior.  I’d say you should be proud of yourself!  

Constanza:  bats her long eyelids and smiles a toothy smile . . .  Well, Blossom, those words make happy.  I always wonder if I’m appreciated for my sterling qualities.  So what brings you—as they say—to this neck of the woods?  And where did you get your name?  Your name strikes me as being more fitting for one of my cousins, a lady of the bovine persuasion.  Oh, don’t be insulted!  My cousin is a wonderful producer and a great lady.  She and I spent many a moment together in adjacent isolation stalls before I arrived here at the arena.  You could do a lot worse than having a name like hers.  

Blossom:  What, actually, was your cousin’s name, Constanza? 

Constanza:  Well, if you really want to know, it was Appleblossom.  And her sisters were Peachblossom, Pearblossom, and Quinceblossom.  Quinceblossom we called Quincy for short.  Her name fit her.  She was dried up and sour.  Quince blossoms are a beautiful intense pink, but the fruit is inedible—horrible!  And that was the way Quincy was—sour and horrible!  But you don’t strike me as being sour, and somehow I doubt that you are horrible—at least, you have not shown me your horrible side thus far. 

Blossom:  laughs gaily .  .  .  No, if I were horrible, I doubt that Light would have sent me here.  As it were, she didn’t hesitate, so I guess I must be okay.  

Constanza:  Well, why has it taken you so long to find your way to us here at the arena?  

Blossom:  According to Light, I’ve been the farthest away and the most thoroughly hidden.  She was sure I existed somewhere, but she simply did not know where.  Luckily for me, she kept searching.  However, she did mention when she found  me that she was on the verge of giving up the hunt.  She didn’t, though, so here I am.  Right here in your stall with you, Constanza.  

Constanza:  Yes, that’s for sure!  But who are you, Blossom?  I mean, each of us here is a part of Jean, working for her welfare.  But who are you?  What part of Jean are you? 

Blossom:  As near as I can figure, little Jeanie went through some bad experiences, and she banished me to a place as far from her as she could find so she didn’t have to be reminded of those terrible experiences.  And those experiences all had to do with the fact that she was a little girl and had the body of a little girl.  She was female, in other words, and horrible, awful people took advantage of that fact.  She was a little girl who had a little girl’s sexuality, a natural sexuality, the kind she was born with.  And she liked being a little girl and dancing and singing and feeling the raindrops on her outstretched hands and catching snowflakes on her tongue and watching to see if the fairies really did dance around their rings in the grass at night.  

But when those horrible, awful people took advantage of her femaleness and hurt her, she decided she didn’t want to be female anymore.  She didn’t want people doing those things to her, so she made me leave.  She said she never, ever wanted to see me again.  So I left and went as far away from her as I could.  I understood why she didn’t want me around to remind her of horrible events, so I departed and headed for places where I knew Jeanie would never stumble across me.  Problem was, when I disappeared, Jeanie was never able to remember me and to understand me.  So the little tyke grew up to think she was neither male nor female—well, she didn’t know WHO she was!  She knew the other little girls, her schoolmates and playmates, were little girls and were growing into becoming big girls, but she didn’t believe that was happening to her.  She was very, very confused!  You see, I had been her sexual identity, and she couldn’t find me. 

But when Jeanie grew up and became Aurora, that poor, sad creature who sheds brittle bits as she wanders, somehow horrible, awful people recognized me in her, and once again, I—in the body of Aurora–was used by somebody intent on satisfying his own needs at Aurora’s expense.  Oh, if only I had gone unrecognized!  Aurora would have been spared so much misery!  I was devastated when I knew that harm had come to Aurora because of me!  Of course, Aurora did the same thing Jeanie had done—she told me in no uncertain terms that I had to leave and never come back.  She had a lot of very harsh words for me, blaming me for her woes.  

But I knew better.  I knew that what had happened was not my fault.  So I did not go as far away as Jeanie and Aurora had wanted.  In other words, I disobeyed their orders.  Now that I am here, I am somehow going to need to earn their acceptance.  Sighs  The only thing I have going for me is Light’s approval.  Light has let me know that whether Jeanie and Aurora will admit it or not, they need me—Jean needs me!  So I have a hard task ahead of me.  I must gain the respect and trust of all the parts here, including yours, Constanza, and I must find myself a comfortable place among you.  

Constanza:  But that doesn’t explain why you wound up in my stall!  

Blossom:  Well, and I don’t want you to take this wrong, Constanza, but I believe Light figured that you and I have some common traits, being female as one, and being more or less what I might describe as “unconventional” being another.  What do you think?  Do you think maybe I could bunk here with you until I earn a bed elsewhere in the arena?  I don’t have any belongings to take up space, and I’m not nearly as big as you, so I wouldn’t need much room.  I could even be useful, in fact.  What do you say? 

Constanza:  intrigued at the prospect of a little novelty in her otherwise regimented and somewhat boring life .  .  .  I suppose that would work, Blossom.  That is, if you will help me supervise the little girls when they serve at mealtimes and serve special refreshments—such as those we are serving tonight when J.P. comes.  Would you do it? 

Blossom:  Of course!  That would help me meet the others and begin my effort to find my way here at the arena.  But what would we tell people tonight when they see me?  Only Jeanie and Aurora would recognize me, and I have no idea as to what their reaction would be!  Or maybe they wouldn’t react.  They may be too ashamed to react.  What can we do to save Jeanie and Aurora from grief? 

Constanza:  Hmmmm . . .  I need to ponder this a bit.  I think we need to slow down.  Tonight may not be the best night to spring you upon everyone. Say, did you ever hear of the Trojan Horse?  Maybe I could enlist Cowboy’s help and build you a Trojan Horse, a way for you to not look like yourself and yet you could be there at the meeting tonight and listen in.  Big things are planned for tonight, a major shift in the power structure here at the arena.  Hmmmm . . .  Yes, I believe a Trojan Horse might be just the ticket.  After all, if the others see you for the part you truly are tonight, that might be a bit over the top for most parts.  What do you think of that plan? 

Blossom:  Do you really believe Cowboy will go along with your plan? 

Constanza:  If I know Cowboy, she won’t want anything to muck up her plans for tonight, and so she would probably be happy to build you a Trojan Horse.  And she could build you a large enough horse so that it could serve as a cozy little home for you.  We can park it right here in my stall at night, and if anyone asks about it, I can just say that I was so lonesome Cowboy built me a wooden companion.  And if I play my cards right, I bet I can talk Cowboy into painting the horse to look just like me!  What do you say to that??  Wow!  I believe I’m really getting into this!  A wooden Constanza!  I would really, really like that!  After all, with my looks, I believe I deserve to be duplicated.  Don’t you?  After all, how many mares have my lips and my eyelashes?  How many mares can flirt like I can?  How many mares . . .   

Blossom:  interrupts Constanza’s litany of her own assets .  .  .  Oh, yes, Constanza, I believe Cowboy will not only agree to build my Trojan Horse but will, with the help of all those strapping but not very bright Formerly Little Needy Ones, get it built toute de suite, as the French say.  Shall we ask Cowboy?  

Constanza:  My, my, I think maybe it would be best if you left this to me, Blossom.  I must approach Cowboy in a certain way to broach this to her.  Just leave this to me, okay? 

Blossom:  If you say so, Constanza.  But where should I go while you are discussing this with Cowboy?  

Constanza:  Well, I’d say my stall is a pretty good place to lay low.  Nobody stops by for fear that Cowboy will put them to work mucking out my stall.  So why not just hunker down under one of my old blankets over there by the hay bales and the muck bucket?  I know it doesn’t smell too great, but all the more reason to use it as a hiding place.  Would that work for you? 

Blossom:  I think I could tolerate that for a short time.  Oh, I just hope Cowboy agrees to build that horse!  

Constanza:  Leave it to me, Blossom.  So I’ll get you settled in over by the hay bale, and then I’ll take myself off to the stables to find Cowboy.  In the meantime, you can catch a few winks.  Constanza and Blossom head for the blanket by the hay bale, Blossom settles in for a needed nap, and Constanza leaves to find Cowboy.  .  .  . 

 

This excerpt marks the end of my Ego State Therapy dialogue thus far.  With the coming of sweet, little Blossom to the arena, I understand that I am, indeed, a complete woman just like all the women I have watched and wondered about.  My innate femininity and sexuality has been inside me all this time, but Blossom, my sexual innocence, had been waiting for the right time to make her presence known.  Now I recognize her and love her for the innocent creature she is.  My innocence was taken from me when I was a child and unable to protect myself–or I thought she was taken from me.  Furthermore, I actively blamed that sweet creature for my pain and shunned her.  No longer!  She is now a beloved and cherished ego state who dwells in peace in my arena.  She has chosen to continue living in Constanza’s stall despite its environmental flaws, and sweet little Blossom has become a friend to all and a beloved companion to Jeanie and Aurora.

*  *  * 

Lest you think that my ego state dialogue is finished, I can assure you that it is not finished.  I no longer write my dialogue, but when I am feeling disorganized or sad or distressed, I return to my pals at the arena, and we work together to resolve whatever matters are bothering me.  My dialogue continues in my mind.  This, then, is my way of doing Ego State Therapy.  Other people may do it differently.  But this form has worked for me to alleviate my PTSD symptoms and to help me get my life back. 

“When you feel that you have reached the end and that you cannot go one step further, when life seems to be drained of all purpose: What a wonderful opportunity o start all over again, to turn over a new page.”    Eileen Caddy, Scottish writer.

 

 

 

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