{"type":"rich","version":"1.0","provider_name":"Transistor","provider_url":"https://transistor.fm","author_name":"System Speak: Complex Trauma and Dissociative Disorders","title":"Guest: Valerie Sinason","html":"","width":"100%","height":180,"duration":3440,"description":"We talk with ISSTD clinician Valerie Sinason (UK) about \"infantacidal attachment\".The \"still face experiment\" video on YouTube is HERE.The poem we referenced, which we wrote in 2020:In the last week,I watched my 5 year-old daughter's butterflies be born.They came home with usfor quarantine,a gift of hope and peacewhile she herself is dying,while my children miss their friendsand watch their sister fade away.The caterpillars crawledin the grimeas they learned to spin,then hung themselvesfrom the top of the cup.I know the feeling.The metaphor did not escape me,this therapeutic processof freezewhere transformation is required -quarantinedin a glass househanging by a threadnothing the same as it was.Before the chrysalisthere was a shedding of skinI recognized as a shedding of me.For all I have learned the last four yearsabout integration,I thought the debate was betweenbrowniesand fruit salad,as if I would get to choose my last meal.But all of it was grime.So I pretended to grow wingswhile you locked me away.I wrapped myself in dissociationlike a cocoon of worlds inside.I never invited you in here.No one warned me how sticky it was.I watched their backbone start to formlike scalesthat fell awaylike therapytalking away.Therapy was taking away my dissociationwhile I fought to lock myself in it.If you have any heart at all,you want to reach outto reach into touchto help them free the hardened shell.But you cannot.Because that wriggling workis what makes them strongis what sets them freeis what makes meMe.And I knowhow cold and lonely it is in there,in here,where I am,where no one goesno one seesno one knows.You promise wings.You promise freedom.You promise flying free.But all I rememberis the grime.And all I knowis the crawling through filth.And all I seeis that I have hung myself herevulnerablyto be stared atand gawked atand not touchedwhile I am frozenand coldand hanging herenot who I wasand not yet free.You say no parts left behindor lostor abandoned.But I see my...","thumbnail_url":"https://img.transistorcdn.com/18uunvqcQKqDTQhH7HAhE6dNvg69qq_JE1UGLxYKn8Y/rs:fill:0:0:1/w:400/h:400/q:60/mb:500000/aHR0cHM6Ly9pbWct/dXBsb2FkLXByb2R1/Y3Rpb24udHJhbnNp/c3Rvci5mbS9zaG93/LzU4MC8xNTQzMjQx/NjAxLWFydHdvcmsu/anBn.webp","thumbnail_width":300,"thumbnail_height":300}