I’ve been pretty open about my recent near-mental descent – reminiscent of my disordered past. The first step in safeguarding my health was to shout it from the digital rooftops, and the next was to explore pathways to recovery that didn’t involve a 16 week wait for cognitive behavioural therapy. And just to be clear, I’ve had enough therapy to write a frickin’ manual. Even so, that doesn’t mean that my anxieties have evaporated into submission… sometimes we all need a little pick me up. Could hypnotherapy help? Although the studies into hypnotherapy as a treatment for eating disorders are few and far between, many of the therapeutic principles we do know to be effective for treating EDs are similar to those used in hypnotherapy. Meditation to calm the mind, repetition of positive affirmations about oneself and the adoption of alternative cognitions – all of the above are used widely in eating disorder treatment.
I resisted my innate desire to reject a therapy classed as ‘alternative’ and booked in for an appointment with hypnotherapist and author of The Anxiety Solution Chloe Brotheridge (below). There was less pendulum swinging than I expected, and a great deal more sudden foot cramp. Also I was terrified of farting. Here’s what went down.
THE BEFORE
Chloe (and her perfect cheekbones) greet me at the door of her East London hypnotherapy clinic. It’s pin-drop quiet and the walls are satisfyingly bare. It feels a little bit like counselling, if the therapist had stellar taste in indoor plants and took notes about your childhood torture on a shiny iPad. We start with some ‘background’. You know, the usual; why am I seeking help, what are my biggest struggles, inappropriate desires to sexually harass children,was I breastfed (I wasn’t) e.t.c e.t.c.
With no reason to report me to the authorities I am primed for the big show. Primed being the optimum word as, given my rudimentary knowledge of cognitive behavioural techniques, I’m pretty sure that some of the questions she asks are an early attempt to tilt my brain into positive thought patterns. We discuss (albeit briefly) the history of my eating disorder – what helped in treatment, what didn’t. We mull over possible causes; dead dad, shit school, anxious disposition. Then we land on what I desire from the session – a break in my habit of automatic self-restriction, and Chloe invites me to ‘move over to the couch’. A question I haven’t been asked since a friends 2011 New Years party when someone got fingered on a bean bag (not me).
THE DURING
I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the spongy sofa, trying my best to erase every hint of cynicism from my wondering mind. ‘Take a moment to relax,’ Chloe instructs, ‘and then I’ll start. Just listen to my words as best you can, but don’t worry if they go over your head.’ Where did she get ‘the words?’ Did she google forensically prior to my appointment and forge a speech designed to attack my psyche? Has she spent hours on my Facebook profile? Did she see my Zante ‘09 album and judge me for engaging in compromising sexual positions with a blow up doll who we lovingly named Andre?! Ohshuttupbrain.
‘Concentrate on your breath. Drawing it in through your nose and feeling the navel expand. And out through your mouth.’ Well she definitely didn’t get that from my Facebook profile. Way less scary/psychobabble than I imagined. As I focus on the mindfulness task at hand, I feel my body evaporate into the fabric of the sofa and my eyes become softer, blinking less frequent.
‘Just move down your body, concentrating of each part and relieving the muscles of tension’. I’ve always found this bit tricky on Headspace. Usually because tensing and flexing will almost always bring on a boat of foot cramp. And yep…there it is. Stretching within an inch of my life to avoid kicking my hypnotist in the face, I’m somewhat distracted from the chill time that I’m supposed to be forcing/not forcing.
A minute post-cramp and I’ve almost settled back down to zen again, with the help of Chloe’s voice becoming increasingly slurry – her syllables stretched out far longer than Shakespeare would be comfortable with. But then, on the epic pronunciation of the word ‘listening’ (I swear to god it went on for 3 minutes) I start to giggle. Oh no. STOPITEVE. I lambasted myself for reverting back to my old, ridiculing ways. ‘If I’m not going to take this seriously, it’s never going to work’ I remind my uncooperative brain.
Chloe continues repeating the phrases over and over, although after a while I stop noticing that I’ve heard the words before. In fact, I stop noticing anything. My eyes are boulders to be wrestled, my legs totally redundant. I’m in a drowsy state of subconscious awareness, and although the next logical step for my relaxed mind would be to fall asleep, my brain is intent on keeping me awake. I’m only just conscious enough to hear and process Chloe’s words: ‘know that no matter what happens, you are strong and you will be okay.’
Gradually, Chloe instructs me to ‘wake up’ each muscle group – starting with a wiggle of my toes. When I finally reach my eyes, not gonna lie; I am a little bit gutted. Sleepytown has flung me out onto the streets, barefoot, leaving me flailing about like a drunken housewife in a nightie. Chloe and I chat about the ‘experience’ and a few minutes in, I feel much less like a skunk addict. ‘How long were you under do you think?’ Chloe asks. ‘Er, about 10 minutes,’ I say. ‘It was actually 25 minutes.’ WOAH. This stuff is heavy.
THE AFTER
On my walk back to the station, every inch of my body tries to deny any effect whatsoever. But I can’t. It’s undeniable. There’s a definite decrease in the panicked jitters that make my heart smack against my breast bone. It’s a quiet sense of calm; an undercurrent of ‘everything will be alright’. I think about the trajectory of my eating disorder, the prospect of gaining more weight – which i know is still sometimes scary. I feel apathetic towards the entire situation, a non-feeling that I’ve never experienced before. The calmness continues throughout my day at work- I find myself paying more attention to my breath and bodily sensations. The 24 hour delivery of an 800 word feature is notably less stressful, I’m propped up by a newfound confidence in my ability to get it done…no matter what.
I ride on the waves of hypnosis for about 24 hours until, enevitably, the calmness peters off and is replaced by a familiar knot in my stomach come deadline day. Having said that, the knot is definitely looser than usual, and if ever it tightens, I take note of the rhythm of my breath as distraction. The habit has seeped into my psyche – something that hours of mindfulness never quite managed to achieve.
The quiet undercurrent of reassurance hasn’t disappeared. It’s yet another tool in the old therapy box of tricks ready and waiting to bring me back to centre when my brain is darting all over the shop. I’m yet to book a follow up appointment with Chloe; she says the benefits are more pronounced if you have multiple sessions. Unfortunately my current budget doesn’t lend itself well to funds for alternative therapies. Whilst I await my riches, Chloe has supplied me with a recording of my hypnotherapy session to use at my leisure. I’ve yet to crack it out (saving it for birthdays and barmitzvahs) but I’m very much looking forward to the appropriate moment of emotional turmoil. I may remain cynical, but my lifetime of over-zealous heartbeats has left me open to pretty much anything that may provide relief. Whatever works, right?