Snaga u ranjivosti: Zašto je terapija neophodna za novinare

Autorka: Verica Marinčić

Začudio me je pristup, da li delujem kao neko ko bi zamerio ponudu pomoći, koja mi je bila potrebna, a nisam imala novca da to priuštim. Prihvatila sam oberučke, zahvalna što neko brine i vidi da je krajnje vreme sačuvati čoveka.

Kasnije, kroz psihoterapije, saznala sam zašto je tako formulisano pitanje. Ljudi se stide i ne prihvataju činjenicu da problem postoji i tako potisnut preti da uruši psihičko zdravlje ili opšte stanje.

Saznala sam i da sam pomalo posebna i spremna na saradnju, što me je opet zateklo, mislila sam da je normalno da akumulirana stanja podeliš sa nekim ko ti može pomoći. Međutim, opet sam pogrešno procenila, nisu svi spremni da otvore svoje najzatrpanije teške trenutke i podele sa „neznancem“.

Verujem da je teško napraviti prvi korak ka poverenju. Nakon toga je sve puno lakše, meni bar.

Kako je došlo do toga da mi pomoć ponude?

Nakon niza godina trpnog stanja, u vidu diskriminacije, targetiranja, uvreda, pretnji, napada i na kraju, kao kulminacija – fizičkog izbacivanja iz zgrade Opštine Inđija, moj nervni sistem je poklekao. Nakupilo se tu strahova, besa i nemoći, ali najviše agresije koju sam sve teže obuzdavala.

Novinarstvo jeste stresan posao, kažu da novinari najkraće žive, ali taj životni vek i ako potraje, on je poslednjih godina u Srbiji izgubio na kvalitetu.

Za vreme svih, nazvaću ih, neprijatnosti koje sam doživljavala prilikom obavljanja svog posla, tešila me je činjenica da nisam jedina. U svojoj glavi, posložila sam redoslede dešavnja i na svaki moj problem „zakačila“ sam i problem svojih kolega, koji su doživljavali slične ili gore situacije. Tako sam se tešila i strahovala.

U stanjima oduzetosti od straha za svoju i bezbednost svojih bližnjih, provela sam nebrojano neprospavanih noći, osluškujući da li se neko kreće oko moje kuće.

Potresalo me je svako zvono telefona, iznenadni zvuk, mejl. Nesavladive strahove sam osećala kada bi trebalo da krenem do prodavnice, da se pojavim u gomili ljudi, da uđem u prostorije na kojima se održavaju događaji.

Taj večiti grč u kom sam bila doveo je do toga da mi se od bola oduzimaju ekstremiteti, da ne mogu da hodam ili se sagnem. Svaki stres se odražavao potpunim otkazivanjem nogu. Nepodnošljive glavobolje, koje su trajale danima i bacale me u krevet, doživljavala sam kao još jednu pojavu koju sam prihvatala kao normalnu.

Sve to i još mnogo gore, prevazilazila sam sama, terajući se da funkcionišem, kad god bih poklekla, bukvalno sam mazohistički postupala prema sebi. Moraš!

I jesam.

Dešavalo mi se da pratim svog oca dok šeta, jer sam se bojala da mu neko ne naudi zbog mene. Doživljavala bih napade panike kada mi se ne bi javio na telefon, animirala ljude da vire kroz prozor moje dnevne sobe, da vide je li sve u redu kod kuće dok ja radim.

Često se dešavalo da imam napade kašlja koji se ne mogu zaustaviti zbog stresa, krvarenje iz nosa, apsolutnu obamrlost, strah da ustanem u kafiću i sama odem do toaleta. Na kraju je došlo do toga da se bojim da otvorim poštansko sanduče jer ne znam da li me tamo čeka neka tužba.

Osećala sam konstantan umor i iscrpljenost jer sam svu snagu životnu usmerila na to da idem podignute glave i da delujem hrabro, da okolina ne vidi.

Na mojim dlanovima često su se mogle videti duboko urezane brazde, gotovo rane od noktiju koje sam zarivala u sopstveno meso, stiskajući pesnice u pojedinim situacijama.

Postojao je konstantni osećaj da me neko čvrsto drži za gušu dok mi sedi na grudima, kao teret. Pričala sam o tome sa prijateljima, ali malo, sumnjala sam i u to da neko od njih to ne zloupotrebi, da ne proširi dalje koliko sam slaba i slomljena. Od straha sam terala napred, znala sam da povratka nema, a i da ga je bilo, ono malo „stare Verice“ ne bi dalo nazad.

Borila sam se sa svojim raciom i strahovima koji nisu bili iracionalni. ali su meni bili strani, usađeni. Znala sam da zavirujem po baštici u dvorištu i oko kuće, jer mi je jednom prilikom skrenuta pažnja da lako može da mi se desi da mi nešto zakopaju i nameste situaciju da sam ja radila na preprodaji droge.

Zamislite samo šta je tu mogućnosti bilo i na šta sam sve svakodnevno obraćala pažnju.

Dešavalo se da me fotografišu i moju fotografiju objave uz niz uvreda i neistina, razvlačili po mrežama, na zvaničnim stranicama institucija. Mnome su se bavili i određeni poslanici. Konstantan pritisak i strah, kao i nepravda, izrodili su unutar mog bića još jedno biće. Agresivno, željno osvete, obračuna, jednu osobu koja nikad nisam bila, ali je ta strana koje ličnosti počela da preovladava.

Onda sam vodila dve borbe unutar sebe, borbu da niko ne vidi koliko sam ranjiva i borbu da savladam agresivca koji se hrani i strahom i nepravdom.

U svemu tome, sistem maltretiranja se pojačavao sa svih strana, govorila sam o tome, mislila sam pomoći će mi, da ljudi čuju šta su načini i šta su mogućnosti za prevazilaženje.

Kratkog daha je sve to, posle nekoliko dana sve se vraćalo na staro, pa i gore, dok me nije zadesilo fizičko izbacivanje naočigled brojnih svedoka.

Ne znam šta me je sačuvalo da agresivac u meni ne odreaguje na moju štetu. Ne znam kako nisam vratila agresijom na agresiju, ne sećam se tačno kako sam otišla sa mesta „zločina“. Posmatrala sam situaciju van mog tela, izopštila sam se mentalno, tačnije gledala sam na sebe kao slučajni prolaznik.

Posle tog događaja, vraćam se na početak priče, javio se Veran Matić sa ponudom, tako pažljivo izrečenom.

Prihvatila sam, jer sam želela da prestane sva patnja i da mi konačno neko pomogne da sagledam situaciju ko sam i kako dalje.

Procedura za odabir psihoterapeuta je takva da dobijete nekoliko radnih biografija, sa fotografijama, te na osnovu toga treba izabrati ko vam odgovara. I to me je začudilo, čuj, ko mi odgovara.

Listala sam tako te biografije, čitala brojne detalje o školovanju, licencama, obukama, projektima… i shvatila da na osnovu toga stvarno ne mogu odlučiti. Svi do jednoga su imali toliki nivo iskustva i usavršavanja za koje ja nisam ni čula. Onda sam kao guglala, bezveze, šta čovek može izguglati o psihoterapeutu, a da mu znači u odluci.

A u kakvu muku me staviše, pomislila sam, što imam mogućnost izbora daj nekog koga god. Neka drugi odluči umesto mene, ja ću prihvatiti.

Međutim ne, odluka mora biti vaša, neko mora da se izdvoji, nešto mora da „klikne“.

Listala sam tako, opet, te biografije i naiđem na tako mio lik žene, lepih crta lica, sa blagim osmehom i nekom kuždravom „divljom“ frizurom i ispod biografija. Videla sam da je mojih godina, da je to osoba sa kojom bih, da se slučajno sretnemo, sigurno popila kafu jer deluje nekako smireno.

Ajde ona, eto nju ću.

Brzo smo se dogovorile kada da se „vidimo“ i šta treba da znam na samom početku. Pošto sam se odlučila za onlajn varijantu, rekla mi je da ambijent treba da bude onaj koji meni prija, gde mogu otvoreno da se ponašam i pričam. Da razgovor ne možemo voditi sa ulice, kafića, kancelarije ili bilo koje lokacije gde ima ljudi. Da su sve moje informacije koje podelim sa njom zaštićene, da ako se ikada sretnemo na ulici, nisam u obavezi da se javim, osim ako ne poželim i tek tada će ona uzvratiti.

Videle smo se te prve subote, i u kratkom predstavljanju smo, ne znam kako, skliznule na „moj problem koji me dovodi do nje“. Pričala sam, plakala a plakala je i ona. Izgledalo mi je kao da je moj odraz u ogledalu, nije me osuđivala, nije mi spočitavala, nije mi nametala – samo je slušala.

I tako ceo sat. Nisam je ništa pitala, samo sam na njen znak krenula sav otrov iz duše da izbacujem.

Rekla je da će se javiti za idući susret, da to ostaje subota jer meni najviše odgovara. Pokazala mi je određene vežbe kako bih prevazišla te napade panike koji su znali da me pogode iznenada, bez obzira na mesto na kom se nalazim.

Sledeći put smo proširivale temu, ona je postavljala pitanja, ne u vezi konkretno posla i situacije koja me je njoj dovela, nego nekako ceo moj život. Porodica, školovanje, emocije, prijatelji i socijalni život. Bilo je tu smeha i suza i besa i svega u čemu je ona učestvovala, kao da se dešava njoj. Onda sam shvatila da njena reakcija na ono što kažem nije različita od onoga kako sam i sama reagovala. Dakle, iz perspektive posmatrača, dobro sam procenila situacije i na njih reagovala pravilno. Bilo je i onih detalja gde je na pogrešan doživljaj uticao splet okolnosti, te su i odluke bile pogrešne. Pomogla mi je da shvatim gde sam grešila, a da me, pri tom, nije osuđivala.

Svaki susret je na samom početku opušten, pitanja o porodici, o nedelji iza mene, o tome kako se osećam i da li sam rešila situacije o kojima smo prethodno razgovarale. Svakog puta sam se sve više radovala danu kad treba da se ispričamo.

Uporedo sa tim, ljudi iz moje okoline su konstatovali da sam se vratila na staro, da sam opuštena, da „nekako sijam“ i da zračim smirenošću. Nisam to videla kod sebe, nisam primetila da ostavljam drugi utisak kod drugih, ali sam shvatila da sav onaj moj trud da prikrijem strah, u stvari, nije uspevao. Videla je okolina, ali su ćutali.

I stvarno, sve što je psihoterapija učinila za mene nije agresivna promena, ne zahteva mnogo truda u smislu rada na sebi. Zahteva da učestvuješ, budeš iskren i veruješ drugoj strani. Prepustila sam se i uspelo je, nastavljam jer nije kraj. Ne može se sa par meseci popraviti ono što je godinama uništavano. Ali, ja sam pristala da mi pomogne, ja želim da budem dobro i verujem onom ko zna kako to da ostvarim.

Moram da kažem i da sam zatečena činjenicom da kolege novinari odbijaju tu vrstu pomoći jer smatraju da problem nemaju. Imaju ga i te kako, samo nisu dovoljno smeli da priznaju.

Pitala me je jednom prilikom kako sam i zašto odabrala nju, a kada sam joj rekla da mi se dopala njena slika, podelila je sa mnom da deca obično isto tako biraju, na osnovu fotografije. Deca koja su imala mogućnost da sama biraju sa kim će da sarađuju, kažu joj da su je birala po slici, ne po biografiji. Rekla sam joj da sam iz istog razloga i ja odlučila da ona bude moj lekar za dušu.

I na kraju, onaj agresivac koji se nastanio u moje biće je sve tiši, ne osetim ga, i ljudi ga više ne vide kroz moje postupke. Uspele smo da ga oslabimo, a mene ojačamo.

Strength in vulnerability: Why therapy is essential for journalists

Author: Verica Marinčić

I was amazed at the way in which I was offered help in the form of psychotherapy. “Don’t get me wrong, but do you want to use the possibility of free psychotherapy?” asked Veran Matić.

I was amazed at the approach, did I seem like someone who would resent the offer of help, which I needed and didn’t have money to afford? I accepted the offer, grateful that someone cares and sees that it is high time to save myself.

Later, through psychotherapies, I found out why the question was formulated that way. People are ashamed and do not accept the fact that the problem exists and thus suppressed threatens to collapse the psychological health or general condition.

I also found out that I’m a bit special and ready to cooperate, which caught me off guard again, I thought it was normal to share accumulated hardships with someone who can help you. However, I misjudged again, not everyone is ready to open up their most buried difficult moments and share them with a “stranger”.

I believe that taking the first step towards trust is difficult. After that, everything is much easier, at least for me.

How did they come up with the idea to offer me help?

After a number of years of suffering, in the form of discrimination, targeting, insults, threats, attacks and finally, as a culmination – physical expulsion from the building of the Municipality of Indjija, my nervous system gave way. Fears, anger and helplessness accumulated there, but most of all aggression, which I found increasingly difficult to control.

Journalism is a stressful job, they say that journalists live the shortest, but that lifespan, even if it lasts, has lost its quality in recent years in Serbia.

During all, I will call them, inconveniences that I experienced while doing my job, I was comforted by the fact that I was not the only one. In my head, I arranged the sequence of events and to each of my problems I “attached” the problem of my colleagues, who were experiencing similar or worse situations. I was so comforted and afraid.

I spent countless sleepless nights in states of fear for my own safety and the safety of my loved ones, listening to see if anyone was moving around my house.

Every phone ring, sudden sound, email shook me. I felt insurmountable fears when I should go to the store, to appear in a crowd of people, to enter the premises where events are held.

That eternal spasm that I was in led to the fact that my limbs were being paralyzed from the pain, that I could not walk or bend over. Any stress was reflected in the complete failure of the use of my legs. I experienced unbearable headaches, which lasted for days and threw me to bed, as another phenomenon that I accepted as normal.

All that and much worse, I overcame alone, forcing myself to function, whenever I gave in, I literally treated myself masochistically. You have to!

And I did.

I used to follow my father when he was taking a walk, because I was afraid that someone would harm him because of me. I would have panic attacks when he wouldn’t answer my phone, asking people to peek through my living room window to see if everything was okay at home while I was at work.

It often happened that I had unstoppable coughing fits due to stress, nosebleeds, absolute numbness, fear of getting up in a coffee shop and going to the bathroom alone. Eventually it got to the point where I was afraid to open the mailbox because I didn’t know if there’s a lawsuit waiting for me there.

I felt constant tiredness and exhaustion because I focused all my vital energy on walking with my head held high and acting bravely, so that the surroundings could not notice a thing.

On my palms, you could often see deeply incised furrows, almost wounds from nails that I dug into my own flesh, clenching my fists in certain situations.

There was a constant feeling that someone was holding me tightly by the throat while sitting on my chest, like a burden. I talked about it with my friends, but a little, I also doubted that one of them would abuse it, spread the word about how weak and broken I am. I pushed forward out of fear, I knew there was no way back, and even if there was, that little “old Verica” ​​wouldn’t give back.

I struggled with my anger and fears that were not irrational. However, they were foreign to me, ingrained. I knew to look around the garden in the yard and around the house, because on one occasion it was brought to my attention that it could easily happen that they bury something there and set up a situation that I was working on drug trafficking.

Just imagine what possibilities there were and what I paid attention to every day.

It happened that I was photographed and my photo was published along with a series of insults and untruths, spread across the networks, on the official pages of institutions. Certain MPs also dealt with me. Constant pressure and fear, as well as injustice, gave birth to another being within my being. Aggressive, eager for revenge, a person I never was, but that side of my personality began to prevail.

Then I fought two battles within myself, the fight so that no one could see how vulnerable I am and the fight to overcome an aggressive person who feeds on both fear and injustice.

In all of this, the bullying system was getting stronger from all sides, I talked about it, I thought it would help me, for people to hear what are the ways and what are the possibilities to overcome it.

It all happened in a short breath, after a few days everything went back to the way it was, and even worse, until I was physically expelled in front of numerous witnesses.

I don’t know what saved me so that the aggressive person in me didn’t react to my harm. I don’t know how I didn’t responded to the aggression with aggression, I don’t remember exactly how I left the scene of the “crime”. I observed the situation outside of my body, I ostracized myself mentally, more precisely I looked at myself as a bystander.

After that event, I’m going back to the beginning of the story, Veran Matić called with an offer, so carefully worded.

I accepted, because I wanted all the suffering to end and for someone to finally help me see the situation, who I am and how to proceed.

The procedure for selecting a psychotherapist is such that you receive several work biographies, with photos, and based on that, you should choose who suits you. And that surprised me, I mean, whom I find most suitable…

I looked through those biographies, read numerous details about education, licenses, trainings, projects… and realized that I really can’t make a decision based on that. All but one of them had such a level of experience and training that I had never even heard of. Then I googled them, for no reason, what a person can google about a psychotherapist, and what it means to him in decision making?

And what kind of trouble are you putting me in, I thought, since I have the option of choosing, give me anyone. Let someone else decide for me, I will accept.

But no, the decision has to be yours, someone has to stand out, something has to “click”.

I was scrolling through those biographies, again, and I came across such a cute figure of a woman, with beautiful features, with a gentle smile and a curly “wild” hairdo, and under the biographies I saw that she was my age, that she was a person with whom, if we happened to meet, I would certainly drink coffee with because she seems somehow calm.

So, that’s it, I’ll take her.

We quickly agreed when to “see each other” and what I should know at the very beginning. Since I decided on the online option, she told me that the environment should be one that pleases me, some place where I can behave and talk openly. That we cannot have a conversation from the street, cafe, office or any location where there are people. That all my information that I share with her is confidential, that if we ever meet on the street, I don’t have to greet her unless I want to and only then will she respond.

We saw each other that first Saturday, and in a short introduction, I don’t know how, we slipped into “my problem that brings me to her”. I talked, cried and she cried too. It looked like my reflection in the mirror, she didn’t judge me, she didn’t scold me, she didn’t impose on me – she just listened.

And she did so for the whole hour. I didn’t ask her anything, I just started to expel all the poison from my soul at her signal.

She said that she would contact me for the next meeting, that Saturday would be the best time for me. She showed me certain exercises to overcome those panic attacks that used to hit me suddenly, no matter where I was.

The next time we expanded the topic, she asked questions, not specifically about work and the situation that brought me to her, but somehow my whole life. Family, education, emotions, friends and social life. There was laughter and tears and anger and everything that she participated in, as if it were happening to her. Then I realized that her reaction to what I said was no different from how I reacted. So, from an observer’s perspective, I assessed situations well and reacted to them correctly. There were also those details where the wrong experience was influenced by a set of circumstances, and the decisions were also wrong. She helped me understand where I was wrong, without judging me.

Every meeting is relaxed at the very beginning, questions about the family, about the week behind me, about how I feel and whether I have resolved the situations we discussed previously. Each time I looked forward more and more to the day when we got appointment.

At the same time, the people around me noted that I am back to my old self, that I am relaxed, that I “somehow shine” and that I radiate calmness. I didn’t see it in myself, I didn’t notice that I was leaving a different impression on others, but I realized that all my efforts to hide my fear were, in fact, unsuccessful. The people around me saw it, but they kept silent.

And really, all that psychotherapy has done for me is not an aggressive change, it doesn’t require much effort in terms of working on myself. It requires you to participate, be honest and trust the other side. I gave in and it worked, I keep going because it’s not the end. What has been destroyed for years cannot be repaired in a few months. But I agreed to help me, I want to be well and I trust the one who knows how to make it happen.

I have to say that I am surprised by the fact that my fellow journalists refuse this kind of help because they think they don’t have a problem. They have it as well, they just haven’t been brave enough to admit it.

She asked me once how and why I chose her, and when I told her that I liked her picture, she shared with me that children usually choose the same way, based on the photo. The children, who had the opportunity to choose who they would work with, tell her that they chose her based on her picture, not her biography. I told her that for the same reason I decided to have her as my soul doctor.

And in the end, the aggressor that settled in my being is quieter and quieter, I don’t feel it, and people no longer see it through my actions. We managed to weaken him and strengthen me.