Today I decided to treat myself. On a cold January evening I wanted something warm, pretty, and some bread. The choice fell on an open pie with potatoes and mushrooms, sprinkled with herbs. And while I was “creating” it, different thoughts visited my wild little head, I remembered two stories of my clients that were very similar at first glance. Both women experienced terrible events, but the subtle details of the incident led to markedly different states for both women in the future. Both stories are about pies. In one of them, a girl of 7-8 years old begged her mother to teach her how to bake pies. Just as beautiful and rosy as in the illustration in the book. And my mother, as it happened, was the one who baked them. The training began, the mother was angry, swore, and in the end, she became so nervous that she forcefully pushed the girl away from the stove. But she couldn’t calculate her strength... the frying pan flew off the stove... unbearable pain burned the girl’s hand, stomach and face... Of course, then there was a fuss, the ambulance did not arrive quickly, during this time the girl was torn out and put in a corner, then the mother asked for forgiveness with tears... The burns healed after several weeks, but the burn on my soul from my mother’s rage has not healed to this day. And now the grown-up girl has become a mother of two children and a promising employee. But she never baked pies again, she was afraid of the return of physical and emotional pain and disappointment. In the second case, the girl also begged her mother to let the baby make pies with her. Mom wasn't nervous. She agreed and very kindly began to tell how and what. She patiently corrected the crooked, crooked works of her daughter’s hands... and then her mother, smiling tenderly, suggested: “Do you want me to draw you a horse?” The daughter had doubts, something bothered her, probably the inappropriateness of such a proposal in the situation of creating pies, but the girl agreed, because it’s not often that a mother is so kind. Then the mother put a horse stencil on the girl’s bare thigh... and poured hot oil on it. The horse made the girl squeal and roll on the kitchen floor, and the mother continued to calmly bake the pies, adding a little more oil to the pan. The girl grew up and became a woman, but she had neither children nor a husband. Sometimes she discovered things and objects that were unfamiliar to her, strangers occasionally greeted her, and if she got even a little out of balance, she could disappear without a trace for several hours, and she had no idea where they went or what was happening at that time . Although her loved ones hinted to her that time was not wasted, she simply did not remember it and behaved in these supposedly lost hours like a little girl, crying and rolling on the floor. Preferably on the kitchen floor. With this, she came to therapy in complete confusion. To summarize my short discussion about pies today, I want to show that in the first case, clearly cruel treatment of a child led to significant trauma; the woman, having matured, did not want to return these terrible experiences, so she avoided prepare pies for your family. In the second case, abuse is not the foundation, it is only a consequence of psychotic motherhood, a weak connection of the mother with the reality of our world. She did not try to hurt the child, she was not angry with her daughter. She simply lived in her reality, functioning according to the world in her head. And it didn't cause PTSD, it caused dissociative identity disorder (DID). This did not cause injury, it destroyed the personality with the absurdity of what was happening, the inability to fit it into the framework of at least some sanity. This is how one girl appeared, who then grew up and developed into the woman who turned to me, and the second girl, who remained that little girl who rolled around in pain and cried for many years in a row, every day, without a break. Your own personal, intimate hell in all its glory. From this it turns out that a significant part of my clients, as a psychoanalytic psychotherapist, really suffer from memory, like.