Post-election floating

Today I sat with patients

Who didn’t quite know what to say.

And neither did I,

It doesn’t feel good to be a guide without a map.

I looked for direction from a friend

Who gently offered, “what if you just floated together?”

And so we did although the water was cold,

We searched for things to feel buoyed by.

I listened today.

One person laid fresh flowers on their neighbors’ doorsteps,

Another brought silence pregnant with defeat.

Still another held fire in their eyes as they rattled off the places they’d be fighting in the next weeks.

I have my last client in an hour.

It might be another 50 minutes of floating.

And maybe that’s enough for right now,

When we live in a country that doesn’t know how to hold.

Music and Psychotherapy

Psychotherapy and music are not dissimilar,

Requiring a trained ear, improvisation, and disciplined pursuit.

Along with a deep knowing of dynamics,

Forte might not be appropriate there when the arrangement needs something soft.

And the dissonance,

The awful, interesting, uneasy dissonance.

Asking to be relieved, asking for harmony.

At times, the harmony comes and perhaps along with it, some deeper inhales.

It feels so wonderful to resolve.

Or, the chord hangs in the air,

Alive with tension, but alive nonetheless.

What’s its meaning and what do we do now?

I’m not sure, but let’s play it back.

Your music reminds me of

This sounds like

You often play in this key when

You’re still composing

What’s the next phrase?

The Blacksmith and the Gardener

How do you think about transformation? How do you react to the parts of yourself you don’t like or wish were different?

Like a blacksmith? Forging with fire with pressure with upsetting and bending. Change is deliberate and tough, put on your protective gear and get to work. Reshape the edges to make something good.

Like a gardener? Tending with water and light and attention to the soil. Growing is deliberate and gentle, you’ll need to be patient and nurturing. Respond with nourishment to help something become.

Sometimes circumstances require blacksmithing. We don’t have a choice but to be put through fire and attempt to craft something out of that. I think that soul work calls for more of the gardening. Maybe the thing we don’t like in ourselves isn’t meant to be hammered down. Maybe that part is asking to look at the root, “Ah! No wonder you’re not growing tall!” Or to wait for the right season that’s more conducive to growth. Or to be nourished in a more congruent way - more sun, less water. Maybe we need to deal with all the pests first.

Will I ever “graduate” from therapy?

A friend recently asked this question and it brought to mind a loud chorus of others I’ve heard ask the same. When is the therapeutic work done? Maybe there’s not a clean answer to this. Some mental health professionals contend, “it’s when the client has met their treatment goal” or “when the panic attacks that brought them to therapy reduces to just 1x a week”. Sometimes it’s when the voice of the therapist can be internalized as your own and you’re ready to move through pain with your own internal guide.

Maybe a more personal way to frame this question could be, Where are my schools? And what do I hope for in my celebratory graduation?

My own individual therapy has been, and will likely be through the course of my life, my school. Nature, music, beloved people, and books are also my schools. These schools are containing, they keep me intact, they help me learn about the world and my own inner landscape, they help me feel less alone, they inspire awe, they keep me “plugged into” life. Therapy is one of my most important learning endeavors though, and I’m likely the lifelong student who may only “graduate” when I can’t keep attending.

So I’ll likely never “graduate” from therapy. Because I’m the stubborn student that loves the campus too damn much. But I will continue to dip in and out of contact with my other schools - maybe then my graduation will mean I’m feeling sufficiently and emotionally nourished, I can recover if I’m burnt out, graduation might also allow me to enroll elsewhere.

If you don’t see a graduation from therapy in sight, or if you don’t want a graduation from therapy, that is okay, that is welcome. There is no need for shame there. This is your school and this is your balm. You might find that your goals shift with time. You might begin therapy focusing on the fires that needed immediate extinguishing. And then maybe therapy goals move toward something a little more complex and slow - like learning how to cultivate vitality or make meaning from hard things or confronting the daunting task of forgiveness. I hope your therapist doesn’t give out grades. If you’re feeling ready to graduate from therapy, that is also okay, that is welcome. I hope you still find time to learn and to heal.

On Self-Love

I rounded out the year with a lightbulb moment, one that maybe should be obvious for a psychologist. But we all have those things we know but don’t believe with conviction. I was thinking about love - the love I feel from the wonderful, beautiful people in my life. It’s nourishing and healing to be well-loved by others. And as much as I am mostly, sincerely myself with them - as much as you might be sincerely yourself with others - there’s still some parts tucked away. There are past versions of us they haven’t witnessed. There are old and sacred memories that can be smelled and heard and felt that can never be fully bottled up and conveyed as hard as one tries. So I’m loved - deeply and well - but not fully. Because how could we be FULLY known in the richness of our being human? But I know myself. The shadows, the tucked away parts, the self-states that have died, the texture of the memories that make me “me”. The deepest, most complete version of love might be offered through my own love. What if we turned inward, really softly, really fully and could acknowledge, embrace, and love all that we find?

Self-love can be a hefty, radical task. Especially when the voices of others along with the messages of exploitive systems have been internalized as our own “not good enough’s”.

You might start by writing about a memory that feels special to you. We’ll start describing the memory in first person: Why was it special? How did you feel its specialness? What did that memory look like, sound like, smell like? Now let’s zoom out a bit…there you are, looking on as an observer of yourself. What is good and lovely about that person? How does it feel to look at them (at you) in a state of gratitude/awe/joy?

Teaching the Story

A thing that working with people has taught me about people: even within those intimately familiar with the hold of depression, there is a plea to be heard and a commitment to be understood through story. Sometimes I give too much attention to the wrong part of the story with my clients. And in their own way, they’ll redirect me - “no, not that bit. Join me over here.” and they’ll guide me toward their truth. That feels so gracious to me - I don’t have to do therapy “perfectly” (I actually can’t). But if they feel - really feel from me - that I want to be fluent in their life story, maybe they’ll give me a second, third, and fourth try. They’ll be my teacher until finally we’re on the same page. There’s such inner strength, patience, and hopefulness in that kind of thing, isn’t there? “I’ll advocate for myself because it is crucial. And I’ll do the work for you to understand, so long as you’re committed to understanding.”

If you are a current or past client that has happened to find yourself here, thank you for your story, thank you for guiding me through.