Start

Over the years I’ve heard the phrase, “I don’t know what to talk about today” more times than I can count from clients. I usually begin a session by asking a form of “where would you like to go today” or “how can I support you?” And I’ve come to realize, I think I’m asking the wrong question. Usually, people have no clue how to answer that and it’s not their fault. My mentor and I were talking about how clients can utilize the therapy space and I realized the better question to begin a session with might be, “where are you today?” If we can start by identifying what’s happening in the now, we can begin to bring care around where we actually are.

So if you’re getting stuck in therapy, start with where you are. Even, and especially when, it’s “I don’t know what to talk about and that’s really f*cking frustrating for me!” Because maybe all we really need is for someone to be with us when we don’t know where the hell we are, what to do about it, or even what to talk about to make something ANYTHING feel minutely better. So when talking about stuff in therapy feels overwhelming, make things a little smaller by asking yourself, “where am I right now in this moment and what’s that feel like?” And bring that.

Exploring Resistance

“The Iron Giant” produced by Warner Bros and directed by Brad Bird

A few months ago, I went to my massage therapist for some much needed care. As she was working on me we both noticed that my left shoulder (and basically the whole left side of my body) was locked up and pretty frozen. I left the session with a new appreciation for how my body was responding to a fall I’d had earlier in the year; it was impressive the walls that my body had thrown up to protect me from any further damage.

I went back a few weeks later and the same thing happened. New awareness, new appreciation. But then on top of that I felt added frustration. It wasn’t changing. The locked muscles stayed in place no matter how much she pushed and prodded. I had mentally processed the fall, but my body was still experiencing the distress of it. My body felt so disconnected from my mind and no amount of coaxing during that 90 minute massage was moving it to actually relax. She (my body) was still doing her best to shield me from harm. I walked away feeling defeated.

I was reminded of this in a session with a couple recently. I ask them to notice the resistance. Where were they were feeling angry or scared? And what was underneath the demands for their partner to change or to do something (not that the request itself isn’t valid)? What needs or attachment wounds were not being tended to?

The image that came to mind for me when the massage therapist was working on my back was the Iron Giant from the 1999 kid’s movie, which I haven't thought of in forever. It’s amazing what our minds bring up when given the space. I could see the Iron Giant in my mind’s eye protectively curled up around the knot and the frozen sensation in my back trying to keep me safe. It wasn’t until I sat with that image (and then later a more gentle technique was used instead of deeper pressure) that the stuck muscles were able to shift.

When we’re faced with “resistance” (as a therapist this is a hard word for me, because it can be thrown around and used against people, but I firmly believe we are resistant to things because we’re scared or angry about being hurt and rightfully so) the trick is to be gentle with it. To bring curiosity to it instead of responding with things like, “well, you always do that” or “you shouldn’t feel that way” or “I NEVER do that!” As tempting as that is to do.

Curiosity and empathy are the way in. It’s not always possible. Often times we can get extremely dysregulated. But how we find our way back to ourselves and to each other feels like the work of deep and lasting relationships. It wasn’t until I offered my body as much curiosity and time as it needed to unwind itself, that it was able to know it was safe and unlock the muscles causing the frozen sensation. When you feel stuck, give it space, show curiosity, and offer it empathy. It will shift when it’s ready to.

On Healing

“Mirror” 2022 digital painting by Kate Creech

“Oh, I don’t take credit for anyone’s healing, I just give that right back when they try to compliment me,” my doctor said breezily when I tried to thank her for the work she had done with me. “It’s their hard work that has brought about healing.” Her words stuck with me for months and made me think even more deeply about the therapeutic dynamic between therapists and their clients. Since the beginning of psychotherapy (with its origins in psychoanalysis developed in part by Sigmund Freud), the system has been designed to put therapists on a pedestal of sorts. Therapists are the ones who are supposed to have the wisdom and the knowledge to heal their patients. The myth is, that given enough information from their patients they can diagnose and start to bring about the cure. The inherent and sometimes toxic power dynamic of therapy (especially given it’s extremely patriarchal and white beginnings) isn’t something that has nearly been explored or talked about enough. While much good has come from this profession, it’s also one that needs to continue to evolve.

Dr. Hillary McBride is a Vancouver based therapist and researcher who recently posted about the relationship between therapist and client on social media. She said, “there is a way of doing therapy, in which a person seeks care with another, but remains alone, resting in their cognition, isolated by the hierarchy that too often exists in the caring dynamic: the one who is sick, and the one who is perfect and will heal. This way of caring has the illusion of connection, but perpetuates the systems of disconnection that will only hurt us all more.” Therapists can hide behind theory, diagnosis, and what our school of therapy would tell us to say, but sometimes it’s not connective. It can actually be dehumanizing and dismissive.

I’ve been called a mental health professional (I sometimes feel like I need to look behind me to see who they are actually referring to, hello imposter syndrome) and while that’s true, if I hide behind that role too much it can dismiss the power that the client has over their own healing. As someone’s therapist I can have my thoughts, gut sense, and a graduate degree, but if that overrides where the client is wanting to go or continually steps on their own internal knowing, my words will ultimately not be therapeutic (*see footnote). For many people with a history of childhood abuse or domestic violence, this can actually be retraumatizing. 

As therapists, we need to keep giving the role and power in people’s healing back to them. Of course, it’s not to dismiss the gratitude the client might have, the role we’ve played, or the sweat and tears we’ve poured into the work we do, but it’s putting away the grandiose stance of the All Knowing Healer or a Superman/savior complex (perpetuated by some of the european fathers of psychoanalysis, I’m looking at you Freud). 

Dr. McBride goes on to say, “what makes a difference is a therapist who resists the idea of being the perfect instrument, who enters into the relationship with competence, but is ok with not knowing, does not need to fix or save another to prove they are good, while allowing themselves to be impacted by whomever they are with. This is the kind of therapy that I believe is transformational, nor just for the therapist, but also for the client: where the person receiving care can know and feel that what they are going through- their wounding, their strength, their resilience, their vulnerability- actually taught the ‘expert’ something.” 

I consistently want to ask myself where do my clients move me emotionally? How are they showing up right now? How can I bring that back into the space so we might become more curious about their own story. As humans we want to know that we impact people, that our stories matter and have weight. By being a learner (as well as continuing to explore my own privilege and power) in the therapy room and asking clients questions about how they have come to be who they are, it continues to place the responsibility of healing back into their hands. To many hearts who have experienced neglect (the experience of often receiving nothing— no response or attunement from an attachment figure), knowing that you can move someone to tears, empathetic anger, or laughter is sometimes the only work that needs to be done. 

As a therapist it’s also my job to put myself back in my proper place. Back into being just one of the people in my client’s healing community. Not their savior. Not their only source of wisdom or attunment. The individualistic ideology of healing and breaking our bodies into separate parts instead of looking at our spirit, emotions, and body in a holistic way is dangerous and isolating. The best way to heal is in community (** see footnote). With my clients one of the go-to questions I’ll ask is, “what does your friend group and community look like? Who can you call, because 55 minutes once a week is not enough time to hold space for the enormity of what you’re carrying. It never could be.” This is the same question I need to ask of myself and of my colleagues. 

The therapist sitting across from us, even with all their training and knowledge, is also a human who has probably experienced trauma and pain themselves. There is no one I’d rather explore the no man’s land of my story with than someone who is aware of their own brokenness and is walking that healing path with other wise ones. We are the experts on our own pain, sometimes we just need a witness to come alongside us as we make sense of it all. Therapy is a place where we can be reminded that while we can’t change how we have been harmed, we have a lot of power to bring healing to the wounded parts of ourselves, and we don’t have to do it alone. 

(*while also holding to the ethical and legal guidelines of my profession as a safety net for the work)

(** as therapists we also need to acknowledge the racist and patriarchal systems that make it difficult for our clients to actually thrive or access care in their communities and that some community offerings may actually be harmful to certain populations)

Winter Blues (or— my least favorite jazz song)

Lana Del Rey’s 2012 hit (yes, I’m throwing it way back) Summertime Sadness is echoing through my head as I write this. Outside the weather is dreary and there’s a gale force wind advisory. In the PNW, the turn from summer to fall and winter hits like a ton of bricks. I’m sure the change is more gradual than it seems, but it feels like all of a sudden one day I wake up and the grey sky and rain are smothering me.

For some, it’s an invitation to get cozy and a reminder that like nature, they are allowed to slow down and rest. For many people, it’s a abrupt shift and can lead to feelings of anxiety and seasonal depression. Every year I feel a little like I’m being dragged kicking and screaming from summer to fall. The sun is so precious in Seattle because it seems like it disappears for five to six months with the occasional surprise hello, so when it begins to hide behind the expansive grey, I can feel my body protesting the change. I’ve tried many things to ease the transition; buying cozy flannel shirts or sweatpants to wear, listening to an autumn inspired playlist, turning on my Himalayan salt lamp (don’t judge, it’s a part of many therapists’ self care tool boxes) when it gets dark earlier, but sometimes I can’t shake the dread.

I’m reminded of an old grad professor who would probably tell me that the turning of summer to autumn and winter is also an invitation to grieve. The shorter days and loss of light can drive us straight into the reminder of what we might be processing in our own lives. It’s much easier to push that aside when the sun is out.

When we encounter the deepening shadows at 3pm, I wonder how that could move us towards remembering the losses we feel deeply in our lives and offering ourselves comfort. Acknowledging, rather than tuning out. And this year, at the very least it might be invitation to remember and have some compassion for our bodies, which had to hold a lot of anxiety last year due to the pandemic and the changing of the seasons and the fear of what the winter might hold for us.

As always, be in touch with your mental health professional and physician and ask about what support might look like during the darker months of the year. Some other helpful tips on how to handle seasonal mood up’s and down’s can be found: here.