Yesterday felt like a bit of an off day for me. Maybe it's this creepy, blustery, pre-Halloween weather. It could also be the fact that you can only study so many depressive mood disorders without analyzing the way that those very same symptoms are so often manifest (albeit to a significantly lesser degree) in your own life. Low self esteem, excessive guilt (I was raised Catholic, I can't always help it), feelings of worthlessness, fatigue, depressed mood, restlessness...from time to time I experience all of these things. Yesterday I had limited patience with my classmates, with the other drivers on the road, and with myself. I said things I probably shouldn't have, and gave my roommate a hard time about something that really didn't have much to do with me. It's days like this that just make me feel like if I'm not careful and intentional about how I do life, I can be someone I'm less than proud of. It's also days like this that I feel like writing. I get frustrated with my short fuse (enter excessive guilt) and find myself needing to sit down at the computer and sort things out.
We all have off days, off weeks, off seasons. But for me, right now, I am fully aware that a lot of the heaviness weighing on my heart is a direct result of what I am filling my mind with. It seems in my experience and in that of other students around me, that significant mind games are temporarily to come part and parcel with working so closely with the information contained in this quarter's course load. As students who are training to be therapists, my classmates and I are sponges for this knowledge. We spend hours and hours each day reading and talking about all of the painful and scary and confusing things that can happen in us, fragile human creatures that we are. We watch vignettes and videos and do role plays, we read case studies, and write papers about our own experience. And as we seek to analyze, familiarize ourselves with the symptoms and diagnoses in the DSM and the patterns and theories of psychology available to us, we are bound to get caught up from time to time in the weight of some of these issues. We question our own sanity, our own interpersonal relationships and dynamics. We take into consideration our own communication styles, strengths and weaknesses, fears and defense mechanisms and families of origin. In the long run, we hope that this will make us better therapists; but in the present, it makes for a bit of a messy process.
Today, I think, I am feeling myself buckling under the weight of some of this stuff. We watched a hard video in class that got my mind reeling about how painful life can sometimes be and the high calling of being a good therapist. We will be repeatedly invited into the innermost parts of our client's lives. They will share with us and often trust us to hold onto their burdens and fears and secrets and hurts. They will look to us for answers, for healing, for a kind and listening ear. Sometimes we will be scared out of our minds, or feel totally helpless and inadequate. But there will be other times, too. Times when we know that we have helped someone to feel validated and understood. There will be those "aha!" moments when the client comes to terms with something they are working through, makes a major breakthrough or achievement, or experiences empathy and love that they have been craving and searching for within the walls of our offices. We will be used, if we are willing to be obedient. I'm terrified, yet honored, that it will be my job to sit, without judgement, and offer support and love to someone else who is scared or hurting, lost, confused, and everything in between. On some days, I know, it will be a challenge; but on others, I think, it will be such a great joy.
So it is in this time that we are graduate students, juggling as much as we can possibly handle, that we are also encouraged by our professors and advisors to learn about self care. They stress to us the importance in this field that we have chosen of being intune with our own needs. Of course, I think that everyone in every field ought to be aware of their own limits and boundaries and have an artillery of tools that they employ to keep themselves healthy. But I do love that in the mental health field "self care" is built into our training and job description if we are to do what we seek to do, well. There is an ebb and flow in this learning season as I work hard to seek ownership of this knowledge, this vocation, this life. Sometimes I am great at self care, better than most, I'd hazard to guess. But other times, the most I can do is make a box of macaroni and cheese and zone out to whatever has shown up in the mail that week from Netflix. So it goes. I am learning so much right now. But I'd be lying if, on days like today, I didn't acknowledge that this graduate school journey feels equal parts scary and overwhelming and lonely as it is thrilling and wonderful - but I am truly, deeply, grateful when it comes down to it, that I am being forced to come to terms with those very real things too.
10.28.2009
10.21.2009
Striking a Balance
It's true. I didn't even come close to following through on my commitment to being a dedicated blogger. The funny thing is, I don't even feel like a quitter. Or a slacker. I made the promise to myself, for a good reason, and then chose daily not to follow through. On one hand, I think I'm just distracted. My thoughts have been consumed with things I just didn't feel much like writing about. Mostly with the DSM-IV - how to make a multi-axial diagnosis, what the five axes are, what the different decision trees are and then the disorders themselves, paired with case studies and charts. Phew. This will eventually get easier, but laying the groundwork for this knowledge has been hard work. Scientific learning and rote memorization don't come as naturally to me as theories of communication and interpersonal dynamics. I think I learn best in stories and there is less imagination involved in memorizing lists. But I am fascinated by this stuff and committed to learning it because I want to be a good, wise, well-rounded and educated therapist. So I've been consumed with creating notecards and pneumonic devices and with staring at lists and charts in hopes that the information is being seared onto my visual memory. It's hard to sit down for some creative writing when my brain is repeating over and over the difference between agnosia, aphasia, apraxia...
I digress. So yes, reading the DSM-IV for my psychopathology class takes a big chunk of my time these days. But it's also the daily stuff of life that is being squeezed in. It's the business of work and my landlord and my professor from a summer class who gave me an "F" in the course for 30 pages of "missing" papers which turned out to have been in his inbox the entire summer. There's been a baby shower to host (yes, turns out I am that old), exercise to squeeze in, friends to catch up with and listen to and pray for. I've got Bible studies to finish, holiday travel plans to get nailed down, laundry to sort and wash and fold, and feelings to wrestle with and analyze, over-analyze, and apparently become swept up in and paralyzed by.
So it seems I'm only doing okay in life at the moment. I sometimes feel a little bit confused, a little bit lonely, left behind and tired in this stage of life. I feel like I am waiting, waiting, always waiting. Waiting too long, waiting not long enough. But also in many ways it seems I am racing the clock. Things are changing too fast and not fast enough and I'm struggling to discern when I should bend, when I should act, when I should hold back, and when I should let go.
I'm trying to lean in to God, to invite and welcome His spirit to move into the deepest parts of the way I have gotten used to doing life. I'm trying to break old habits and solidify some new ones. I'm figuring out what it means and looks like to know myself more fully and to love and care for the good and not-so-good parts of the imperfect woman that I was created to be. Mostly, it seems, I'm spending a lot of my energy working out what it looks like to soften my grip on my own life and to let it rest in the palm of God's hand. My ability to just be, faithfully, patiently, is changing as I get older and am tempted to cling to the things I can control and run scared from the things I'm afraid I can't.
Independence is sometimes just plain lonely when you are in your mid-twenties, but sometimes it's exciting, energizing, thrilling even. It's a process to be celebrated, for sure, this business of growing up. There are so many moments that are so full of joy, full of healing, full of good lessons, good food and good friends - just plain full. They strike a balance with those other, harder things. So much of the lessons to be learned are the good kind of hard; like budgeting, humility, forgiveness, discernment, open communication, broken hearts, and accepting the fact that I am not always right.
So I'm working on striking a balance right now. A balance between allowing myself to be caught up in some of this stuff even when it gets hard because I know that it is good, and letting go of some of the things that are weighing me down and getting in the way of my ability to just be. It's tough, and I'm a worrier and an analyzer and, as Emily points out, a verbal processor. But I think I'm getting closer in my effort to strike a balance, even if it feels scary. Here's to hoping that I can find the patience, the endurance, the courage and the humility to continue asking and being asked the hard questions; and the willingness and diligence to commit the things weighing heavily on my heart and mind to the God who already knows about them and is working them all out in His perfect timing.
I digress. So yes, reading the DSM-IV for my psychopathology class takes a big chunk of my time these days. But it's also the daily stuff of life that is being squeezed in. It's the business of work and my landlord and my professor from a summer class who gave me an "F" in the course for 30 pages of "missing" papers which turned out to have been in his inbox the entire summer. There's been a baby shower to host (yes, turns out I am that old), exercise to squeeze in, friends to catch up with and listen to and pray for. I've got Bible studies to finish, holiday travel plans to get nailed down, laundry to sort and wash and fold, and feelings to wrestle with and analyze, over-analyze, and apparently become swept up in and paralyzed by.
So it seems I'm only doing okay in life at the moment. I sometimes feel a little bit confused, a little bit lonely, left behind and tired in this stage of life. I feel like I am waiting, waiting, always waiting. Waiting too long, waiting not long enough. But also in many ways it seems I am racing the clock. Things are changing too fast and not fast enough and I'm struggling to discern when I should bend, when I should act, when I should hold back, and when I should let go.
I'm trying to lean in to God, to invite and welcome His spirit to move into the deepest parts of the way I have gotten used to doing life. I'm trying to break old habits and solidify some new ones. I'm figuring out what it means and looks like to know myself more fully and to love and care for the good and not-so-good parts of the imperfect woman that I was created to be. Mostly, it seems, I'm spending a lot of my energy working out what it looks like to soften my grip on my own life and to let it rest in the palm of God's hand. My ability to just be, faithfully, patiently, is changing as I get older and am tempted to cling to the things I can control and run scared from the things I'm afraid I can't.
Independence is sometimes just plain lonely when you are in your mid-twenties, but sometimes it's exciting, energizing, thrilling even. It's a process to be celebrated, for sure, this business of growing up. There are so many moments that are so full of joy, full of healing, full of good lessons, good food and good friends - just plain full. They strike a balance with those other, harder things. So much of the lessons to be learned are the good kind of hard; like budgeting, humility, forgiveness, discernment, open communication, broken hearts, and accepting the fact that I am not always right.
So I'm working on striking a balance right now. A balance between allowing myself to be caught up in some of this stuff even when it gets hard because I know that it is good, and letting go of some of the things that are weighing me down and getting in the way of my ability to just be. It's tough, and I'm a worrier and an analyzer and, as Emily points out, a verbal processor. But I think I'm getting closer in my effort to strike a balance, even if it feels scary. Here's to hoping that I can find the patience, the endurance, the courage and the humility to continue asking and being asked the hard questions; and the willingness and diligence to commit the things weighing heavily on my heart and mind to the God who already knows about them and is working them all out in His perfect timing.
10.06.2009
the (hand)written word
One of the things that I like about setting goals for myself is that when I "fail" to meet them, I can simply adapt and reframe them so that I feel like I have still met said goals. For instance, becoming a regular blogger. What I meant was, become a regular writer. Not a for-school writer. Not a once-a-month-when-I-feel-like-it writer. But writing as a discipline and a process that I know to be good for me - a hobby, really. One that provides me with much needed perspective and an avenue to clear my busy mind, quiet my heart, and make sense of life as I know it.
So while I may not have posted in a week, I have been writing. Journaling, really. I have fallen back in love with the comforting way that full pages of a journal look covered in my own handwriting. Each letter and word flowing honestly and without editing or self-monitoring. The words on the page look like me. They take up previously blank space on the unlined pages of my beautiful chartreuse moleskine and come to life, helping me to come to realizations about myself, my world, my faith, my chosen career, those I care about and what I want in life. It's like as I write the words down life is breathed into them. The words become my prayer. They are tangible and manageable; and the thoughts they represent are less scary or muddled or frustrating once they've been put resolutely in their place. They belong on the page where I can look at them - own them or toss them. I can decide how they will effect me, what I will do with them, and how ultimately I can change for the better because of their truth.
I think that anyone who is a good do-er of life ought to have a place for unedited free writing. The setting aside of time for the mental unpacking of stress, relationships, complexities and details of life, worries, dreams and feelings is cathartic. It enables me to pause, dig a little deeper, reflect, and regain personal equilibrium. I can talk and think and analyze until I am blue in the face, and those are good things. But I am coming to realize that when I write, especially in a journal that only I will see, what I actually feel and believe is reflected back to me on those pages. I see my heart expressed in my own words by my own hand, and am able to proceed from there feeling as if I know myself and where I'd like to be headed a little bit better.
So that's all really. Just wanting to share that I haven't abandoned ship on this endeavor, and why I feel that this process has only gotten richer. Some things that deserve to be written about and reflected upon ought not be shared at the moment, and while blogging and tweeting, texting, emailing and publishing are ways of quickly disseminating written information, the personal and intimate nature of the handwritten word is something that I am especially treasuring this week.
So while I may not have posted in a week, I have been writing. Journaling, really. I have fallen back in love with the comforting way that full pages of a journal look covered in my own handwriting. Each letter and word flowing honestly and without editing or self-monitoring. The words on the page look like me. They take up previously blank space on the unlined pages of my beautiful chartreuse moleskine and come to life, helping me to come to realizations about myself, my world, my faith, my chosen career, those I care about and what I want in life. It's like as I write the words down life is breathed into them. The words become my prayer. They are tangible and manageable; and the thoughts they represent are less scary or muddled or frustrating once they've been put resolutely in their place. They belong on the page where I can look at them - own them or toss them. I can decide how they will effect me, what I will do with them, and how ultimately I can change for the better because of their truth.
I think that anyone who is a good do-er of life ought to have a place for unedited free writing. The setting aside of time for the mental unpacking of stress, relationships, complexities and details of life, worries, dreams and feelings is cathartic. It enables me to pause, dig a little deeper, reflect, and regain personal equilibrium. I can talk and think and analyze until I am blue in the face, and those are good things. But I am coming to realize that when I write, especially in a journal that only I will see, what I actually feel and believe is reflected back to me on those pages. I see my heart expressed in my own words by my own hand, and am able to proceed from there feeling as if I know myself and where I'd like to be headed a little bit better.
So that's all really. Just wanting to share that I haven't abandoned ship on this endeavor, and why I feel that this process has only gotten richer. Some things that deserve to be written about and reflected upon ought not be shared at the moment, and while blogging and tweeting, texting, emailing and publishing are ways of quickly disseminating written information, the personal and intimate nature of the handwritten word is something that I am especially treasuring this week.
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