The closer we get to the dawn of a new year, the more prevalent mental health is on everyone’s minds. This facet of health has been catching fire for a number of years, however 2020 seems to have been the most recent kryptonite. In one way or another, everyone’s mental well-being has been tickled this year. The game of Jumanji has left its mark on millions upon millions.
I want to pay mind to the mental health of our children. It’s easy to write off their hardships in the noise of our own obstacles by dismissing their experiences due to the lack of bills they are responsible for or the increased time for play. However, this is something I want to challenge. Perhaps, they’ve experienced a completely different version of the hell we’ve all been journeying through. Let me paint you a picture. Imagine the world of a present-day fifth grader in February of 2020. You’re king or queen of the school, the eldest in the building. Deposits for the end of the year fifth grade field trip are due next week, and you get butterflies in your tummy thinking about the middle school tours that are scheduled for April. It’s Tuesday, and early release is tomorrow. You’re excited because Wednesdays are the days Mom picks you up from school to grab a snack from the gas station before your regular tennis competitions. Life is safe. Life is predictable. You’re confident in your abilities to be an A/B honor roll student and climb up the tennis ladder to the “teens” group VERY soon. Fast forward to April. Your world looks and feels VERY different. The joy you felt at the start of spring break has quickly devolved into confusion as you listen to Mom curse under her breath trying to set up your online school platform. You’re distracted because Mom and Dad have been bickering more lately, and Mom started crying again watching the news that morning. You’re confused by what’s going on outside of your house. While it looks peaceful outside your window, as it’s a nice Spring day and the sun is begging for you to come out and play with your friends, you keep hearing the news cackle anxiously about “death tolls” and the “killer virus”. Your frustration is building as each boring, lonely day passes. You’re so disappointed because Mom told you yesterday the fifth grade field trip you’ve been daydreaming about since 3rd grade has been cancelled, and the middle school tours had been wiped off the calendar. If only you could meet with your teacher before school for them to help you with math in that special way that makes sense, or feel the sun on your cheeks as you focus on your backhand on the tennis courts with your best friend. It’s September, and you’re so sick of the stomachache that haunts you every morning before school. Because you never got to do the middle school tour, the butterflies turned into knots in your tummy and the sense of dread consumed you. You nervously walk into the new, foreign middle school building with a mask that keeps moving up into your eyes. You look around and everyone is covered up and muddled by the same obnoxious masks. Your heart is racing because Mom and Dad repeatedly told you not to touch your face or eyes or other people and something about washing your hands all the time but you so wish you could adjust your mask without touching your face. You finally find your first class and you’re so exhausted by your stress you’re quivering. The classroom looks lonely as every desk is wrapped in a plastic shield. You were already having trouble hearing people because of the masks and now you have to sit in bubbles. This pattern goes on for 7 class periods. By the time you get home you’re so unexhausted by the novelty, fear, stress, and unpredictability you want to dissolve into tears. Mom chipperly asks you to set the table for dinner, which sets you off because why can’t she understand that you jut can’t do one more thing without screaming “SOMEBODY PLEASE HEAR ME”. Our children have been exposed to novel hardships that us adults cannot resonate with. Sure, we can empathize, however we will never truly understand their experiences or traumas this year has delivered. Their mental health has been challenged and jeopardized. Kiddos are having difficulty adjusting back into brick-and-mortar school environments. Anxiety that has plagued us adults for months has left some of our children just as crippled. The sense of dread that is reported is consuming and exhausting. Hopelessness for the return to normalcy and predictability is thick in the air. Loneliness that has been a second-hand result of social distancing stings. Spontaneous quarantines only fuel the feeling of being out of control. It is so hard to be a child right now. So, please hear me when I write this. Debunk the myths about mental health. They are not “too young”. You will not “give them ideas”. Because here’s the thing. Our children were exposed to mature content far too early for anyone’s’ comfort levels prior to 2020. The content that we were exposed to in high school is floating around middle school now, and sometimes even late elementary. I say this from firsthand experience. Our children will fill in their own blanks regardless of the source. What is going to be vital to their resilience and their mental wellness are facts and knowledge. Open and honest conversations about having anxiety vs an anxiety disorder, depression, distress and eustress, and adjustment will create the most powerful and secure knowledge base we can gift our kiddos. Knowledge is power here, folks. Mental health does not have to be painted in a light that is dark and scary. Mental health needs to be painted in the same bright and inviting light as physical health is. So, please do not try and “shield” your children away from the mental health conversation. Debunk the myths and aid in the filling in of their own blanks. Better you than the “peanut gallery”.
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An entertaining component of working with people and joining with them along their journeys is learning new terms and phrases. I’ve picked up all sorts of things from the “kids” ranging from “what’s the tea?” to “You’re vibin’”.
Recently, I heard a new phrase utilized by a practicing clinician at a place where a collection of professionals were conversing (Yes, it was a small gathering that practiced social distancing and my mask was securely in place above my nose). Instead of being amused by the phrase, I was perplexed, and grateful my mask covered the parts of my face that gave away my puzzlement. This phrase was “turn and burn”, in which was utilized in the premise of delivering assessments and diagnoses, and then promptly whisking them out the door without a referral to be had. So many tangential thoughts raced through my mind. This professional appeared seasoned, and well-respected by the gaggle of others surrounding them. They spoke with a plethora of clinical dialogue, however stated an opinion of which causes them to “turn and burn” a particular category of clients. The casual way they threw this phrase into the open awoke the advocate in me. Perhaps this phrase helps distance a person from the vulnerability that can engulf someone whenever they do not feel fit to aid in someone’s healing. One size does not indeed fit all in the world of mental health, and it can uncomfortably twinge every time this occurs. Take it from a therapist whose been in this world for only a handful of years, it takes a hot minute to find your way toward your preferred population. A hot minute full of awkwardness, anxiously slow sessions, and a room full of people who do not “vibe”. So, I can understand the discomfort with this type of vulnerability. It keeps us on our therapeutic toes so that we continuously act in the best interests of our clients. Perhaps it’s the “burn” part that singes my desire to explore this with this person. It ties back to a past tangent I’ve been keeping in my back pocket. The majority of my caseload are minors, and I’ve read through my fair share of psychological evaluations. The hang up is that the majority of the evaluations I peruse were completed years ago. Presently, this is the first time families pursue therapy, although these evaluations clearly state mental health disorders and/or learning disabilities. These gaps in time are so thematic and equally as frustrating. Perhaps other clinicians have noticed this discrepancy. This is the “burn”. The discrepancy of our therapeutic world. The disconnect that impacts our ability to provide comprehensive care. Think about if you went to the emergency room for pain in your back. The ER ran an extensive number of tests and diagnosed you with scoliosis. They recommended you seek out the appropriate therapeutic approach. Next, they swiftly say “best of luck” and escort you toward the exit, never to be seen again. Imagine standing outside of this door, with answers, however without guidance on steps to remedy your pain. No, the emergency room would encourage you to seek out a physical therapist, one that’s most likely covered by health insurance. Jump over to the mental health world and our system hardly follows such fluidity. This is not mental health professionals' fault to a certain degree. The nature of the macrocosm of the US does not support it. Mental health is still very much in the fight for recognition as a form of heath that’s as vital for the pursuit of a full life as physical health is. Up until a few moons ago, I had no clue the particular professionals at this experience existed within the community I’ve been practicing in for the past few years. Sure, I know of some, but certainly not enough. Standing there, I felt as if most of us exist on our own solitary therapeutic islands. All of us pursue the same desire to help and heal, and while we seek out consultation and support from those on our very small islands, there is little in the ways of building bridges. I have hopes that one day, our nation will fully recognize the necessity of mental health and view it in such a proactive light as physical health is focused in. That comradery is composed in such a manor that when we feel the vulnerability creep in, we don’t have to “burn” but instead refer to our phonebook of colleagues whom follow a theoretical orientation that far better benefit the humans standing before us. I hope that “turning and burning” will be a phrase of the past as a highlight of the growth that lies before us. Cheers fellow clinicians, I see you. We’ve got this. Once upon a time there was this neighbor. First impressions colored him as a quirky, fun-loving character who was enjoying his first year of retirement tooling around with his mini cooper, singing off-key to Pop Reggae tunes. I appreciated his zealous personality and his way of embracing the music he blared as he pulled into his driveway each time.
Then one day, this neighbor showed his sassy, low-key rude side by confronting me about the way our handyman was going about disposing scraps from the bathroom remodeling we were having done. All would have been fine and well, if it weren’t for the fact, he had stopped me in the middle of the road as I was trying to quickly let my dog out in between telehealth sessions. The cherry on top were the classic power-move words “young lady”. *Insert major eye roll here* Quick tangent- Unless a person is an obvious minor, please never under any circumstance, refer to a woman as “young lady”, especially if you identify as male. This name is a commonly used power move that men slip in to demean a woman’s presence in a conversation or interaction. A fabulously irritating microaggression against a woman, that will most likely cause her to lose a substantial amount of respect for said man utilizing said phrase. After bluntly exiting that lovely disruption to my peace, I began to hold onto the belief that this quirky neighbor was not so delightfully quirky after all. I’ve worked my tush off to get to where I am in this world and am in no mind space to entertain a lad who uses his status as an older lad to exude judgement on my intelligence or competency as a working woman. Fast forward a few months, and this story finds itself in the middle of a sleepy September morning. Per usual, my husband took our fur child out for his morning constitution as I sat perched at the dining room table, quietly munching on my chocolate Cheerios absorbed in the Today Show. Husband and fur child return, husband kisses wife goodbye, and heads off to work. I follow soon-after and find a white envelope stuffed neatly under my windshield wiper. Puzzled, I open the envelope to discover a very grumpy handwritten letter folded up with a picture of my husband holding the leash of our fur child relieving himself on his front lawn. You would have thought we threw a flaming poo bag through this man’s window. The letter practically spit venom as he ranted and raved about the audacity we have to let our dog pee in HIS yard. To keep our fur child’s bodily fluids in OUR yard. All sorts of things about this letter flustered the hell out of me. From leaving the letter on my car after waiting for my husband to depart, to being irate about a dog peeing in his grass, to the passive aggressive nature of the whole thing. You can probably guess what followed. My hot-headed nature got lit on fire. I was over the passive power plays, the self-righteousness I perceived, and the chronic nitpicking. I wrote a very…poignant letter in response not-so-kindly requesting he check his self before he wrecks himself. Thankfully, my husband has an incredibly level head when confronting conflict, and helped me process my uncomfortable emotions that did not involve joining in this neighbor’s petty communication styles. I left the letter tucked away in the computer and relied on my nonverbals to communicate “DON’T”. Now, we referred to this neighbor as “mean neighbor”. He was avoided and dismissed. He would wave and I would blink back in response and carry on with my day. I had resolved it in my mind. He was dubbed “mean neighbor” and no act of kindness could sway my mindset. Until last night. My husband and I got home late, a normal occurrence nowadays with how the world is spinning. We decided to walk fur child together, a chance to get some fresh air and air out the day’s heaviness. As we exit our driveway, mean neighbor comes out of his garage and exclaims “Hey can I talk with you for a moment?” “Oh boy” my mind sighs, my body brisling at the thought of interacting with this man. Then, something unexpected occurs. He said, “I’m sorry.” We dove into a somber conversation regarding his passive aggressive actions and ways of communicating. He shared that this year has not been kind, and that he was having some bad days and seemed to leave his frustrations in my windshield wiper or in the way he regarded me. In that moment, I did not just see mean neighbor, but a whole human standing in front of us. A human whose experiences have been just as rough as mine this past year, and the heaviness he was so passionately trying to carry. His reactions to how unfair this world has been in the past 10 months or so were a product of his vulnerability and fear. It’s safer to be angry. We all have experienced an insurmountable level of pain and fear as occurrences have reminded us at a rapid rate how little control we actually have. How little weight our plans carry. Pain and fear are perhaps the most vulnerable emotions we can experience. It cues our instincts to “cover up” in desperate attempts at self-preservation. So, what do we do after we “cover up”? We choose things we believe we have control over to express our discomfort through. It could be a number of things from the election, or conspiracy theories, masks vs no masks, food, alcohol, exercise, or in this case, a letter in a windshield. I was thankful for the reminder and the reframe that this simple, but powerful interaction with this neighbor brought. It reminded me that everyone has a story they are writing that carries its own narrative of pain, fear, hardship, and discomfort. That sometimes, it’s human nature to relocate our uncomfortable emotions into outlets we have a sense of control over. Sometimes, it’s easier to hide behind anger, because we fear we will shatter into pieces if we drop the tough exterior. I get it. So, mean neighbor is now empathetically regarded as the “whole human” who lives across the street. Welcome to level eleven of Jumanji! During this level we get to survive the over-exhausted 2020 Election while managing raw emotions and increase levels of anxiety, wahoo!
All joking aside, is anyone really “OK” this week? There is no way to escape the emotionality that is exuberantly displayed right now. Turn on any form of media and we are bombarded with skewed political commercials. Drive down the road and there are copious amounts of signage loudly exclaiming party candidates. Our phones are constantly buzzing with “reminders to vote!” and beckoning to “volunteer” at the polls, despite declining numerous times. Everyone is talking about “it”. Family, co-workers, partners, dentists, neighbors, clients, children just to name a few. All firing off their opinions like their opinion is the most righteous one, a fire dancing within their eyes begging for someone to challenge their political stance so they can shout to the heavens about how grand and spectacular their candidate is, and that the other one is some form of scum of the Earth. There is a different, more unnerving flavor to the 2020 Election. While all the above could more-or-less be poignant of any presidential election, there is something… off. Something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Something that tips off tempers, insinuates tensions, and creates barbaric distances and alienations from one another. People are hurting, badly. The collective systemic trauma we have all endured for months on end has wreaked havoc on us. All of us have experienced some form of discomfort, grief, panic, anxiety, burnout, depression, or loss. The lack of general structure surrounding the response to the trauma has been weak, and everyone is grasping at the faltering foundation. Grasping into thin air, hanging onto anything that provides a sense of security. Irrationality is thrown into the abyss, and suddenly everyone is “right” and everyone else is “wrong”. Unity has been demolished by our trauma. Squashed, eaten, evaporated. The Election is serving as a conduit for the build-up of emotional constipation and suppression. Finally! An outlet for us to express our pain, our discomfort, our invalidated voices. But, it’s just too much anguish for any modality to handle. This Election has been blown into a different version of reality. The consequences of this are swirling around us like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz. Conspiracy theories are expanding in faithful and firm believers at an exonerated rate. Political candidates are adopting God-like complexes, debates transforming into practically fistfights. Humble conversation and respectful regard for other’s experiences thrown away like yesterday’s newspaper. Pause. Breathe in for 4 seconds, hold for 4, and let out for 4. Your experiences matter. Everyone’s experiences matter. I am so sorry for your trauma. For the discomfort and pain you have experienced with the world invalidating your voice in one way or another. Please, don’t let your pain color the lens you regard others through. Different experiences create different opinions and truths. This has been the way of things since the dawn of time and human’s ability to think abstractly. Please remember the 6 vs 9 metaphor we explored a few blogs ago. This still is applicable. This week, please exude empathy for not only your experiences, but the experiences of others. Remember, we have all developed our truths through the ways we have experienced our worlds. A lot of people are hurting and are engulfed in their own battles. The safest way for humans to express emotions like these are through anger, rage, and all things aggressive. You are no more or less human than the person standing next to you. So folks, be mindful of the experiences swirling around you. If your candidate wins, please do not aggressively gloat or shame. If your candidate loses, please nurture the pain, sadness, or grief that comes along with this experience. Remember that your truth is valid, however it is not the only valid truth. I beg you. Remain vigilant of the humanness of others, for that is our ingrained right and worthiness, regardless of the “rights” and the “wrongs”. Consultation.
Such a simply put word that holds an incredible depth of meaning. When I first began graduate school, consultation was disguised within a number of supervisors we became paired up with. Looking back, it is wild that more of them did not belly laugh at the clumsy way us newbies meandered about. Wide-eyed, brand-new, counselors-in-training eager to learn the lingo and take on the world. I’m belly laughing now looking back. The innocence was endearing. As we counselors-in-training found our sea legs, the program ever-so gently backed off the number of required supervisors. While we were completing our internships, we only had one. And thank GOD for my one supervisor. You see, my supervisor in graduate school was a rare ray of sunshine that showed me the pure magic that was working with kiddos in a therapeutic setting. Prior to beginning any clinical work, I had envisioned myself sitting in a stereotypical, oversized therapist chair with clients sitting across from me. The room was orderly and predictable. Tissues casually placed on the coffee table that separated us. Oh man, I cannot imagine how dull my therapy experiences would be without my first supervisor. She introduced me to the magic that are children’s worlds and experiences. She compassionately guided me through the Narnia-closet into ways of creating safe spaces and utilizing play as a rich way of communicating with youngsters. She taught me that a therapeutic space could be anywhere and everywhere. That kiddos are wickedly attune to their worlds, their traumas, and the capacity for healing. I loved every single second of my practicum and internships, largely due to the out-of-this-world consultation my supervisor consistently offered. To this day, I have a cup on my desk that holds color pencils and markers that has GP across it. My simple reminder that healing can be colorful and unique to each and every person. It was quite unnerving after graduation. Largely because you are swiftly kicked out of the safe and secure consultation nest you had grown very comfortable in. After a world-wind time period chalk-full of celebrations, diplomas, and cap and gown pictures, you are suddenly all on your own. I somehow found my way into a mental health agency, fueled up by the extra sleep and sense of accomplishment. That experience was intense, brutal, and quick as I discovered many of my own needs could not be met within community-based mental health. Judge if you must, but know I am grateful for the experience I gathered, and for the friendships gained along the way. Looking back, I would have to say that finding your “therapeutic tribe” is an absolute MUST for one’s sanity, professionalism, ethical attunement, and happiness within this field. After personally experiencing the act of practicing therapy with and without a therapeutic tribe, I would have to say that I am a better and more comprehensive clinician because of them. My number one, ride or die, peanut butter to my jelly is my clinical director. The magical human who paid witness to my potential and hired me on to work within the practice she cultivated and nurtured with her bare hands. Needless to say, I respect the hell out of her. Janeen has created such an open and inviting workspace, and it is second nature to consult with one another. When I have my newb moments (I am sure all of us therapists do from time to time) she has never once made me feel silly or shamed. Consultation is a vibrantly celebrated engagement of therapeutic minds that build off of one another’s’ strengths. Over time, this therapeutic tribe has grown, and I’ve got to tell you, the consultation is absolutely brilliant. They create a space, much like the cherished space my OG supervisor created, that nourishes you where you are depleted. Burnout is validated and is looked upon with compassion. Points of stuckness are approached vivaciously. Laughter is abundant, shoulders to lean on are constant, and cake is a known, effective stress-reliever. Consultation is a MUST for effective, ethical, comprehensive, and happy clinicians. Practicing as a therapist in this current world is hard, folks. It’s filled to the brim with unknowns, novel situations, and scary moments. Transference is a completely real and realistic thing, due to us experiencing the same trauma as our clients, concurrently. Consultation with our “therapeutic tribe” helps hold ourselves accountable, highlights our own need to be mindful of our own mental well-being, and provides a safe space to say “This is hard and I am tired.” So, cheers to the therapeutic tribes out there. You all are very deeply cherished and appreciated. Some of the most over-exhausted topics of 2020 include the Election and COVID-19. At times, it feels like groundhog’s day in regard to the redundancy. I just read a news article claiming that grocery stores are beginning to feel the second wave of “panic shopping” as the “second wave” of COVID-19 embarks on its steady rise. Sigh. Haven’t we read this chapter already? Wasn’t that in level four of the game of Jumanji we have been forced into this year?
There is a theme that has been becoming ever more prevalent within the therapy room. A theme that seems to be the quiet crisis that “panic shopping” and over-run political commercials have dominated. A crisis that is not only consuming our youth, but perhaps most humans along their journeys. So, let’s explore it. The passions that perhaps once provided a sense of identity and security suddenly seem lackluster and there is a void in motivation to engage in them. Once zealous artists are looking at their sketchbooks and cringing. Once creative chefs are allowing their mixing bowls to collect dust as they settle on their 6th frozen meal in a row and indulge with Netflix blaring in the forefront. This experience of avoidance has many of our youth, predominately our older teens, spinning. College applications are begging the question “Who are you?” and many of our aspiring college students are looking at their sketchbooks gathering dust in the corner and realizing “I have no idea who I am anymore”. Gulp. Perhaps one of the most uncomfortable realizations. The pressure to define yourself, morals, values, and passions in the midst of this year’s game of Jumanji. You’ve been frozen in survival mode for so long that you are merely left with hazy memories of what life used to be. This is where I typically see the color draining from my client’s faces, the fidgeting uptick, and the tears gathering in the corner or their eyes. Throughout this processing journey there are hints of the shame, exhaustion, and loneliness these brave teens are carrying. The burdens that have yet to be spoken about or validated. There’s a name for this, folks. Trauma. Burnout. Chronic emotional and mental fatigue. All very real experiences that not only our youth have been subjected to, but all of us as a collective human-whole. Suddenly, our passions have been exposed to trauma. While living day in and day out for months with increased experiences of fear, anxiety, and grief of loss, we have been left to our own devices. The activities that used to bring us peace seem to highlight the feelings of unknown and of existing in an out-of-control world. Imagine that throughout your life, you developed a love of coconuts. You loved when you would find one at the store, or indulge in a coconut-riddled treat. One day, a giant storm came out of no where and swept you off against your own choosing to an island. You were confined to this island until an unknown time. However, it was overflowing with coconuts! Silver-lining in the crisis. Days pass, and the indulgence in your favorite thing is fantastic. It helps distract you from your confinement, your anxiety about the future, and your loneliness. However, as the acute stress morphs into chronic long-lasting stress, you grow more and more detached from your love of coconuts. By the time you have an opportunity to leave the island, you never want to look at a coconut again. That’s where our youth are. There is trauma associated with the coconuts in their lives. When they think of what used to light a fire within them, whether it be drawing, painting, baking, cooking, basketball, you name it, it is now associated with the trauma of state-wide lockdowns, loved-ones dying, and missing out on proms and birthdays. Talk about an awkward experience. But guess what? There’s hope. I want to encourage our teens, and honestly all humans right now to let themselves off the hook. Normalize that you’ve had one too many coconuts within a traumatic experience and that you need a break. It’s OK to not have inspiration to pick up that paintbrush or bust out the mixers. So, how do we get back to what we love? Take the next few months off. Use that time to create a list of activities or things to try for kicks and giggles. Something novel and random that encourages endorphins and positive memories. Whether it be rock climbing, walking on the beach, or hot yoga; pack away the paint brushes with a “see ya later”. Then, when you’re ready (and you will know when you’re ready), re-introduce yourself to those coconuts. Those ingrained passions, but at your own time. Redevelop that positive relationship on your own terms. This will not only empower you but inspire you to become grounded that you are still, and have always been, uniquely you. A large component of my job is to explore the different reframes to perspectives and experiences that challenge the sense of stuck-ness one perspective can cultivate. My favorite way of introducing the possibility of different perspectives having the potential of being just as valid as the next is quick, but impactful. I start by grabbing my handy-dandy dry erase board. Sitting with the client across from me, I draw a six. I then ask the client to tell me what number they perceive. They most commonly retort “nine”. I then engage in friendly, lightly challenging dialogue that the number before them is, in the perspective I am defending, a six. A smile and, at times, an eye roll or scoff follows, as the brief experiential activity supports there are many possible perspectives that hold as much validity as the next.
So… How can we reframe taking “first steps” in a way that’s motivating to embrace vulnerability and embark on the adventure focusing on the possibilities for growth? How do we know the value of growth if we do not encounter obstacles, stumbles, or pop quizzes along the way? In my experience, growth is most notable if you’re able to turn around and not only pay witness, but also appreciate the journey and experiences that have led you to where you have gotten. I would not appreciate who I have grown into as an equestrian if I had not experienced falls, naughty ponies, missed competitions due to a lame horse, or the tough choices between weekends with friends or late nights staying up with a sick horse. We don’t wake up experts, or at least I have yet to find the magical potion for that. A major part of being human is we have to create our own roadmaps. Sure, we can ask for help and support along the way, however if you get down to the nitty-gritty, we are largely reliant on ourselves to reach the goals we dream up. Yikes, talk about an existential crisis! Yes folks, it is largely our own responsibilities to dig deep and discover our own motivation to pursue our goals and decide which “first steps” we must take to begin the journey toward those goals. So yes, I believe we must become familiar with our own humanness prior to taking any “first step” into unknown territory. Why? Because it can be a pitfall and a major source of stuck-ness if we meet our own stumbles or obstacles with criticism. A large component of any obstacle is the background noise of the “peanut gallery” others feel compelled to retort. While the “peanut gallery” usually has good intention, the dialogue and feedback can notoriously be unhelpful. Even just in the sense of influencing our own inner self-talk toward a more negative and defeating tone. Instead, I encourage others (and myself) to replace the criticism with compassion. When you come across an obstacle, or you stumble along your journey, show yourself the nurturing that we would a toddler courageously taking their first steps. Honor the uncomfortable emotions that may flare (disappointment, discontent, sadness) and show compassion toward the human that is you that is doing their best with the tools that they have. Give yourself space to feel, and then honor the goal that is still there despite the wobbles. Alright my beautifully courageous humans. It is time for a reframe on these “first steps” into the creation of an unknown roadmap. Dig deep and examine which parts of the journey you may experience vulnerability along the way. Develop awareness of when you may become subjected to critical self-talk, and brainstorm ways you can show yourself compassion whenever challenges with this flavor occur. (And know they will occur). Give yourself ample permission to be human and set some hard boundaries with the “peanut gallery”. I promise those “first steps” will be worth it. The first step is always the hardest.
I’ve always been curious to what makes this one step the “hardest”. Is it the lack of roadmap that us creatures of habit are turned off by? Is it the beckoning of vulnerability this step requires? Is it the necessity of examining one’s own humanness that fuels this step? Perhaps it’s all the above. This question propels people into therapy more so than any other question. It generally presents as “I have this goal but I am stuck and cannot seem to accomplish it.” Then the expectation of “tell me what to do differently and I’ll be on my way” typically follows. If only growth and healing were that easy! Think about watching a baby contemplate their first steps. There is usually a journey to approach their actual first step. It includes figuring out how to actually move their bodies either by lifting their heads, tracking with their eyes, or rolling over. Next comes synchronizing most of these movements to sit up and oh what a shift in perspective this is! This shift fuels motivation to continue to search for other new perspectives and all the sudden their standing! Holy cow the rush that comes from being able to see from this height! By the time they find the motivation to try walking, the risk of vulnerability and tumbling is worth the embarkment of the tantalizing adventure that lays ahead. Where does this sense of tantalizing adventure vanish to as we grow older? What themes are pertinent throughout our experiences that encourage reluctance in novel “first steps”? I have a few ideas. For example, the more we grow, the more our innocence materializes. Our sense of wonderment is thrown into the shadows of what could go wrong. Ever-so-gradually, we experience uncomfortable human phenomenon that create “mental bruising to our egos” like judgement, ridicule, and mockery. Our falls somehow shift from the perspective of being one step closer to our goals to the highlighted focus of our weakness. I’m sure we have all been there. Perhaps you woke up one morning with the most magnificent idea for a business plan. One that is beneficial for the greater good and embraces your own passions. You hurry to the kitchen to excitedly share your brilliant thoughts with your partner and you are met with an almost-bored stare. You can feel the excitement that was once bubbling through your veins just seconds before shrink away just with the sight of this non-verbal communication. Our bodies and minds go “oh crap, your vulnerability is showing!” Next, your partner yawns and says halfheartedly while returning to nursing their coffee, “Sounds great honey, but you know we don’t have the money or time to invest in something like that.” Bam, vulnerability is met with disappointment; focused on the entirely of the obstacles that lay before you. You suddenly feel like the wobbly toddler who has stumbled and the adults around you start pointing and commenting on how you may never walk with confidence. So, how can we combat this tendency to shrink away from the obstacles any “first steps” require and reframe to focus on the possibilities for growth and nurturement? Stay tuned ;) As I sit here and ponder how to properly say “Hello and Welcome to my Blog!” in a way that captures attention of others long enough to scroll, I am looking out at the most serene mountain tops (something that is breath-takingly unique for this Florida girl). For someone who typically has plenty to say, I am not all that smooth with the introduction parts. I keep looking out at these green peaks, peppered with the first kiss of autumn leaves, willfully hoping they will whisper what to say that sounds “smooth” and “intriguing”. My name is Katherine Scott, and I am a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in Northeast Florida. The magical place where the land is ordinarily flat, the air is heavy, and the weather is as moody as a toddler after a bad night’s sleep. I have the utmost pleasure of working in a private practice lovingly known as Puzzle Peace Counseling. Here, I work with a diverse array of little humans, their families, and the parental couple. While I encounter plenty of the mental health gamut from ADHD to OCD to trauma and grief that encapsulates the entire family system, I have a special place in my heart for Autism. At Puzzle Peace Counseling, we specialize with this particular population. It is my calling, my therapeutic “sweet spot”. Anywho, more about this later. As therapists, we are required to explore different theoretical orientations revolving around how people go about healing their “emotional and/or mental turmoil”. Then, we are asked to choose one and thoroughly align with it. This alignment could shift throughout our journeys as therapists, but funny enough, mine has remained a constant. Experiential Family Therapy. AKA, I view healing occurs through the connection of the mind, body, and soul. The unifying trifecta that encourages us to hone in on our experiences, as well as heal through them. Sitting in a chair across from my client for sessions on end does not cut it in the experiential sense. Many times, we are knuckle deep in slime creations, artistic expressions, outside, or integrating balls, blocks, or games into our dialogue. The creative opportunity for therapeutic experiences are limitless. Another experience-based form of healing is through writing. One I am particularly fond of. I’m not sure if it’s the quiet way of tuning into my thoughts, or the safe space it cultivates when trying to organize my mindset. Whatever the case, it’s one of my experiences I engage in that brings me healing, peace, and an outlet to let the words out from my mind and into the world. So, at the encouragement of my sweet, newlywedded husband, here I am. This blog will contain a diversity of tid-bits and tangents. An outlet for my hotheaded, feisty side. A blog focusing on what my experience of being a Therapist is in this messy, pressurized, somewhat-of-a-dumpster-fire World that 2020 has not-so-lovingly created. A blog of perhaps helpful guidance regarding humans in all different phases of their journeys. A place one could ask a vulnerable question or two and cultivate a thought-provoking dialogue. Who knows, the possibilities for these experiences are limitless!
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Katherine Scott,
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