The great part about grad school, and semesters, and graduation is that I could only procrastinate for a short period. Everything is on a timeline. Eventually, the motivation to graduate became stronger than the fear of going to counseling.
◆◆◆
After a long winter, it’s garden season. I do not have a green thumb.
I worked hard on my flower beds one weekend spring day. We had a lot of rain the previous couple of days, and there was a brief break on the weekend with beautiful sunshine before several more forecasted days of rain. It seemed that planting now would give the baby plants a good soak immediately after they got planted.
I’d put off the spring gardening for a while. Some delay was because of schedule—and some of it due to bugs. I hate bugs. I avoid bugs, and activities that provide exposure to bugs. But I do like flowers—even more than I hate bugs. I took a deep breath, put on garden gloves to create a barrier between the bugs and I, and launched into the weeding, and preparing the earth.
As I was gardening, the process reminded me of the work I do as a therapist. Actually, the original logo of my private practice was that of a seed in the dirt.
◆◆◆
Picture being a seed planted in the spring. The seed is planted in the dirt and promptly doused with water. To grow, a seed needs to crack open to let new life out. To be a seed in the cold wet mud would be an uncomfortable, painful, and broken place to be—and yet ironically, are ideal conditions for growth. Who would want to be a seed in those circumstances?
And yet who wouldn’t want to be a seed that becomes a beautiful plant, with colorful blooms and strong green leaves?
The years of working with clients have taught me how very difficult it is to be in painful situations. Yet that pain is often the catalyst to confront things that have been “under the radar” inside of a person and not explored. A richness and healing comes that wasn’t a possibility before. It’s terrifying to contemplate the unknown conversations that will happen in therapy. But it is those conversations that will create shifts inside of you that will allow for change and growth.
◆◆◆
I lack a green thumb. The northern location where I live in Canada which creates a shorter season doesn’t actually permit me to plant seeds in the garden that will grow into flowering plants for me to enjoy. Those factors combine to have me purchase baby flowering plants local gardening nursery to plant in my flower beds
As I was planting the flowers this weekend, I was faced with a tough choice. I have a friend, Doreen, who has awesome success with planting a garden fit for a queen. She also plants bedding plants instead of seeds to lengthen the time she can enjoy the flowers on the plants. Doreen has told me how she, after planting all the flowers–she pinches off every last little bloom on the baby plants.
OUCH!!
That hurts just typing it.
It’s counterintuitive really—to plant flowering plants because of the desire to see the beautiful blooms, and the moment they are first planted, to take every flowering bit and nip it off.
I think it’s just wrong.
I dislike plucking flowers off of flowering plants more than I dislike bugs. And trust me, that is saying a lot!
But she does this bloom-plucking as part of a bigger plan. Doreen told me when she plucks off the first flowers, it allows energy that would normally go into those first flowers to go instead into developing the root system. It also encourages growth of more little branches and stems. Plants that have those first flowers plucked off when planted end up with fuller, bushier plants that bear more flowers. In the big picture, pinching those early blooms off the plant is worth it. The flowering plant will be fuller and brighter and more beautiful throughout the season.
To be honest, after a long winter, with months of white snow, bare branches and dirty, grey roads outside, my eyes are starved for color. Pinching those first beautiful purple, pink and yellow flowers is something that goes against everything in me. So, when I planted the plants, I debated.
To pluck or not to pluck—that was the question.
I didn’t want to pluck off flowers. To pinch off beauty seemed unnecessarily harsh. It sounded wrong to harm the plant, and to do what seemed like damage to it.
But I did it. I took a deep breath (each time) and I pinched those little beautiful babies off. (OK, I kept a few tiny buds on, rationalizing they didn’t count.)
◆◆◆
It reminded me of the courage of clients who come to see me, wanting and prepared to grow. Generally, it is some discomfort or pain that brings people into therapy:
the pain of anxiety or depression
a conflicted marriage
a lost promotion
being dumped by a girlfriend
Those situations are like the cold, wet, uncomfortable and painful soil. These people come to therapy for relief from the destructive muddy ruts they find themselves in, looking for solace and comfort with a therapist.
Yet, many of them, in the process of exploring and discussing the different layers of their inner experience, find themselves feeling like the blossoms are being plucked.
And guess who the bloom-plucking gardener is?
Me. Yours truly. The therapist.
For the record, I take no delight in people experiencing pain in the counseling room. It is hard to watch. It is painful as clients and I collectively take a deep breath and look at something from a unique angle to gain a better understanding. Doing so creates an experience that stings in that minute of the session. To make a previously buried hurt come alive in that moment is powerful—and acutely painful.
Sometimes, it would seem less painful in that moment to live an unexplored, unexamined life. It’s easier to blame others. It hurts to honestly see one’s unique role in perpetuating a painful cycle. It’s easier to just be angry. When the reason for that mad is actually an underlying huge sad, it is difficult to acknowledge the deeper reality. The more powerful, more in control feeling is the surface anger—and to slow down to feel the more vulnerable, deeper feelings is a challenge that is daunting.
It hurts to be vulnerable. It’s risky to share with your spouse that which is true and real but has been hidden from a spouse—not even because they are so awful, but because it’s scary to be so very open. Those risk-taking events of being fully candid with your spouse are bloom-plucking experiences if there ever were any!
If you contemplate counseling, I’ll be honest with this: It stings to leave a session sometimes. It doesn’t always create instant rewarding feelings to gain a new level of understanding of something that you have avoided for a long time. When counseling is supposed to “make you feel better”, and you leave a session feeling worse because:
you are aware of the patterns in which you have been actively participating
you notice for the first time how much you have allowed others to violate your boundaries
you’ve allowed yourself the depth of the pain behind a betrayal, rather than just feeling the rage
—well, it can feel awful.
Yuck.
Please be aware that I, and many I’ve spoken to in my profession over the years, well—we admire the courage a client has to do this work.
I honor the chutzpah that you will have in being willing to risk with me as a therapist—and I don’t take that honor lightly.
I know about how sometimes, in the short term, therapy hurts. However, I don’t shy away from this, and will continue to walk with you into dark, tender, achy places—because I have walked this road with other people. I believe it to be a profoundly worthwhile endeavor in the big picture.
Simply put, the discoveries, the growth, and the greater healing are worth it. I know the pinching hurts. From the inside out, I get that. I make it my business to do some “first aid” to support the pain that the therapy itself can create. I seek to do the therapy work at a pace and level within tolerable limits.
But I don’t avoid conversations that may cause pain-with-a-purpos
e.
To be unwilling to walk with you into those hard, tender spaces, would take care of my own comfort. I will not do that to you. It’s an important part of honoring you to give you my best. If the wise thing to do is have an uncomfortable conversation and look at hard things with you, then I will respect you and your desire to grow. You have the right to have the very best opportunity to gain maximal benefit from therapy.
When you go to therapy, let your therapist know when something hurts. Ensure that the pain is serving a valuable purpose, and that you have resources to deal with it. Ask for help if it gets overwhelming. You may ask to slow down or take a break from something that is hard. Work with your therapist to ensure that they know how you are doing, and if a conversation is too intimidating to have at that moment. Know that your therapist is very aware of how the work of therapy itself can create pain.
An effective therapist works gently and carefully and thoughtfully, and deliberately—and with great respect. It might hurt. It might be uncomfortable and awkward. The uncertainty may be difficult. But that’s part of the overall process.
◆◆◆
I made the appointment to start my own therapy. I showed up. I invested in counseling in my style of jump in with both feet. And it was wonderful—but also remained a little scary throughout the process. I cried as I remembered painful things. I admitted things to my therapist about me that were painful to admit. I had conversations with my therapist that were challenging, but good.
My anxiety towards the sessions lessened over time, once I had a few sessions under my belt. I realized some ugly confrontations that that I anticipated would never happen. I soon learned my biggest fears about how he would respond to me would never occur. It wasn’t his style. He wasn’t out to shame me for my mistakes. He wasn’t going to ridicule me. I learned that he trusted me to talk about important stuff and did far less pushing that I thought might happen.
To tell you the truth, it was less worse than I thought it would be. He was far kinder and more supportive than I expected. There were many times, when I was expecting him to scold me (apparently one of my issues!) and rather, he met me with compassion and curiosity. I had far more ability to influence the direction of therapy than I thought I would. It was a powerfully positive experience.
I was still a little nervous before each session, though, to be honest. That never went away.
But I think worthwhile tasks are often intimidating. I learned that it is normal to feel scared and brave in the same moment.
Can you think of a worthwhile challenge that didn’t involve some risk?
Feeling scared isn’t bad. It’s just an honest, genuine feeling in response to a situation that normally evokes fear in most people. The dread doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t go to counseling. The fear just means that you recognize that it is an unknown.
You can name the fear to yourself, and even to your therapist. You can acknowledge it as normal and then decide how you want to honor your fear in a way that still allows you to move forward.
Being scared is, on a practical level, a very real part of the process of therapy for almost everyone.
9 T
he therapist will just blame my mother
No one likes the person who blames his/her problems on everybody else but himself:
The professor kicked me out of the class because he didn’t understand that I only cheated on a part that didn’t really count for very much.
The boss promoted Charlie ahead of me because Charlie sucks up to the boss in a way that I’m not willing to. Charlie probably stays late at work just to appear hard working for the boss.
It’s not my fault I was late and then had to speed to get to the factory on time. My mom was supposed to wake me and she didn’t. She should pay for the ticket!
Blaming others looks irresponsible. Blaming others is unattractive. If you are a blamer, it’s possible people will stop hanging out with you before they become a target!
◆◆◆
My son, Carter, is a competitive volleyball player. He is an athletic guy who can jump high, move quickly, and his reflexes have to be seen to be believed. But that’s not why coaches pursued him for a college team.
They pursued Carter for his character. Carter has a good heart and it shows as he works to support his fellow athletes. When they get down on themselves, he encourages them. When they make a great play, he gets visibly excited and celebrates their abilities. Starting when he was in middle school, when he made a mistake, he would raise his hand and then tap his chest, signalling, “That was my error.”
A dozen universities pursued him in high school to come play for them. When I asked one university coach why he wanted to recruit my son (who at only 6 feet is rather short to play college ball), he said one important reason was because of how he could own his errors. It was his ability to own his own mistakes that was one quality that had university coaches saying, “Come play with us.” It was his comfort in accepting responsibility for what went wrong when it was his fault that made him an attractive player. Coaches told me that other players played better when he was on the court—because he did things like own his errors. (Can you tell I’m a proud momma?)
We all admire people like my son who are comfortable enough in their own skin to admit their mistakes. These people are safe to hang around with, because we know they aren’t likely to shift blame onto us for something they’ve done.
To own your own stuff is often admired as a quality of strength and integrity.
One of the ultimate signs of leadership is to be the one to pronounce: “I am the captain of this ship. This failure was on my watch. It’s on me.” That leader is one that has the back of each of his team—and people will flock to work for her/him.
So, it’s no wonder then, that some avoid therapy out of the concern that the process of therapy will evolve to point fingers at others in a way that feels immature and sulky.
Who of us haven’t heard lines like these?
My therapist says my mother was so cold and distant that I continue to seek out unavailable women
My counselor and I have decided that I drink to fill the hole that was left when my dad walked out when I was a kid·
I can’t help that I yell at my kids the way I do—I’m just parenting the way my old man parented me.
Not only is that shifting blame in a way that seems to absolve the person of responsibility, it also seems to create that person out to be a helpless victim. It’s not attractive—and it creates a scene of hopelessness.
If you’ve read this far, promise that you’ll read to the end of the chapter, even after you have read the next section.
◆◆◆
Often in therapy, we talk about where the behaviors started. We want to explore what is underneath the feelings and thoughts.
In other words, we look for the root origin of the behaviour.
Can we agree together on a few obvious facts?
Parents, or whoever the people were that raised us, play a pivotal role in our lives. They are the ones who held us, rocked us, fed us, diapered us. Our mothers and fathers were the ones that taught us how trustworthy our world is as our brains were just beginning to form conclusions about what the world is like. From whatever experiences you had as an infant, you learned about what the world was like. As an infant, you didn’t read the papers or compare notes with your friends. You only had your own experience. When you were older, and you skinned your knee, or got left out at school, or got the flu, or got 95% (or 55%) on the test, or made (or got cut) from the team—it was your parents who reacted to what happened. Parents shape us deeply—how could they not?
No one, not even our parents, is perfect. Wouldn’t it follow then that they would have made mistakes that would affect us?
Conclusion: Of course, our parents screwed us up!!
And depending on your situation, you had brothers and sisters, grandparents and aunties, friends and a first crush, school yard bullies and cranky or friendl
y neighbors—all of whom interacted with you as you grew. You learned about what humanity was like through them. You discovered how:
safe and reliable,
unfair or self-serving
insecure and unpredictable
loving and valuing your world was.
It’s only a half joke amongst therapists to say that we endeavor to raise children well enough that are able to afford their own therapy.
◆◆◆
Note that the chapter doesn’t end here. Therapy often does look for some root understanding of where behaviors/beliefs/understandings of the world arise. But it is not an end in itself.
Let me explain.
For a decade, I was a single mom, responsible for a household. I got the kids to their activities, made them meals, loved on them, worked two jobs to make it all happen. And I did it imperfectly. Just ask my children! They can tell you how I messed them up, despite me devoting myself to being the best mom I could be.
I still screwed up—sometimes I was too tired to do a good job of mothering, sometimes I was fearful and so I got over-protective, and other times I didn’t sufficiently think things through. They are fine young adults now. I assure you they are fabulous adults, at least in some measure, in spite of my imperfect parenting.
Another one of the many responsibilities I had on my plate was to maintain our house. My dad is an accountant and didn’t have a lot of handyman skills—and so I also have limited fix-it skills. One day, I noticed in the basement that there was a slow but steady drip coming from my ceiling in the basement and landing on a box of photographs. The box, fortunately, was plastic and so the photos were intact. I removed the stack of boxes from underneath the drip. There would be no damage to the boxes, but the drip remained. Plumbing is not in my wheelhouse, so I called John.
Hell No to Hmmm, Maybe Page 7