NEWS FLASH: endings make girl sad

so, i'm moving at the end of June. my plan (as of this minute) is to take respite in Ohio for a week or so, then ultimately land in the land of (less) opportunity...California.

i've had this California idea for a while now. the seed was planted long ago when my lifetime Philadelphia roommate/lifemate and i made a pact...if we weren't "tied down" in three years, we'd move to there. three years passed, and one of us (not me) was tied down temporarily. and i was in a groove in Philly...good job, growing and deepening friendships, totally awesome haircut. no point in moving, i thought...things are good. and they really were. so much so, that i decided to commit to 3 more years in Philly by entering graduate school. but as soon as i hit tough times during my first year, my once subsided desire resurged. i really wanted to get out.

i soaked in this dissatisfaction for a while. it was awful, and my friends can attest. while this steeping hurt, it brought me new life. during those three years, i deepened in so many ways and, i began to release my flavor more fully (i'm hanging on to the tea analogy, if you haven't noticed). i came out of my "depression" revived. things were still hard...school was more demanding...i was often lonely. but i felt fuller. i noticed that my friendships were stronger than ever and i was a better friend (and i can obviously also attribute that to the other people involved). i felt more secure in myself, found God, and refined my purpose. all good things, i'd say. so...why leave?

i think i ask myself that question about 17 times a day. i've been processing my move for about three months now, so that's 17 multiplied by 90 days....makes it...(calculator)...1530 times so far. my answer has morphed over time, and i discover something new each time someone else asks me the same question. i don't think i could fully articulate my answer here on this page, nor do i think the reader could follow it or truly be that interested in it. but if you know me, you've probably gotten some version of my answer. and i hope it was acceptable

ok, here's something short. in short, i want to find more pieces of me. family, love, geography, to name a few. it scares the shit out of me to even write those three reasons, because i have no idea what i will find in those areas. IF i will find anything in them. but i suppose...no...i am willing to try this and see where my move will take me and bring me.

oh right, endings. ever since i made my decision, i've continued to soak in Philadelphia. i kind of thought i would detach, but instead i've continued to attach myself and allow it/others to attach to me. i'm not sure if this is good or healthy or whatever. at times, i feel as though i'm abandoning that in which i've invested here. but i'm doing it. it makes this goodbye thing a lot harder, but maybe much more meaningful. but i AM still invested, even if i'm gone. while that is difficult to (as my old supervisor would say) concretize, i think that's how i want it. while i'm losing a lot, more than i ever imagined, i want to hang on....i really do want it all in some form. is that wrong?

new endings keep manifesting themselves as my departure grows near. while it's incredibly saddening, often debilitating, and just really painful, i think that the fact that i have to face these endings, and steep in them will somehow make me a better person. that's my hope, at least. and THAT really IS a news flash to me.

please don't leave me

And with that said in my title, I would totally leave me if I were you.


If you're still reading, I'll now provide you with an extension to my plea:

I haven't been blogging much lately...for a million different reasons. Since my last post, I've been totally out of my mind busy...with school work, internships, personal crises, eating, sleeping, facebooking. The usual. While I'm the first person to poo-poo excuses, I'll give them anyway. Because that seems to be all I have right now...energy to excuse and plea.

Naturally, my continued desire to be a part of the world (even the virtual world of blogging) while feeling completely dilapidated got me thinking...is this struggle the sign of health?

I've been having a hard time separating myself from people, events, my worries, my spiraling thoughts these days. An expert on my life would claim that I've always had a hard time doing that...I was born what a lay person might term "overly sensitive." As a child, I vividly remember throwing myself into tizzies when bad or stressful things happen to me. I don't think was necessarily the culprit...it's not that I was throwing a tantrum because I didn't get my way (see, I was pretty much the perfect child). But when anything happened to those around me, especially those dear to me, I'd react like it happened to me. While I know this can be called "empathy" and am convinced the trait led me to this profession, I'm growing weary of being this way. It's like I'm absorbing everyone's pain and making it my own. And it paralyzes and confuses me. I don't know which way is up...I don't really know what I (me...ME) actually feel. So all of that advice that I gave you before about identifying your true feelings? Down the drain.

When I'm in these binds, it's like I coil inward. The further in I go, the less I'm able to make sense to anyone else or myself. The less I'm able to fish out what pain is mine and what is others. I think this is why I haven't been blogging...if I can't make any sense of things, who wants to listen to me? Wouldn't it be easier to just bear my discomfort, my questions, alone?
This seems to be the plight of the severely mentally ill, the schizophrenics, and often the homeless folk. Their path and their illness (whichever came first) has driven them to isolation...where they can't stand to be with people and vice versa. It scares me to think I might have the capacity to draw so far within myself that I could cease to be much to anyone.

Before you write this entry off as a downer, remember this (and I'm saying this to myself more than anyone)...The pain is not all mine. I need to hand it back to whom it belongs. And I don't have to bear it alone. In fact, at times, I might need to look so much further outward than I imagine.....like to a therapist (PLUG!).

Re-reading this, I'm not sure I've made sense to the reader. You can blame it on my harried state of mind. No, on second thought, just blame it on me...no excuses...I think I'm just like it. But I published myself anyway. For you...the reader. So you don't leave me.

giving myself a break

For some reason, I've had this notion that therapists have to have their shit together. So when I feel all over the place, am inarticulate, and seem to have an overwhelming amount of problems, I fail to see how I can help anyone else. I'll admit that I feel this way now.

Usually, when I go to someone for help, I assume they must have some ultimate authority on the subject at hand. I assume so because I desperately want them to have THE answer to my problem. I've struggled with the problem long enough, and I just want relief. Just give me an answer. Gimme. I swear I'll do it.

I might regret this, but here's a personal illustration: I'm not so good at dating...never have been...and at one very clever point in my life, I even referred to myself as the "One Date Wonder." When I reach complete frustration, I go to my dating gurus (I won't divulge my sources). I usually get some encouragement, some advice, some laughs at my expense. I seek advice because there are those moments when I still see myself as that little kid who just doesn't know or understand reality. Just take my hand...lead me to the answer. After getting my advice, I naturally go try it. And usually......I fail. And hate myself a little bit more for not being able to follow simple guidelines. So why, when I do what others do and suggest, it doesn't work for me?

The simple answer is they are not me. While they have success in an area that I don't and may even share my values, they don't have my history and my experiences, my brain and my perception. One of those things probably screws with their advice.

I'm slowly coming to understand that therapists don't have all of the answers. And they also don't necessarily have their lives together. If we did, we wouldn't be human. Our job is not to point our clients to some agreed upon or right answer. We don't blindfold them, give them a nickel, and launch toward to some promised land...watching and waving as they float away. Our job is help our clients find their own answer...even if it's not what we would choose. We go to their side, take their hand, and walk with them...maybe nudging them but never dragging them. For clients, they gain insight and control over their lives. For us therapists, we avoid beating ourselves up when our clients come to us and say "It didn't work."

SO. To my clients...I AM trying to get my shit together...I really am. But like you, it's a work in progress. To my friends, family, and acquaintances, on the other hand, I'm happy to give advice...and you should take it.

they're just feelings, she says

I've been going to therapy for almost two years. Eastern's counseling program "strongly suggests" that students do this. I naturally hemmed and hawed for a few months. My argument...it's freaking expensive. And I, a student, have very little money. But I decided it was worth a shot. So two years in, approximately thousands of dollars spent, and exactly 47 gallons of tears shed, I can say that it has been well worth it. Every bit of it. I probably would have said this at just 3 sessions in, but I want to publicly declare it.

I would also like to point out that after spilling my feelings to her week after week, my therapist sprung this on me, "They're just feelings." I just sat there, mouth agape. I'm a fairly emotional person (which MIGHT be an understatement) and have spent many hours in therapy sorting out my feelings. FURTHERMORE, my professors have beat into us the importance of "getting at the emotion" during sessions with clients. So this statement kind of threw me. If it's true, why the hell am I putting so much time and energy into feelings... both personally and professionally?

I often find myself overwhelmed with emotion, both good and bad. So, naturally, I dismiss them... (or, as my brother likes to say, "push them down...deeeeeep down."). The problem is, my feelings then drive me. Mostly out of my mind (buh-dum-ching!). Ignoring our feelings might be great at first. We feel strong and in control when we can convince ourselves that we don't care. And at times, we need to, just to stay sane. But there's something freeing about sitting with our feelings. Allowing ourselves to hold our feelings, in therapy or with good friends, liberates us from them. As we examine them, we can put them in perspective. Because although feelings are real, they're not reality. They're not the only things that exist and they shouldn't be the only things that motivate us. I do fear that if we put so much stock in feelings, we'll find ourselves riding their waves...thinking and behaving in ways that do not take other factors (especially other people) into account.

I definitely still have a hard time accepting that my feelings aren't paramount. They kind of led me to this profession and keep me engaged with my clients. I feel connected when that bit of heartache creeps up as I listen to them talk. I don't think I'd be me without it. But while I can appreciate and listen to my feelings, I don't have to let them take over.

So...I hereby release you to go forth and grab ahold of your feelings! Then tell me how you did it, because I'm still unsure...

dear diary...i mean journal

I was asked by an anonymous follower of my blog to quote, write more, end quote. I think he's just bored...considering a TRUE follower would reveal his identity by actually signing up. At any rate...

I guess I generally think that I have to have some pressing pondering in order to write. A plan...a purpose... or a punch line. Writing has never been my forte, so writing on a whim doesn't always work out for me. I'll probably even edit this a few times.

One writing endeavor I'm pretty good at is journaling. I've been journaling for years, ever since I was like 7, when got my very first diary. If I recall, it had Garfield on it. It also had a lock, to keep out my nosy sisters and brother...I couldn't have them reading about my deepest darkest secrets! Like how I was soooo mad that I missed "Doughnuts for Dads" in 3rd grade because I was sick. I was seriously distraught about that. Anyway, I wrote probably a handful of entries and totally lost the key. So many childhood thoughts...trapped.

I think I resumed writing in a journal as soon as I felt old enough to call it "journaling" instead of "writing in my diary." I've gone through so many phases of this common practice. From reporting my daily activities (captivating ones like..."Dear Diary, Today I went to the candy store with my sister. She's so annoying. We bought Mambos.") ...to exploring my writing style (at one point, I was convinced that someone would turn it into a memoir, so I made sure to sound really existential)...to figuratively vomiting all of my feelings onto the page (oh the ways one can say "hate"). All had their use, I suppose. But I think there was something missing in the process.

Lately, I've been using writing more therapeutically. I know that reference probably makes some people gag (me too, a little). Sometimes I hate when I suggest to clients that they journal. It's kind of like replying "What do YOU think it means?" to the question "So what do you think?" It seems like a cop-out...an easy answer to a really hard question. Unfortunately, like all classic therapeutic tools and interventions, they're classics for a reason. We, ourselves, have to figure things out. And writing DOES help.

I know that a lot of people use writing and journaling as a therapy. But I assert that we need to approach it in the different way. While my figurative vomiting had some cathartic effect, it kind of just emptied me. I wasn't filling myself with anything new. And actually, those awful feelings that I wrote down probably never left me. They peeked out, screamed, and retreated back, deep within me and probably festered (I'm picturing this like "Alien."). I think putting time and thought into our writing...really working things out as we write...and allowing our words to really sink in to our hearts and minds is way more therapeutic than spilling everything on the page. Yes, we might feel better for a minute; but most likely, we'll feel empty afterwards. When done thoughtfully, I believe writing can really connect parts of us that are usually disconnected. Our prose, in whatever form, can become a road map to ourselves.

So even though I still write like I talk...with fragments...with hip-kid/hep-cat vernacular (OK, I obviously don't even know what that is anymore)...and with ellipses... I'm trying more and more to really be thoughtful about what I write--even when I think no one will read it.

on a side note...

This post has nothing to do with being a therapist...and everything to do with being a blogger.

I have my very first follower! I won't mention her name, because I don't know what the etiquette is. But, I find it amusing that on my "dashboard" (you know, where I, the pilot of the blog, flies the blog, so to speak), it says "1 Follower." Then next to that it says "Manage." I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to manage my one follower. Rachel's kind of unruly. Shit, I mentioned her name.

Addendum: I love my follower.

great admirations

I just got home from one of my last classes of this semester, and I feel so loved. My professor adjourned class by reading us students a prayer of Thanksgiving...appropriate as we approach the holiday. She prefaced her reading by saying that she searched long and hard (OK, googled...but still) for a Thanksgiving wish from a professor to a student...but couldn't find one. Most were letters of thanks or sentiments from students to teachers. What she read instead was a Bible passage from Eugene Peterson's translation "The Message." I go to a Christian University...we can do that there:

Philippians 1

3-6 Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God. Each exclamation is a trigger to prayer. I find myself praying for you with a glad heart. I am so pleased that you have continued on in this with us, believing and proclaiming God's Message, from the day you heard it right up to the present. There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.

9-11 So this is my prayer: that your love will flourish and that you will not only love much but well. Learn to love appropriately. You need to use your head and test your feelings so that your love is sincere and intelligent, not sentimental gush. Live a lover's life, circumspect and exemplary, a life Jesus will be proud of: bountiful in fruits from the soul, making Jesus Christ attractive to all, getting everyone involved in the glory and praise of God."

Like I said, this really warmed my heart...not only the passage, but the way my professor read it to us. She is one of the kindest individuals I've ever met. I might gush right now...but I don't think it'll be purely sentimental. So here I go.

While my time in grad school and in this field has been trying, I have had the pleasure of learning from and being amongst some of the most intelligent, admirable, integritous (you know, full of integrity...is there a word for that?), and just plain cool professors and clinicians on the face of the earth. It's true. My internship professor always lectures for the first half hour of class on topics like "containing our clients' emotions", "grieving defenses", and my favorite "evil, the view of self, and Christian thought." Then we have a few moments of silence to reflect on it and ourselves. At times, I think I can hear my soul. No lie. My favorite professor sometimes joins me and my peers for beers after class (we call it Peers, Beers, and Professor Jeers...actually, we don't. I just made that up) where he regales us with stories about old clients and quips about his own personality style. And then there's my research professor (who is Chinese) who constantly talks about Kung Foo Panda and Dutch Apple Pie. You got me why he does, but that's what makes him great and why I keep taking classes with him.

Some might not realize the importance of these moments, but I see them (and my professors) as a gift. They care about us and for us so that we can care for others. It's like the gift that keeps on giving, really.

While I'm incredibly nervous to graduate and give up this culture I've grown to appreciate and love, I kind of expect that I'll get this once I'm out "on my own." I know it won't look the same...Peers, Beers, and Professor Jeers won't happen...I won't always have people reading me inspirational Bible passages...and I'll probably have to beg people to massage both my ego and my funny bone (ehhh...you catch my drift, right?). But little experiences here and there have provided me with a ray of hope. I can see my academic crushes (yes, I have crushes on all of them) making way for professional crushes. My current internship supervisors are incredible and I enjoy supervision more than I ever have before. I read books and articles by authors in the field that enlighten me far beyond what a text could. And in attending a lecture last week on the Paranoid Personality, and I now think I'm in love with the presenter.

I think we need people to admire, to look up to, to strive to be like. We need to look longingly at them and their attributes. We need to follow their lead so that we can one day lead. And I do want to lead someday.