Toughest counseling session to date!

I don't often discuss the actual counseling side of my experiences in graduate school, mostly due to the privacy and ethical considerations. However, I am having a really tough time letting my most recent session go.

For those of you who don't know, I am completing a counseling psychology practicum in which I provide psychotherapy to children and their families. I work with children as young as 3 and as old as 18. One young client (6 years old) began to see me towards the start of the practicum placement (around late September, early August) and continued to see me every other week until this week, our last session together. You see, as a student, I have a finite amount of time I am allowed to stay at a site before moving on to the next level of training.

This is actually okay with me--I like knowing I will get a wide range of experiences and training. I actually even felt okay with terminating services with everyone and completing our good bye sessions over last week and this week. But this client, man did he change my mind about that. He entered the room with his mom and immediately asked if he would ever see me again. When gently told no, he began to cry and continued to cry through most of the session.

While talking with his mom about his progress and what she perceived as most helpful, the client wrote me this note:

"I love Mrs. P. so so so so so so much!  I love Mrs. P. so much. Bye!"

He asked me for my phone number, asked for a hug several times, and did not want to talk about what we had done so far in therapy "because your making me cry."

It was THE hardest session I have ever had.  Not in the typical ways, but in the I want to pick you up and make everything okay for the next several years way.  You know, the way I can't respond.  I did not want to lie to him and was/am aware of how lying could make the transition harder, as he would be holding out hope that I would show up.  Additionally, as much as I would absolutely love to check in with him and his family in the future, that is not very therapeutically helpful to hold on to them so tightly.  So, I have to just remind him to use his coping skills, let him know it's okay to be sad and I'm sad too, and model giving a proper good bye.

It sucked!

When have you done something that you know to this day was the right thing to do, yet, you found yourself grappling with the negative aftermath?  How did you manage it?

Me...A professional?

I just returned from a professional conference...not a big national one, but a great statewide (Colorado)effort to bridge the gap between a variety of different service providers (teachers, mental health counselors, the juvenile justice system, case workers, and academics) who work with children and adolescents. I had the unique opportunity to provide a 90 minute workshop to interested individuals in managing vicarious trauma--best defined (at least in my eyes) as the "cost of caring".

I was excited to have my proposal accepted...mostly because it gave me a reason to travel to Fort Collins, Colorado, but also because it allowed me the opportunity to engage in presenting a workshop on something I have come to be increasingly passionate about.

What I didn't really consider, until after the conference, was how this was yet another step I have take that leads me further down the road of becoming a "professional".

I was struck with so many feelings of inadequacy AFTER the presentation. "What gave me the right to give this talk?" "What did I really know?" "Could I really be effecting change on some grander level by sharing these ideas and interventions?" "Could this possibly lead to the consulting type of work I so desperately want to engage in post-degree?" "Could I engage in it pre-degree...or am I really already at THAT point? Am I already a professional to some degree?"

That idea is scary to me. The idea that I may actually already be able to bring something to the table. With this idea comes some level of responsibility for engaging in professional activities, for sharing and disseminating useful knowledge.

Immediately after having the above thoughts, I then laugh at and question myself. Who else feels this level of responsibility?

As you grow in whatever vocational field you chose, as you become a professional or an expert, what level of responsibility do you feel? Am I an overachiever--feeling a responsibility and need to act that may not necessarily be expected? Am I setting myself up for failure, or worse, putting myself in a position where I may be imparting knowledge in a non-helpful manner to others?

Have you felt this pull? This need to do something meaningful with your new found 'title' of "professional" or "expert"? If so, how did you reconcile the feeling? What did you do to meet your feeling of responsibility?

Shout out to Single Parents

This weekend was rough--and not in the emotionally wrenching, "we were driving home from my brother's funeral last Easter" way I had expected.

It was physically and mentally exhausting.  It all started Saturday afternoon when "Nannie" threw up in the car on the way to Target (for last minute Easter goodie shopping).  Then again at home, and again before bed.  This was followed by "LiLi" throwing up shortly after falling asleep.

After this point I laid out a number of towels on the playroom floor (MUCH easier to clean than carpet) and began to just switch out towels after each episode of throwing up--which seemed to be happening every 10-15 minutes.  Then crying was heard from upstairs and "Addie" had also thrown up--she was brought downstairs and "Frozen" was played multiple times.  The girls would fall asleep, wake up feeling crappy, cry and whine, puke, get cleaned up, be given a new towel, have their heads rubbed and get some snuggling then fall asleep again...giving me time to climb back into the pull out sofa bed and fall asleep.  For about three minutes before going through the process with one of the other girls.

I may have been able to handle that.  Hell, I may have asked for a gold star or a cookie--you know, mom of the year and all that.  But, then I started puking.  Yep.  And those of you who know me know how that lays me out.  Done.  Game over.  Mommy is no longer in the building--at least not in any helpful manner.

In swoops reluctant husband and very helpful mother in law--on Easter.  Husband very lovingly offered water and ginger ale, kindly suggested I sit outside and get fresh air, and allowed for many, many welcome hours of time in bed WITHOUT children.  Mother-in-law took children off of husbands hands so he wouldn't lose it attempting to protect my fragile sanity at that point.

Then I began to feel less puke-y and more migraine headache bursting my head-y, just in time for "Sax" to begin screaming--like back to I'm a cranky old man newborn screaming.  And I walked for two hours with him--because rocking or sitting and bouncing would not calm him, nor would his swing or countless songs--just walking and slight bouncing.  This was not good enough to put him to sleep; just good enough to keep him relatively quiet.

As I was walking with him, well into an hour and a half at that point, and, yes, I'll admit it, I was crying a little bit.  At this point I was struck--profoundly struck--by my awe and undying respect of single parents.  I.  Don't.   Know.   How.   You.    Do.   It!   But, it is amazing.  I could barely keep it together and I had the help of my husband AND his mother.  I cannot--CANNOT--imagine going it alone over that 48 hour period of time.  God/Allah/Nature/All Individual's on this Planet BLESS you all!

The perseverance, spirit, and grit it must take are truly inspiring and at a level to which I doubt I will ever obtain.  Only in the face of true suffering can one grow to that extent.  Kudos to you--each of you.

What do you hold as sacred?

Long time since I've written, since I've just let these thoughts flow.

Sorry all.  I have lots of reasons, excuses, explanations--but in all honesty, I just haven't felt it.  I haven't felt the pull to put my thoughts, my emotions, my experiences down for the world to see.  Things have just felt too raw, too fresh, too personal to put out there for the world to see....maybe even too much of each of those for me to see and acknowledge myself.

BUT, here I am.  Back for now with a very poignant question--one posed in one of my courses this semester.

What do you hold as sacred?

Initially I thought--well this is easy...but, is it really?  What do you value so strongly that it can change your behavior, your mood, your thoughts?  What holds such power over you that there aren't words to describe it?

Me?  what was my answer?  I wanted to look beyond the "givens" of "my role as a parent", "my children", "family".  Without those expected answers, what was I left with as truly sacred, truly spiritually moving, in my life?

Answer:  Moving Water

Something about it moves me, stirs me to action, calms me, excites and rejuvenates me.  I can sit on a pier, stand in the rain, run my hand through a puddle for hours.  It doesn't get old.  I find peace and comfort in the sound of waves, gentle and lapping or energy in those rushing and powerful.  Water terrifies me, tempts me, sustains me.  There are so many metaphors one can make with water and life and death and peace and power.  For me, moving water encompasses each and all of these and something more--something indescribable--something sacred. 

What is sacred to you?  How?  Why?  What is your experience with this sacred object?