A Little About Me and How I Work

I want to tell you about how and why I do what I do, but it's one of those things that hides from words. I know that whatever I put down here won't measure up. It's my hope that you will be able to bring it to life in a way that my words cannot. Maybe if we work together we can get close to it. Most people find me gentle, and caring and open, probably about what you would, and perhaps should, expect from a therapist. I can also be sarcastic, and even irreverent at times. I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but who is? I do bring all of me into the room when I work, and most people seem to like that. The feedback I get around that is that this is what makes my style of therapy work. This post might give you a little more of a sense of how I can show up for you.

I don't have a "professional persona" that I put on when a client walks into the room. To be clear, I am professional. I have a very high level of personal and professional integrity that protects both me and my clients. I also tend towards colorful language, and I may kick my shoes off and curl up in my chair while we are working. I don't own a tie.

I cannot expect you to be real with me if I am pretending to be someone I am not. So, you get all of me. 

Keeping in mind that every session is different, and every client is coming from a slightly different place, most folks come in because there are things they want to look at that they don't feel comfortable sharing with others in their life. Other times they just need some guidance or some different tools to work with what's showing up. I work with lots of both, but this post focuses more on the former...

It's an honor for me to hear people's stories, to learn about where they've been, how they got to this place, what's working for them, and what's not. What wakes them up at night, and what keeps them up. (not always the same thing). The stories don't tumble out in our first session, it takes time, they need to trust the space that we create together. It's always on your time frame, and it usually doesn't take long.

I get to sit and hear about what's really going on. We don't do small talk, we don't chat about the weather. I say "I get to", not because it's easy, but because it's an honor. Because it humbles me every time. The courage my clients show when they risk enough to speak their truth is a gift. The gift is mostly to themselves, because of the freedom they find hidden in it, but it's also a gift to me, because these are their jewels, their treasure, that they are sharing with me.

Good therapy isn't just about listening to secrets, although I do believe there is a great value in just that simple, yet impossibly brave act of giving voice to the unspeakable. Good therapy is about being able to speak directly to whomever is showing up to tell that story. When we tell those hard secrets, we speak from that moment in time. There's an opportunity in those moments to directly address that person at the moment of the event. Maybe it was last week, maybe it was 40 years ago, it's all equally valuable.

Sometimes they just need to hear that I believe them, that it wasn't their fault. Sometimes they need to see that I can hear about something they did that was hurtful or harmful to another person, or to themselves, and that I'm still here with them. I'm not disgusted, I'm not angry, I'm not scared. I'm just here and holding that and I still see all of them, the good, the bad, and everything in between.

It's not the sharing that we fear, it's the reaction.

It's the fear of rejection, fear that we will see them the way they too often see themselves, fear that the worst of what they think of themselves is true.

Sometimes, in the space between the roaring in their ears when they share something scary, and the silence of the space between us that can hold it, something shifts for them. Just a little wedge of light that whispers to them that

Maybe you are not just this thing that happened.

It does not need to define you.

It is a part of a whole.

It's OK to let it be there, you are not alone with it. 

This is a slice of what might unfold in my office, other days it's a recap of the week and an exploration of what worked (AKA, that was a good move) and what didn't (AKA that was a bad move). I tend to move back and forth from diving deep and holding space for the hard stuff, to "how was your week?". Then we get to see if we can connect the dots.

I've written other posts about therapy and group work, please check them out if you're interested and get in touch if you would like to schedule a session.

Self on the Shelf

Sometimes we can't take it in when the people in our lives tell us good things about ourselves. There can be lots of reasons for this. Maybe we've never heard that we're good at this or that particular thing. Maybe we're moving too fast to stop and let it settle in. Maybe we don't think very highly of the person praising us, so their opinions don't carry much weight. Perhaps we don't feel they have the full picture, we think if they knew the whole story, they wouldn't be so complimentary. (See this post for more on that and why I think group work is so amazing) Much of the time, we can't take it in because it bumps up against a core belief that we're not OK in some way.

We're not smart, we're not beautiful, we're not strong, we're not worthy, we're not lovable...we're just not...enough.

So no matter how many times we hear that we really are OK, often we just can't let it in.

I invite you try something. The next time someone gives you positive feedback, and you find yourself ready to toss it away, put it on a shelf. You don't have to take it in right then and there, you don't have to accept it as truth. Maybe you never will. That's OK.

But you don't have to completely disregard it either.

Put in on the shelf, and allow the possibility to exist that it might be true. Maybe you're not all things to all people all the time. (nobody is). But maybe for that person, in that moment, you were just what was needed.

Put it on the shelf, then, when you feel ready, take it down and play with it. What would it be like if this thing were true? If this thing were true, what would that mean for other parts of your life? What would it take for you to accept this?

You may find that the second or third time you take a good look at this, you will be able to take it in. Or maybe, it goes back on the shelf. Your choice.

One more thing, think about a second shelf. One where you put the negative things people say, or even the things we say to ourselves. Sometimes the negative things are far too easy to accept as true. What if we put some of that on a different shelf?

Instead of immediately accepting that we are not good enough, not kind enough, not generous enough, not...enough.

Put it on the shelf. 

Accept the possibility that this thing that hurts, this thing that defeats you, may not actually be true. Again, you don't have to believe it, not all the way. Allow the shelf to just hold the possibility, that maybe, perhaps, this doesn't fit you as well as you have always thought.

Think of these shelves as simply an invitation to another possibility. Just a thought that perhaps you are strong enough, beautiful enough, kind enough, maybe, just maybe...

you are actually enough. 

Group Love

A new session of Dream Group started a couple of weeks ago. On the first day, I asked 6 people who had never met to look around at each other. I asked them to notice what was coming up for them. What kinds of judgements were they making? What were they afraid the others were thinking about them? Then I told them that they would all fall in love with each other. Furthermore, that I guaranteed that this would happen. There were some amused and uncertain looks.

By the end of the second session, they knew I was right. 

As they opened, and told their secrets, shared their sacred stories, put their fears on the table and let their masks fall away, the container was set and we were already falling.

Most of us work very hard to build an outer shell that is designed to repel judgement. "Hi, how are you?" "I'm fine, and you?" "I'm great, thanks for asking!".

Bullshit.

In group we ask "how are you?", and we get real. "I'm scared that my love doesn't love me, and I don't know who I am without them. I was overwhelmed last night, and I cut myself, like I've done so many times before. It's been a rough week."

We let ourselves sink down to the bottom of the lake, where it's dark and and sometimes scary. We sit down there and listen to what needs to be shared. It's safe, because we're all there together. It's scary, because we're all there together.

There are two important parts of group work, the first is being able to share the unspeakable. The second is being able to hear feedback on that.

"I feel like I'm unlovable"

Out in the "real world" this comment would be met with "oh, don't say that! You're awesome! I love you!".

But deep inside, there's this voice; "if they really knew you, they could not love you. They love the image that you project, but you know that's not real".

So the idea that we are unlovable persists, because we have created an environment for ourselves that doesn't feel genuine.

Jung said, "the psyche does not suffer deception well". We know when we are being lied to, and it's uncomfortable, and it happens all day long.

So part of group work is calling bullshit when we see it. When someone shares some hard stuff, and they end with "but it's fine, I'm ok". We ask, "what is it that makes you want to box that back up right now?. How does it feel in your body to have shared that and know that we saw through your mask?. What are you afraid we're thinking about you now? Now that we know your secret?". Let's just leave that wound open, let's not cover it back up just yet. We don't need to fix it, that's your work to do, but we can just sit here with that. And it's ok for you to let that happen. This is safe, even though it doesn't feel like it. 

Group is not for everyone. You need to be ready. You need to be willing to shed your skin and stand exposed, and let the group blow kisses that can sometimes sting. 

Once we feel like the group really knows us, knows all the parts that we run around all day trying to hide, then, and only then, can we start to believe it when they say;

You are lovable

You are enough

I see you

I see all of you

Until you can hear your own strong voIce telling you you're ok, I want you to use mine, and believe it.

Bittersweet 16

  When my first daughter was less than a month old, I wrote her a letter.

I remember feeling so connected to her, it was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and I knew it wouldn't last. I knew it would change and shift as she grew. When she was a week or so old, I remember lying down on the couch with her as we listened to Joni Mitchell's Blue album, still one of my favorite albums of all time. It's one of those memories that has stayed clear and crisp throughout the years. It was a moment in time when everything seemed to be in the proper place.

It's a bitter / sweet thing, to love a human so much, and know that to do right by them you will need to step back, to let them fall, let them hurt. Sometimes they need you close, sometimes they need your absence, it's a delicate dance.

On the outside of that envelope, I wrote that it should be opened by her on her 16th birthday. When I wrote that, I was probably thinking of myself at 16. Ready to be done with my parents, ready to have more freedom, ready for "real life" to start. I assumed that as Maya and I both aged, it would be harder to connect, that I might not be able to communicate all of the feelings I was having in this moment, with this new baby.

I wanted to make sure she had those words at a time when she might most need to hear them. 

I wanted her to know how loved, how deeply cherished, she was, and that she still is.

This weekend that envelope will get opened, and we both get to see what I wrote. She doesn't know it's coming. I don't remember exactly what's in there. I do know that the relationship I have with her is not what I feared it would be when I wrote that letter. We're closer than a lot of parents and teens that age. Still, there is an awkwardness when I tell her how much I love her, how proud I am of her. I see it in her face, an appreciation and gratitude for that, along with an embarrassment and a desire for this talk to be over.

It's OK for it to be both.

It's been the greatest joy of my life, to parent two amazing humans. I still find an occasion to parent here and there, but for the most part, they are who they are, and my part in shaping that is rapidly fading. I'm proud of both of my girls, more so than any other single thing I have ever had a hand in.

Most parents probably think their kids will grow up to change the world. Those of you who know Maya know that she's a person who could actually pull it off.

I don't know how her life will unfold over the next 16 years, I can't imagine the challenges and gifts those years will bring. I know that I will see a lot less of her in the coming years, and there will be others that will be lucky enough to gain her presence in their lives. I know she will continue to challenge the status quo. She will continue to bring joy and comfort to those around her, and she will keep raising the bar for what an educated, thoughtful and driven woman can accomplish.

Getting Curious

It is often said that curiosity killed the cat, but what fate awaits those with a lack of curiosity? As a therapist, my own curiosity is a powerful tool. When discussing cases with my supervisor, she often will tell me, "get curious". When I'm sitting with a client, it's essential that I pay attention not only to what they are saying, but how they are saying it, and what else is going on. If they tear up, if their facial expression changes, if their body language shifts, I will often ask "what just happened there?". It's an opportunity for us both to get curious. What did we touch on? What's going on with your body? Something shifted.

Outside the office, My curiosity tends to have more of an inward focus. If, as Plato said, the unexamined life is not worth living, I'm safe, at least for a while. It's become a large part of who I am, curious about myself, questioning my reactions to other people and environments.

I tend to surround myself with others who value this kind of curiosity. For me, it's one of the ways we care for one another.

How are you? What's important? What's hard? Who are you in this place, in this moment?

My wife's parents are good at this. They ask good questions, and listen to the answers. Perhaps it's due to their Quaker background. They know how to sit in a moment. I've always been grateful to them for that.

A dear friend from high school came for a visit last night. I hadn't seen him in 26 years. Within minutes we settled, we listened. We got curious about each other.

Where have you been? What have you experienced? How does that inform who you are now?

Curiosity is a gift, it's what keeps us moving forward, as species, as a community, as two old friends on the couch.

Showing up

How do we show up?

I've written before about being enough, you can find it here.

(Go check it out, I'll wait)

On a related note, I had been doubting some of the ways I've been showing up. At work, at home, for my friends, even for myself. I've been feeling more tense than I like, I've caught myself being short, sarcastic, even dismissive. This is not how I like to show up. I like to be present, grounded, open-hearted. I want the people in my life to know that I'm here for them, and that I see them for who they are. On a good day, I accomplish this. I can meet at least some of their needs, and I get some of mine met as well. Lately though, I just haven't felt all there.

Yesterday I got some feedback from a client that let me know that however I thought I had been showing up (or not), it was enough for her in those moments. She felt supported, and safe and able to do her work because I was there with her.

I needed that.

The day before, I came upon a young woman who was in the throes of a panic attack. I invited her into my office and I was able to help her get back under control. We did some orienting, we tried some breathing exercises, but I think what actually did it was that I was really there with her. We were connected, and she felt that.

In short, I showed up.

Two messages in two days that I am, in fact showing up. It doesn't mean that I can stop worrying about how I'm arriving for the people in my life. However, it's good to know that maybe I'm not as checked out as I have thought.

Inevitably, how we enter that space that gets held between two people is going to shift. It changes based on how we feel, how they feel, and what's happening in the moment. The greatest gift this work has given me is an awareness of that. Having the curiosity, the courage and the desire to address the questions of "how are we doing with each other? What do we need to attend to?" is a gift to both of us in that moment.

I'm grateful to ask it, and to hear the answer, and to go from there, every time.

It's always worth it.

All the Difference

There are times when I am touched by what I read. It doesn't happen often enough, perhaps I don't read enough of what touches me. As a graduate student, the opportunity to read what comes to hand and catches my eye is rare. Over the past few days I have been blessed again and again by a book. When Women Were Birds is exquisite. For a man who cherishes the relationships that women have with one another, it is a gift. I have often romanticized women's connections with one another. I freely admit it. Although, in my process of putting those relationships on pedestals, I have come to understand what I idealize, what I find sacred and essential. I know that women can be mean and petty and shallow and manipulative in their dealings with one another, just as men can be. I also know that men can be tender and supportive, and love one another in a deep and profound way. I have been blessed to have some women in my life who have let me in. Who have allowed me to be in relationship with them in ways that most men are not allowed. We have done a great disservice to intimacy in our culture by sexualizing it. Sex can be intimate, without a doubt, and hopefully is often. But there are many paths to intimacy, and I believe the gate that guards the door is not sex, but vulnerability. This is why I feel there is a gender gap when it comes to true relationship. Most men often don't do intimacy well, especially with other men, but too often even with their female partners.

It's too scary. It's too...vulnerable. 

One of the most powerful things about my work is the opportunity to model vulnerability, especially with male clients. It's hard to nail down what this means, exactly. I know what it's not. It's not weakness, it's not submissive, it's not disingenuous. It is perhaps simply the absence of a mask. The moment when you leave it all out there, and you're ok with the result, whatever that looks like. It's easier for me with some men than others, and sometimes we never get there, but that's the goal.

Intimacy is often one of the bravest things two humans can do together. 

There's something about the therapeutic environment that allows this, maybe even demands it. Most men struggle with this, especially with other men, because we have been taught that it's not safe, and often it's not. What this means however, is that we have generations of men who have never been fully seen. Hundreds of millions of individuals who have never gotten feedback on who they truly are, because it's too scary to really put it out there. The result is a nation of men who are uncertain about themselves. Men who, when they feel "less than", put on more masks, get more violent, more angry, more abusive in a desperate attempt to prove that they are ok. All the while, they slip further from their goal.

Terry Tempest Williams' book brought all this around for me. Her writing woke voices I haven't heard in a while. Whispered between her words, were the voices of the women in my own life who made an impact. some by their kindness, some with their humor, some with their judgment. Voices of women that have loved me, supported me, been disappointed in me, and at times likely hated me.

But they all saw me.

And as Thoreau once famously wrote, that has made all the difference. 

Peering into the Abyss

I had a client last night that was feeling disconnected from his peers because he doesn't pretend very well. He's real, he's deep, he's smart and he's kind. Socially, that can be a challenge on a college campus. This guy was sitting in front of me asking if he should learn how to "play the game" so he could have more friends. I wanted to grab him and yell "Don't you dare!".

I love this kid. I love his intensity and his passion and his dark and wandering thoughts. I love that he's out on the edge of the abyss of his own mind and he's leaning way out over the deep darkness, curious about what's bumping around in there. It's uncomfortable, and it's scary, and it makes him feel like he's doing something wrong and dangerous, but he knows that if he turns around and walks away from that it will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He knows how to live in a cage. He knows that it feels safe and the rules are given to you, and you get to have your life simplified. Here's the thing, he stepped outside that cage, and he has seen it from the outside.

It cannot be unseen.

So he's sort of stuck on this ledge. I know he's going to be ok. More than that, I know he's going to be one of those men that moves people in a really profound way. The people who are fortunate enough to be touched by his words, his actions and the way he dares to ask questions that have no answers will be grateful for that experience.

I know I am.

So, for now, we sit on that ledge together, sometimes throwing pebbles into the darkness to see if they hit something. Sometimes just sitting. What he needs more than anything is just to know he's OK.

I think, at the end of the day, that's all any of us really need.

For a Sweet Friend

I lost a friend this month. After years of struggling with the loss of her daughter in a car accident, she took her own life. Pam and I met in massage school, which is a very special and unique place. Everyone shows up with their insecurities about their own bodies. Add to that all the myriad feelings we have about other people's bodies. Then you get naked and practice working on each other, which is nerve-wracking to say the least. The bonds that get formed are tight, tender and nurturing. Our school was small, there were 10 of us at the beginning, I think 8 of us were left at the end. Pam and I connected immediately and we paired up with each other the majority of the time.

I came into that school with some heavy anxiety. I was molested when I was 12 by a man who used the term "massage" to legitimize the destruction of boy's lives. Being told where and how to touch someone has always been a massive trigger for me. My path to massage school was a long and winding road, but at the end of that road, I found myself in a small room with 9 strangers and a lot of apprehension.

Pam was my safe place.

We spent 20 hour weekends together for a year. We talked a lot and I came to understand just a fraction of the pain she carried. I didn't know Pam before she lost her daughter, so I can't say what she was like then. When I knew her she was a sweet, kind and generous woman who was also, unfortunately, broken in a profound way.

As I said, massage school is unique. I remember the smell of Pam's hair, a couple of moles she had, and the way her hands felt as they eased into the muscles of my always too-tight traps. I remember how dirty her feet always were from going barefoot. I know she cherished her husband, both of her daughters, her wide community of friends, and a couple of small elderly dogs.

Her hands shook.

Small tremors that may have been telling a story of what was going on under her own skin. When she used very light pressure, it was obvious, and endearing in a way. When she moved deeper into the muscle, the tremors were undetectable as she set about her work. She was good at it.

Pam was a searcher, a seeker of healing for herself and others. She helped countless people as a teacher, friend, and bodyworker. I'm deeply saddened by the choice she made, and hopeful that she found what she was looking for.

She left the world a little better than she found it, and it's a little less well off now that she's gone.

Safe travels, my sweet friend.

Enough

My dreams were busy last night, and a common thread ran through them all.

I was unprepared. 

I'm starting a shift at the Counseling Center of our local state college today. I spent 9 months up there last year (you can read about it here), so I know what I'm getting in to, and I'm looking forward to it. Throughout the day yesterday I was in contact with a couple of folks up there for various reasons, and the message I got was that I would be busy today. I wasn't entirely prepared for that. In my mind, I knew I had an appointment with one client from last year. She's awesome and I was looking forward to that. The rest of the time I figured I would catch up on some research I wanted to do for a dream group that I would be facilitating this year and generally hang around and be available if a student came in and needed to talk.

By the end of the day yesterday it was clear that this was not how the day would unfold. I needed to interview students for that dream group, I had at least two intakes, and that regular client as well. I also needed to meet a guy at my house to get a bid on some flooring work, so there will be a lot of up and down the hill and running around.

Back to my dreams... I reflected on this feeling of being unprepared. Did I have what I needed? My mind raced through all the physical items that were required. It was a short race. It's a short list. A bottle of water, my reading glasses, a couple of pens and a notebook. Maybe a snack.

Back when I was a cabinetmaker it often took over an hour just to load the truck with the tools I might need to do an installation. (cabinetmakers in general do not like to leave the shop, it makes us nervous, and we don't know how to travel light)

With this work, it's all about internal tools. It can take a while to develop them, but once you have them, they're always on board. So the discomfort that was showing up in my dreams wasn't about forgetting a crucial item, it was about questioning my internal readiness.

My unconscious was working through my anxiety around this.

Not so much "am I ready", but "am I worthy"

I received a gift last Thursday when the staff and interns of the Counseling Center gathered for the Put In, the start of our journey together this year. We did a short meditation and as I sat and allowed my mind to weave it's way through whatever wildlands I had created for myself, a message came through.

"You are enough"

This is truly one of the most precious things one can say to another. More importantly, it's one of the most important things we can say to ourselves. On that particular day however, there was another part to this message

"You always have been"

Sometimes when we hear something important, we can't let it all the way in. Sometimes we need to go back a ways (sometimes a long ways back). Sometimes we need to get down on one knee and look that kid in the eye and make sure they understand. Often it takes more than one try, you know how kids can be.

Sometimes in life it's about trying as hard as you can, but other times it's about letting go and trusting that you are exactly what is needed, just as you are.

Before I lose you in a Healy-feely haze where the only sound you hear is a rousing rendition of Kumbaya, let me be clear. This is one of the bravest and most difficult things we do as humans. To show up in all our messy, unprepared, authentic ways.

I don't know how the day will turn out. I don't know who I will sit with, what they will need or how I will show up for them. I do know that I will show up though, and despite my dreams of not having what I need, I know that this is the only thing that is required.

It will be enough.

The Importance of Feedback

A friend recently commented on her circle of friends, remarking how grateful she was for them, and how much they had helped her grow. She mentioned that they sometimes have dinners where they give each other real and relevant feedback. This is, perhaps, the greatest gift one human can give another. I wrote about my internship at the Counseling Center in an earlier post, you can find it here

Many times this past year I have been both witness and participant to the power of giving truly good feedback. It's often a great tool in group therapy work when a member has shared something big that they are now uncertain about. It is very scary to open yourself up to a group, no matter how close you all are. Often there is still that voice in our heads that says "if they really knew me, they wouldn't support me".

When someone stands up to that voice and shares anyway, it's imperative that they get feedback around how that landed with the other members. Often the response we get is in direct opposition to what we feared it would be. In fact, most of the time the feedback is so far to the other side of what we expect that it can be hard to even take in.

We're taught not to think too highly of ourselves, to not be conceited, to hide the parts of us that make us feel different from the rest. When we let that go and really hear how we are coming across to others, it can be life-changing.

To do this in a therapeutic environment is important, and one could say that it's even the whole point.

To know the importance of this and to utilize this tool in a relevant and conscious manner with the people we love is not only brave, it's a true gift to our friends, our community and ourselves.

Loving us into Being

For about the past 9 months I've been an intern at the counseling center of our local state college, Fort Lewis. It's part of my graduate program in social work. It has been, in short, life changing. It's interesting to me that the length of my experience this year has been about the same as it takes to grow a human. I have grown. I have changed, I have been held and supported and loved in ways that have literally taken my breath away. The director of the training program retired this year. It was heart-wrenching for so many that have had the good fortune to learn from him. In short, to learn from Colin Smith is to be loved by him. Colin is a Jungian scholar. He looks like John Lennon, with long, wild hair and thick round glasses. He often speaks in metaphors, and he has no tolerance for small talk. We fell in love with each other immediately.

At our orientation retreat, we sat in a circle at one of the senior counselor's homes. 7 staff members, 7 first year practicum students, 2 second year interns. When the sage was burned and the circle was created, I felt at home. What followed though, felt new. Colin read from The Little Prince, he read from the Velveteen Rabbit. He talked about what it means to become real, to be human, to be heard, to be seen. I tend to pay attention to my body in times like these. I have a pretty good bullshit detector, but it works in reverse. It works by making me cry when something is real. As Colin spoke and my tears flowed, I knew it would be good year. I also knew that I would be heartbroken when it ended.

Recently we had our year-end retreat. "The take out". We live in a small western town with a big rafting community. That being the case, it's inevitable that river metaphors abound. The orientation was the "put in", everyone into the boat, here we go. We've been moving down the river, most of us ending up in the water more often than not. But the line gets thrown and we hold on, and sooner or later we get pulled to safety.

So here we were again, this time at the Take Out. We sat in a circle as each of us were honored and given feedback on how we had come across, how we had shifted, how we had grown since that orientation day. We were held, we were challenged and we were loved.

We talk a lot about "the container", the space we create that allows our clients to open, to explore their hard stuff, their dark parts, their pain. At that orientation Colin talked about the container, and how it needed to be strong enough to hold everything we pour into it. But that's not enough. In order for change to happen, that container needs to be heated up. The heat gets turned on and it gets hotter and hotter until the contents begin to change. It's alchemy, and it's uncomfortable. One of Colin's favorite sayings is "the shit turns to gold". It's our hard stuff, the stuff we're ashamed of, that we never speak of, the parts that are too painful, scary and sickening to look at that is our richest material. That container needs to hold all of that without breaking apart, and there's only one way to make it strong, and that's through love.

Carl Rogers, pioneer of person-centered psychotherapy talked a lot about "unconditional positive regard". The idea that we should see our clients without judgement, to think the best of them. I do believe Rogers was right on in his approach with that, but he was afraid to call it what it is.

Love.

We love our clients. When they open up and let us in, when they share their broken parts, we fall in love with them. How could we not? That's when we know we have the container we need.

There's another part to all this. When we fall in love with our clients, when we hold that unconditional space for them do their work, we heal ourselves too. It reminds us to be gentle with ourselves. Another saying in the counseling center is "we're all in the soup together". There's no "I'm OK, you're not", there's not a separation. We all hurt, we all have to deal with our stuff. The more of our own work we do, the more we can help others. Period.

I have never felt so scrutinized as I have these past 9 months. At the beginning it was uncomfortable. My body language, my dress, my humor (especially my humor) was all open to interpretation. I'm no stranger to being judged, but that wasn't what they were doing. It was more of an exploration, an invitation to see what was going on under all that. It was all for my benefit, and I felt that.

The goal of the training program is to make sure we do our work. Their work is to hold us accountable to ourselves.

The staff of the Counseling Center do this by modeling the highest level of personal accountability and integrity that I have ever witnessed.

They do this by making themselves available to us in countless ways, both professionally and personally.

They do this by loving us into Being.

Push Pull

Thirteen is hard. I remember it, and not fondly. My daughter will turn 14 in August, she graduates from 8th grade tonight. Over the past two years I've watched her move rapidly from a child to a young adult. It's a fierce transition, sometimes painful, sometimes sublime. Lydia and I had a profound first meeting, you can read about it here.

I often worry that she's cursed with being the kid that's "OK". She does well in school, she makes friends easily, she's pretty. It's easy to assume that she's just skipping along in her young life, without too many obstacles or challenges.

Sometimes I forget how intense these years are. She's negotiating the most complicated relationships that she has ever known. She's had to work harder on her schoolwork than ever before. Her body is taking off in a million different directions, with and without her permission, both inside and out.

In short, it's a crazy time.

I don't tell her enough how many times a day I think about her and smile.

I don't tell her how often I look at her and my breath just leaves my body because I am so proud of her, because she's so beautiful, because she's so smart, because she's so funny.

Sometimes she tells me she hates me. She doesn't yell it, she's not angry, she's just telling me about this powerful emotion welling up in her. I tell her she has permission to hate me as much as I love her.

She thinks I'm being sarcastic, but I'm truly not.

It's impossible to feel the special kind of loathing a teen can muster for their parents if we don't love them that much as well, but I know in that moment, she's not really feeling that side of it. It's complicated, like any intimate relationship.

These are tender years. She's trying to figure how to get away, I'm trying to figure out how to let go. We've just started this dance with each other, and I know it's going to get harder before it gets easier.

Sometimes I get so scared for her that I can't move, other times I'm so excited for her that I can't stand still.

I'm thinking it's going to be like this for a little while.

I'm OK with that.

The Edge

  In bodywork we often refer to "the edge". It's that place where you start to come up against resistance. We also refer to "the wall", which is the place where no further movement is possible. In massage the edge is where we do most of our work. I've been reflecting lately on what other places in our lives we find this place, and the short answer is...

Everywhere

In our workouts, in our relationships, in our work, in whatever we do for personal growth. It's the edges that we need to find to enact a change. Sometimes they're sharp and we come up on them abruptly, causing us to shrink back and wonder what just happened.  Others are more familiar and are worn smooth by repeated visits.

Sometimes it feels good to work with these places, challenging ourselves, pushing that boundary ever closer to the wall. (of course, the wall moves too, but that's another story)

At other times that edge is so sharp and so scary that we just can't work with it at that time. Sometimes just taking a seat a little ways off and acknowledging it's presence is enough for now. Sometimes the awareness is all it takes to begin the work.

No matter where you find yourself as you approach these places, be gentle. Knowing when to stretch just a little further and knowing when you've reached that place where enough is enough is important.

I tend to go through spurts in my life where I take on lots of edges at once (so many of them are connected), and then I take a break, I coast for awhile, and I let all that work settle in and integrate. Then I'm off again throwing myself at those places that scare me, challenge me, or confuse me.

Admittedly it may not be the best way to get things done, but It's what I do. From the outside I'm not sure how it looks. I guess it looks like a lot of different careers, a lot of moves geographically, lots of varied interests, a lack of financial stability.  I've found that this is impressive or disappointing in varied degrees depending on where someone is in their own life and what their relationship to me is.

I'm just starting grad school, I'm an intern at a college counseling center, everywhere I look I see edges, and more than a few walls. I like this place. It feels alive. I know some of those edges will cut me. I also have my eye on a few that have got me in the past, I still have the scars.

I'm ready for them this time.

22 Years

On the 8th of August it will be 22 years since the day my wife and I stood with family and friends under a tent in her parent's backyard. It was a beautiful New England day, my mom made the cake, her dad made sure that his gardens were in full bloom.

We had a Quaker ceremony. We sat in silence. At times, when they felt moved to do so, some of our guests stood and spoke. Some briefly with shaking voices, others confidently and with more volume. Some of what was said was about us, some was reflections on marriage and love in general. To be honest I don't remember most of what was said. I do remember being deeply moved at the time. I felt supported, loved and cared for.

What more could one ask for on their wedding day?

When Anna's grandmother Wilda stood I wasn't sure what I expected. This woman was the matriarch of a large family and a long-standing pillar of her Quaker community. She took a breath, turned to face the two of us and said "you must always remember, and never forget, that the plural of spouse is spice". Then she sat, refolding her hands in her lap.

We've reflected on these words many times over the years. At different points in our lives they have taken on different meanings, though the common current running beneath has remained the same. Anna and I figured out long ago that the more time we spend together, the better it is for our relationship. This isn't the case for everyone, and every couple needs to discover what the recipe is for their own success. For us, we like each other's company. I think Wilda had a sense of this. It's the things we do together that flavor the years. Sometimes it's the big adventures that we save and plan for, but more often it's the unexpected moments. It's the shared experiences that add depth and color to our life together. It's a planned week in the mountains that turned into an unplanned weekend at the beach. It's the countless triumphs and challenges of being parents together. It's the 6 states we've lived in. It's all the animals we've loved and lost. It's the perfect meal, the quiet walk, the phone call that a loved one has died, the phone call that a loved one has been born, it's an ambulance ride, a sunrise, the breaking of a heart, a great bottle of wine. It's 22 years of shared moments, each one a gift in it's own way.

Wilda may have just meant to be funny that day 22 years ago, witty to be sure, and it was both of those things. It also turned out to be the only clear quote that anyone can recall from that day. I've always been grateful for those words, they have served us well. Thanks Wilda, and happy anniversary My Love.

Who's Your Daddy?

(OK, so it's July, but this was written for my other blog and I thought it was worth sharing here, enjoy!) I can’t let June slip by without a post about being a dad. Our family has never really celebrated Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, that’s just how we roll. However, lots of folks like to mark that third Sunday in June, and I want to tell you about my experience.

I think it’s safe to say that I’ve always wanted kids. Happily my wife and I have this in common. I feel unconditionally blessed and humbled that we were able to conceive with relatively little effort. Despite what they tell you in high school, it’s not usually that easy.

I have two very different daughters. I love them both equally, and to the very depths of my soul. My oldest is 14. She’s a super shy, critically-thinking, amazingly brave, out gay teen. My youngest is 12. She’s more outgoing than her sister. She’s uber-competitive, loves to challenge herself and effortlessly moves through the popular crowds in ways that her mother and I never did. (ok, my wife says she was “popular”, but her class in high school had 7 kids, so I’m not sure that counts) My youngest will belt out a song lyric and lay down a dance move without a second thought, wherever she happens to be. My oldest would rather clean the bathroom than talk to the person bagging our groceries at the store.

How did two such different kids emerge from the same union? I have a social sciences background and lean heavily toward the “nurture” side of the nature vs nurture debate. But there you have it. I have no clue.

Where am I going with this? Parenting is a mixed bag. You have these little beings, helpless and completely dependent on you when they arrive on the scene. Many new parents feel as helpless as those infants at first. It’s a learning curve. Through trial and error we find out what works and what doesn’t for that little human. The next little human that comes along may respond totally differently. Maya loved to be swaddled super tight. She was our little burrito, the less she could move the happier she was. Lydia hated that. She would scream like she was being run through with swords if you tried to wrap her up. Lesson learned, and on it goes.

Parenting is a dance to be sure, but it’s improvisational. It’s more like jazz than classical. Read all the books you want, get all the advice you can, but when that child arrives, and for the next 16 years or so, you have to dance to the tune being played in that moment, and with that child.

It’s cliche to say that parenting is a journey (or a dance for that matter), but I’m going to say it anyway. It fits. One step at a time, never knowing quite what is around the next turn, you move along with your child. It requires a great many things, and none of them are ever quite what you expect. There is one thing I do know though, the only thing you really have to do to be a good parent is this:

Just show up.

Everything else gets worked out along the way.

Holiday survival tips

It's happened again. You skied and napped your way through late winter. You tilted your head back and drank in the first sweet breathes of Spring, you biked and hiked the summer away. Recently you looked around and realized that fall had descended, on the wings of golf ball sized hail no less. So here we are, entering another holiday season with all it's blessings and madness. For most of us this time of year is a mixed bag. We get to see family that we might only see once a year. We have an excuse to shower gifts and affection on those we love. For a brief time there is an increased spirit of acceptance and appreciation.

It's not all sugar plums and eggnog though. It can be stressful. It can be depressing. We may feel pressured to do more than we comfortably can. Our gifts may feel inadequate. We may be missing loved ones that we have lost.

How do we stay in the positive flow of these times, without getting lost in the depths of the darker side?

Here's a couple tips:

1) Know what not to compromise. Often over the holidays our normal routines get pushed aside to make others who may be visiting feel more comfortable. We may forgo our morning walk to make sure the coffee is brewing on time. The food we prepare may be richer or sweeter than we normally ingest. We might be drinking more alcohol than on just any other Tuesday night. (and who could blame you?) All these things can throw your body off, and that in turn can contribute to emotional upset as well.

Know what you need to stay on course physically and emotionally, and don't compromise on it. Your family and friends will understand.

2) Take time for yourself. It can be tempting to make sure you spend as much time as possible with out of town guests. After all, you don't see them very often and soon they will be gone again. Keep in mind that you may be much better company if you preserve some time to yourself, especially if you are used to having alone time during the day. Even a solo trip to the store to pick up a forgotten item can be refreshing, and you will be better company, and more appreciative of your guests, when you return.

3) Go easy on the gifts. In some families, and with some friends, there can be tremendous pressure to give expensive gifts. Don't buy into it, pun very much intended. Do you remember what you received for holiday gifts last year? Maybe one or two stand out, but maybe not even that many. Personally, I love Thanksgiving because the focus is on good food and company, my favorite things. But no matter what your religious or social persuasion, sooner or later between Thanksgiving and New years, the gift giving will happen. Maybe a few less pre-made gifts this year could help you be less stressed. Perhaps spending a portion of that money on an activity or some special food items would be more memorable and less costly. Here's another idea: My wife comes from a large extended family and each year they do a Secret Santa ritual where everyone chooses one name from a hat and that is the only person that person purchases a gift for. Everyone gets a gift and no one feels overwhelmed or insecure about the gift giving experience. I love this.

4) Get outside. We live in one of the greatest outdoor playgrounds in the world. Even if you don't have a house full of Olympic skiers, it's a good idea to get everyone out of the house, even if it's only for a quick walk. It clears your head, breaks the routine, and helps you move some of that fruitcake.

Keeping some of these things in mind can help your holiday season to be a little more pleasurable, and a little less stressful.

Pick Your Parts Carefully

I had a client tell me a story the other day. As I was working on the bottom of his foot, he said: "You'll find a lot of scar tissue in there. When I was a kid I was swimming in a quarry and I split that thing wide open. My friend ran out to the road, about a mile and a half away, and flagged down a truck. The truck driver hiked in to the quarry, carried me out and drove me to the hospital. Now that story lives right there in that foot."

This man is entering his 70th year, so I'm guessing it was 55-60 years ago that this occurred. True enough, he was carrying some scar tissue in there. Where there should have been soft and yielding flesh there were areas of rigidity. He was also carrying this beautiful imagery of a stranger helping a kid in trouble. He talked about that, and not about the pain, the blood, the fear, the hospital experience or his recovery. The part he kept there in his foot was the kindness of that man who stopped what he needed to do that day to help him.

We all carry stories along with our scars. Sometimes it's hard to find the grace in there. Often we can choose which stories we cling to, and that can radically effect how we move through the world.

It's also worth noting that every day we have opportunities to play our own parts in other people's stories. How we play those parts will be carried with them too, so it is well worth paying attention to how our characters unfold.

The Edge And The Wall

I read this great article this morning on the importance of not overstretching. It came to me through the magic of Facebook by way of two great massage therapists in Midcoast Maine, Kristen Burkholder and Katia Ancona. Remember that your tendons and ligaments have very little blood flow, and so they take a very long time to heal if damaged.

My massage instructor, Donna Kraft Smith, who was also a yoga teacher, used to say when we were doing our daily yoga practice "know the difference between the edge and the wall". The edge is where you feel resistance, this is where the work should be done. The wall is the place where you feel you can go no further, listen and respect that boundary to avoid injury.

How are You?

It's been raining here in Colorado. You may have heard. Thankfully here in Durango we are not suffering from the horrific flooding that the Eastern part of the state is, and I find my thoughts often drifting to those folks lately. It's a helpless feeling, watching an unstoppable natural event. Here in South West CO we need the rain, and this past week brought more of it than we have had all summer. I've noticed an interesting thing. Even though we are a seven hour drive away from the areas hit hardest by the flooding, and to my knowledge the rains here have been more of a blessing than a curse, people are looking out for one another. Multiple times last week I had clerks at various shops say "stay safe" rather than the usual "have a nice day". I think there is a heightened awareness of personal safety when part of your state is going through something like this. Maybe it was because last week also contained September 11, a day when everyone seems to be a bit more open and sensitive to the well being of their neighbors.

While I obviously don't wish tragedy on anyone, I would like to see more of this attitude expressed in general, and preferably without the need for catastrophic events.

I'm fortunate to be in a profession where asking how someone is, and really listening to the answer is a big part of my day. Or rather, I prefer this attitude, and so here I am in this profession. Often when I first greet a client there will be the obligatory "Hi, how are you?" and the answer will be "great!"

After all, they are here to get a massage, so life is understandably grand.

But once they are settled in a chair and I ask again, it's often a different answer. The stories of broken hearts or disappointments come. The lost job, the, ailing parent, the falling out between good friends. Somehow it's just not OK to let out the truth that we may be struggling with something in public. Not until we feel truly engaged by another do we let the wall slip.

I do understand that sometimes it's better not to lay all of our woes out in the grocery line just because someone happened to ask how we are doing. There are rules and social queues that help us negotiate when and where it's OK to say how we really feel. On the other hand, I have seen some truly beautiful exchanges between folks who do not know each other. Sometimes all it takes is an acknowledgement that this person in front of you is moving through something hard. A touch on the hand or shoulder. A look in the eye that says that you hear them. It can make all the difference. You may be the only person that day to truly acknowledge that life for them is hard right now. Often that one exchange can lighten that person just enough. It can make a real difference, perhaps for both of you.