On the benefits of being a therapist: Living without judgment

In a recent clinical supervision meeting, we were discussing the importance of being direct with our clients, discussing openly and honestly the reality of what is happening in their lives and families, not holding back our true opinions (which is these situations are expert opinions) out of fear of offending or hurting them. We don't do them any favors if we withhold important information. We can do this without being judgmental, meaning we don't think less of them or blame them for their problems or shame them for having these problems. Talking honestly, openly, and directly is not the same thing as being judgmental.

This realization about what is and is not being judgmental has gradually dawned on me over the past few years and finally crystallized into words in the meeting I described above. Living this way is incredibly freeing. I don't have the decide if something or someone is good or bad, righteous or wicked, at fault or not. It just is what it is. Living without judgment also means living without blame. I love it!

To be sure there is some benefit to me letting myself live without judgement of myself, being less critical of myself, not worrying quite so much what other people think of me. The most surprising thing, though, has been how freeing it feels to live without the burden of needing to make judgments about others. Other people can do and be and choose whatever they want, and I get to do and be and choose whatever I want.

On the hazards of being a therapist: Noticing things

When you learn something or learn to see something, you can't just unlearn it or unsee it at your convenience. I'm sure members of my family in the film industry notice things about films I never would, even when watching for pleasure. If given the assignment to critique a work of design/marketing, Blake could do a thoughtful and thorough job; I've seen him do it. I've also seen that he notices little design errors, interesting font choices, photoshop flaws, etc. even when he's not trying to.

I notice relationship things. I notice patterns of interacting. I don't try to; I just do. This doesn't mean I spend my time analyzing or criticizing or "therapizing" the people around me. That would be exhausting. I like being able to leave work at work just as much as anyone else. I say noticing these things is a hazard of being a therapist, because it's so personal. It's way more personal for me to notice that one spouse routinely ignores the other than for Blake to notice that there is no organizational hierarchy in the flyer you made. I fear it makes me intimidating to other people and/or difficult to be with.

I can assure you that if I notice things about you, that's as far as it ever goes. I just notice. I rarely share my observations; there's no point. I don't think less of you. I just notice. I can't help it.

On the hazards of being a therapist: Becoming introverted

Several years ago I took a class on personality theory. One of the sections talked about research on being introverted v. extroverted. The hypothesis was something like this: we all have need for social interaction and human connection; it seems to take more interaction and connection for extroverts to reach satisfaction than introverts. Once we reach our optimal level of interaction, more can feel overwhelming, taxing, and anxiety provoking. We pull away and need time alone.

If interaction and connection were beverages, an introverted person might desire and be satisfied by a small cup of tea while an extroverted person needs a 5-gallon cooler of gatorade before they feel satisfied. Or, if we skew it the other way, an extroverted person wants a nice tall glass of water, while an introverted person only needs a thimble's worth. The same amount of interaction doesn't work for everyone.

I naturally sway toward the extroverted side. I like being around people and having lots of friends. I tend to be a more-the-merrier kind of person. Having a job where I interact with and connect with people all day long suits me pretty well. Most of the time, I feel energized by my work--my work with the people that is, paperwork is an entirely different story, though I'm good at that too.

The downside is that I'm not near as friendly outside of work as I used to be. My social interaction and human connection water glass is filled or nearly filled at work. Sometimes the effort required to get together or keep in touch with friends seems too much. I find myself wanting a lot more time alone. I was noticing just yesterday when a friend was over that I didn't have too much to say. I was pretty content to let him and Blake talk while I just observed.

To my friends and family: I'm sorry. I miss you. I still care about you. If you invite me to things or contact me, I will come or respond. Sometimes I just don't have it in me to initiate. My maternity leave is starting soon, though. Give me a few days 'alone,' and I'm sure I'll be reaching out. :)

On Family Vacation Bingo

We were planning a family vacation. Blake and I were really looking forward to it. We were laughing and joking about things we thought would likely happen. I came up with this idea to make a bingo game out of the things we were laughing about. Over the next several months we collected a list of things that were likely to happen when we got so many family members together for several days in a row.

The more we thought about it, the more I loved the idea. Inevitably, there would be time waiting on others. The bingo game might help. Surely there would be small but predictable annoyances; we choose to laugh about them as part of the game instead of getting overly frustrated or embarrassed. There were things like "we will have a hard time choosing where to eat" and "a toilet will get clogged" and "a kid will try to get the grandparents to give them what they want when mom/dad says no." If we were to do this again, we could add "Becca will get grumpy if we don't feed her." We learned from experience on this trip that this is likely to happen again.

As the time for the vacation got closer, we edited our list to be certain that nothing was hurtful or offensive and to make sure everyone was included. I made several varieties of bingo cards so we wouldn't all get bingo at the same time. Bonnie helped us pick out stickers for markers and some treats for the first three winners.

Well, the vacation came and playing the game didn't work out like we had hoped, but not because it was a bad idea. I'm sharing it here because I still think it's a great idea! Feel free to borrow it and enjoy the laughter.

End note: Bonnie was so excited to play bingo. We spent one night playing games, and the next morning she told me "Mommy, I waited and waited and no one picked to play our bingo game." I hated to have to tell her that we weren't going to be playing the bingo game. We compromised by playing together and letting her share the treats we had picked out with everyone.

On why I'm talking about my faith transition

In my late teens and early twenties I spent a lot of time sorting through and healing from the effects of some of the family conflict that happened when I was a kid. I remember feeling this deep pain and not knowing what to do with it or how to make sense of it. There was no going back and undoing it or magically making it go away. I wanted to find some meaning or purpose in what I had experienced and the pain I continued to feel. But there was none. I didn't deserve it; I didn't cause it. There was no reason I had to go through it.

I found peace with those experiences when I decided I could use what I went through to help others. My suffering wasn't for nothing if I could use it to prevent or alleviate suffering in someone else. I made a conscious choice to let myself become more compassionate. I tried to be sensitive to loneliness, be a listening ear, not be afraid to cry with someone else or make myself vulnerable so that person didn't feel so alone.

It is for the same reason that I am talking about my experience with doubting and then leaving full activity in the Mormon church. In the four-ish years I've been on this journey, I've interacted with a lot of people, mostly online, who also have doubts or who have decided to leave. There is a lot of loneliness and pain, confusion, rejection, disappointment. While my road has been incredibly difficult for me, I know I'm lucky. Many, many people have it much worse.

I expect I am not the only person you know who has or will experience doubts, go through a period of inactivity, or decide to leave completely. My hope is that as you interact with those people now and in the future you might be a little more patient, a little more compassionate because of what you read here. Maybe, knowing the pain that is likely there, you'll be more likely to move toward that person than pull away. Maybe you can hold them while they cry. Maybe the best you can do is say nothing. Maybe you will say, "I know someone else who has been through something like this. Can I put you in touch with her?"

Every time I post something big or controversial about Mormonism on facebook I have at least one person (sometimes as many as 5 or 6) contact me privately to say, "Thank you for saying what you did. I thought I was the only one" or "I'm so glad to know I'm not alone" or "I'm really struggling, can we meet up for lunch sometime? I need someone to talk to." This is worth it. This is why I'm talking. I would never know who these people are or that they needed help if I wasn't talking.

Tornado

I wrote this post about a year ago and decided not to publish it. Some recent events got me thinking about this one again. I'm deciding to publish it now.

I am the victim of a natural disaster. This was no flood that affected all the homes in my neighborhood, it wasn’t an earthquake that everyone felt or that my house could have been retrofitted to withstand. The storm wasn’t a hurricane that could be predicted; I had no chance to board the windows, to stockpile supplies, or flee in advance of the storm.

I was hit by a tornado. It was of the micro-burst family. The kind that comes quickly, before one realizes storm clouds are gathering, strikes firmly and destructively in a concentrated area, and disappears before most people knew it was ever there. It was the kind that demolishes a home and leaves the neighbors on either side unscathed.

My house was lovely and well-loved. This house was at the core of everything I thought I was. My house of faith was indestructible and built to last, or so I thought. The foundation was strong, it was built of the best materials: sincere effort, honest sacrifice, true devotion.

I did all the things right, just like they told me. I went to church every week–I was never inactive. I graduated seminary–I did all the readings, memorized the scripture masteries, won the conference bowl. I went to weekly activities, firesides, girls camp, youth conferences, EFY. I went to BYU. I served a mission, and a good one–other missionaries may have thought me obnoxious I was so dedicated and obedient. I taught at the MTC. I never turned down a calling. I went to the temple every week for years. I never tried anything illegal; I never drank alcohol, or tea, or coffee, just like they told me. I paid tithing. I got married in the temple. I got as much education as I could, just like they told me. I didn’t think I had any reason to fear a storm. My house would last through the eternities. I was set.

As a missionary, I remember wondering why some got defensive and upset by criticisms or questions about certain topics. ‘The Church is True,’ I thought, ‘the Truth will stand on it’s own. It speaks for itself.’ While I didn’t seek them out, I didn’t see there was any harm in listening to alternate views or criticisms. I had nothing to be afraid of. I didn’t live shuttered inside my house, away from the world, but let the windows open and the breeze blow through. There was no storm my house couldn’t weather.

From my current vantage point, I can look back and see moments of doubt, unanswered questions, things I chose to ignore. At the time, these things were unimportant, easily moved from my consciousness. The older I got, the more my life deviated from how it was ‘supposed’ to go. I was bothered by this occasionally, but I was doing all the right things. So I carried on. I learned things in graduate school that felt as true and right as anything I had ever learned in church. And yet, they were at odds with church doctrine and culture. I dug deeper, unafraid and certain The Truth would prevail. And that’s when it hit. My house was destroyed.

I won’t tell you here and now the particular elements that made up the storm. They would be a distraction to the story I am telling. More importantly, surviving this tornado has been the single most difficult thing of my adult life. It has been gut-wrenching, disorienting, lonely, and painful in a way I don’t have adequate words to describe. I don’t wish that experience on anyone. I don’t want to invite that storm to your house.

One of the more difficult aspects of this experience is that no one seems to see that I’m traumatized. I’m raw. I’m in shock. A tornado just hit my house, and it’s gone. It was everything I had, and it’s gone.

People start to notice that something has changed, that I’m different, that my house isn’t what it was. I’ve been told by several to stop protesting, stop being in their faces. I’ve been told I’m being childish. I’ve been told I should be quiet about it. But my house is decimated! I did not want this; I never intended for it to happen. I hung on as long as I could, but the storm ripped my house away. I picture myself stumbling out of the rubble, mumbling and confused. Faces I hope would provide refuge and comfort tell me to go away. They’re angry. They’re disappointed. They just can’t be around me right now. If I only understood [fill in the blank], I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I’m not mad at them. I understand perfectly where they are coming from and why they say what they do. I used to be just like them. Some try to remind me how beautiful my house was; they tell me how much they admired it. I know they mean well, but the problem isn’t that I don’t remember; the problem is that that house is gone. Something else may rebuild in it’s place, but it will never be the same. It can’t be.

I wander about trying to find my bearings. There is debris everywhere. Sorting through it all is impossible, but I try. Sometimes I come across bits of debris in unexpected places–the wind has scattered the pieces of my house such that I don’t know where they all are–and it’s like the storm hits all over again. Now more than a year later, it still makes me cry. Sometimes the tears are angry and hot but mostly they are the kind that come with whole-body sobs. It’s lonely.

I am fortunate to have stumbled upon a few other refugees. We cry together about all that has been lost without blame for having invited the storm or the suggestion that we willfully tore down our own homes. We joke and we smile about the things that we love[d] without the expectation that our houses are back and everything’s fine now. These friendships have carried me. They have been the silver lining on those terrible storm clouds.

So what’s my purpose in sharing all this, I ask myself. First, I have an aching need to tell my story, to be understood–this soothes the ache. Second, I want the people I care about and who care about me to know I’m not scary, I’m not dangerous, I’m just sad, I just lost my house. I still love you. I’m still me. I may keep some distance because the pain of seeing your disappointment or facing the possibility of your rejection and criticism on top of the pain I already experience seems too much to bear. Third, I hope no one else has to go through what I’ve been through (and I’ve had it pretty easy, compared to other refugees I’ve encountered). We, as a people, the Mormon people, ought to do better here than we have been doing. I know some will chafe at the idea that, given my current state, I use ‘we’ when speaking of the Mormons, and that hurts too. Mormonism will always be a part of me. So yes, we can do better to provide refuge for people like me, to let them know they are still welcome in the neighborhood after their houses have been destroyed, if they choose not to rebuild, or if the new house looks nothing like the old one. Religion or no, this is the heart and soul, the guts of humanity: to care what happens to each other, to be moved to compassion by suffering, to witness pain, to help.

Update Goals 2014

We're here mid-way through the year, and I decided it's a good time to review my progress on my 2014 goals.

1) It's happening! I passed both my licensing exams, the second one just last week. I have sent my check to the state board for my license fee and am waiting for them to process the paperwork and issue the license. I have done all I needed to do here and will soon put a giant checkmark next to this goal. I am so, so happy about this. It's been a long and hard road. I feel very accomplished. I will now be able to practice on my own if I want to, don't need to have all my documentation signed by a supervisor, have more employment opportunities available to me, and can be paid more. As long as I take continuing education and pay my renewal fees, I will never have to take those exams or do more formal education. Hooray!

2) This goal is going most excellently. I have read at least one book per month. Here's the rundown with a short review of each:

One Day, David Nichols. This was just a fun read. It was made into a movie a few years ago. It's a RomCom, telling the story of this couple/friendship by reviewing the events of the same date every year. Nothing spectacular but a fun read.

Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd. Incredible. This was the most important book I've read in a few years. Kidd writes about her feminist awakening, conflict with her faith (not Mormon, by the way), exploring the feminine divine, and coming to a place of peace within herself and her faith community. At times it was too difficult to read; I'd have to put it down for a few weeks before I could come back to it. This book was tremendously useful in helping me conceptualize my own journey, find a language to describe what I was experiencing, and having hope that it will get better, there will be peace. I highly recommend this one.

Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri. Fantastic. Lahiri is one of my favorite contemporary authors. The first portion is a collection of short stories while the second half is more of a novella. Her writing is soulful and descriptive. I have read some of her other works, and this one did not disappoint.

Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn. I liked this book. It drew me in with all the drama and kept me guessing throughout. There were some holes here and there, but overall it was a great read. This was especially fun to read at the same time as a friend. We were passing each other at work saying, "what? Did you read the part where  . . . ?"

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt, Beth Hoffman. This was another fun read. A quick story about a girl with a tragic upbringing who is adopted by an aunt in Georgia and surrounded there by loving women who help her heal and grow into herself. Fun and heartwarming.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou. It was interesting to read this right after CeeCee for a completely different view of southern life. Angelou's writing is engaging and her story captivating. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The characters felt like real people and not caricatures, which I greatly appreciated. I left it wanting to know what happened next, to find the next autobiographical work and know where we went from here.

Testimony, Anita Shreve. This was another page-turner kind of book. It's about a sex scandal that happens at a private boarding school. Each chapter is written from the perspective of another character, some characters contribute several chapters but some only one. The style changes from first person, to second person, to third person, to journal writing, and back. Part of what made it interesting was piecing together bits of the story yourself as the characters narrated their perspectives. 

3) Eh. Not going as well as I'd hoped. I think with the stress of studying for the exam, finding time to write got pushed lower on the priority list. In the few days since I finished the exam, I've found myself mentally composing all kinds of blog posts. Expect more from me soon. If I don't actually get to write one post per week, I think I can average one per week for the year.

4) I'm still at my same job. I'll be out by the end of the year, for maternity leave if for no other reason. It's looking hopeful that I may be able to leave my full-time position there anyway. I've got a post brewing about what I've learned this last year that may be interesting, at least for me.