A while ago, I started seeing a councilor at Student Psychological Services. At a subsidized $10 per session, it was quite a bargain. I told her right off the bat that I was interested in understanding my emotions, building my capacity for experiencing really intense feelings, and that I wanted a catharsis. Two out of three ain’t bad, considering (I never did fully cathart), and the biggest upshot is probably my greatly improved relationship with my Mom.
The councilor I saw was a tremendous help, and always offered me incredibly practical advice, keeping fluff and technical jargon to a minimum. Most of her feedback was of the following form:
- Assure me that what I’m feeling is perfectly natural
- Offer me reflection about something she noticed that I might have missed
- Give me resources and suggest action I could take
I totally dug it.
After a few sessions, she invited me to join a graduate student therapy group. Today was my last day with them.
I was sad to leave, which is not at all what I expected. When I first joined, I felt extremely resistant to dive in. I did not feel like I belonged there. I felt like my problems were insignificant compared to other members of the group, who routinely felt depressed/worthless/anxious/suicidal/manic, like, twice a day, minimum.
The first few times I sat in that tiny, windowless room with people who had attempted suicide, fallen victim to various life-threatening eating disorders, and/or been raped/beaten (among other things), I felt totally undeserving of my spot there. Surely, there was someone else in the world who needed it more! In light of what happened to these people, a girl not calling me back seemed very rosy. My less than perfect relationship with my Mom and my sometimes below 100% motivation to continue grad school seemed like a fucking walk in the park in comparison.
I felt like I was on the precipice of something important, but reluctant to take that first step.
The analogy I told the group at the time was, I felt like I was going to a depression potluck, and I hadn’t brought anything to share.
I would listen intently, maintaining eye contact, and use people’s names when I addressed them; I was an incredibly good listener, and my feedback resonated deeply with the group. I was happy to share stories from my past if it related to someone else, and if I thought it might be useful to them, but, I was very reluctant to “hijack” threads or start my own.
The first time I did so, I shared a breakthrough I had with my Mom. I told them about when my mom visited me over the weekend, and how it was probably the best two days we had spent together in years.
It wasn’t until much later that I was able to bring my muddier, unclear experiences to the group. I told them about a mini-breakdown I had about school. I told them about how scared I was when a girl left me in the middle of a concert and I didn’t know what happened to her. It was infrequent, but whenever I felt like I had something to ask of the group, I made sure that I “got mine.”
This was really good practice for me, since it was difficult for me to ask for what I wanted in the past. It was also excellent practice staying present to my emotions as they arose, and staying connected to the other group members.
Picture the way you relate to the world as a window. Sometimes, that window gets dirty or scratched. After a while, you might find yourself relating to the scratches more than the real world beyond the window. Having third party observers give me reflections helped me see how I was doing this in my own life.
In listening to the other group members, I learned a great deal. I could connect and relate to every one of the other members, even though the details of our backgrounds and issues were incredibly different. I suppose that’s not much of a surprise, because guess what? Most human beings feel happy, sad, angry, and scared. Imagine that. Through their stories, I gained a lot of insight into myself and what was going on for me. We shared things on such a visceral, primal level, that I could not help but feel what they were feeling. I was very empathic.
I fell in love with each and every one of the group members, and I kept falling in love with them every week.
The group knew that today was my last day, and we spent a good half hour talking about me. I shared with them basically what I just wrote above, talking about what I got out of the group. Then, the feedback started pouring in.
It was almost too much for me to take.
Everyone in the group loved me, and they expressed to me how deeply valuable my contributions were. I had missed a session a couple weeks ago, and apparently during that hour and a half the attending members had invoked my “wisdom” multiple times.
I was being quoted when I wasn’t there. People were thinking “What would Keenahn say?”
One of the facilitators had noticed that I was always able to bring the conversation back to the emotional level, even when it was getting very cerebral, and that he really appreciated it.
One of the girls said that I gave her hope, knowing there were people like me out there. One of the other girls, in her classic “glass half empty” fashion, said almost simultaneously, “I wish there were more people like you out there.”
But, the most compelling compliment I received was that people thought of me as sort of a Buddha, someone who was just always compassionately giving and seeking nothing in return. And, they did not just see me as some guru dispensing my wisdom from high atop a mountain. They connected to my journey, and that made me and my words much more relevant. They had noticed that I rarely gave advice, and instead shared my experiences. These experiences had deeply impacted their lives.
On the verge of tears, I paused a moment to let this all sink in.
I felt extremely encouraged to bring this presence out into the rest of my life, and I will do so more every day.
Teary eyed by the end of the session, I gave my fellow group members goodbye hugs one last time.
“There’s always Facebook,” one said.
I hope she finds me.
Captions for this picture have been replaced by soft, melancholic, crying.
Most people approach therapy like they approach all western medicine: they think that they have some problem, and they want their doctor to fix it. This is a pretty shitty frame to have, but I admit that was my approach as well. Now, I view it more like holistic medicine, where people see their doctors when they’re healthy, and the doctor helps them figure out how to stay that way. Of course, this is a gross simplification, but I think you catch my drift.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: therapy is like, 87% maintenance. It’s not just for the “severely damaged” or “wounded.”
The purpose of this post is two-pronged. Firstly, I wanted to record and reflect on my own experiences in therapy, and secondly, I want to encourage other people who might be on the fence to take the plunge. Society definitely still attaches a stigma to it, but my hope is that someone will read this and think, “Hey, this guy went through it. He’s pretty healthy. Mayhaps I can benefit too.”
It may be intimidating and scary at first, but I guarantee that if you let go and open up, you will gain some insight that would take years to discover on your own.
Peace, K
