hopelessness

A few events this week brought up some thoughts on what it is that I am trained to do here... As a therapist in training, pain and hopelessness are part of my job. Sometimes, I am the only one holding on to any hope for the lives of the people I work with. Sometimes, even this hope is not enough. Sometimes the hopelessness gets overwhelming.

Spring is the season for suicides, though I thought by May we would be more in the clear. And yet just this week:

1. The mom of my colleague who committed suicide 2 years ago is doing the San Francisco overnight Out of the Darkness walk in June. The walk is sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and happens at night so that you finish walking at dawn, thus symbolically coming out of the darkness about this issue. A link was sent around to support the mom who, of course, is walking in her daughter's name. The walkers do this thing where they light candles in paper bags along the path, and these lanterns have the names of the people the walkers are honoring written on them. I hope that this experience is reparative for the mom and her team; I hope that they find a sense of community and compassion from others. This reminder though made me remember, again, how there we were in class just a few days before, talking about psychology things. While we contemplated what brings about changes in people, she secretly couldn't imagine the dark days getting any better. 
2. Today I also found out that two days ago, a UC Berkeley student jumped from a 6th floor story of his dorm, about 1 mile from where we live. The report says that they are still investigating whether this was truly a suicide, but the air on campus makes it seem that it was. After all, this student's last Facebook update was: RIP [student's name] 11/18/91 – 5/8/12.
3. Finally, there's this. A person I didn't know at all, but someone who is still touching the hearts of internet friends and acquaintances. This is tragic because, all existential crises aside, the act of giving up on life so completely is jarring. The ripples of grief are broad and it's difficult to wrap my mind around an act so counterintuitive to the survival and adaptivity of human beings. No matter what explanations are offered to me–it's the circle of life, we are all regenerated energy, everybody dies eventually–being confronted with someone giving up on a fight against their pain can feel as if any hope that things can look up for people is sucked right out of me. 

Suicide is an act of hopelessness. In their suicide notes, people often say things like, "I tried, I really tried everything I could think of, and yet nothing helped to take the pain away." I can't speak for everyone's experience, maybe there are situations in which nothing really truly can help, but I have to hold on to the thought that there is hope, that there is quite often, most of the time, some way out. Life is not a steady line of happiness or unhappiness. Downs exist, really really lows exist, they may even exist most of the time for some people. But ups, even really pale ups, some subjective versions of better, they also exist, they have to, for everyone. But in those dissociated states at the moment of suicide, people cannot fathom the alternatives to pain. It's my job, then, to not drown in the hopelessness, and to believe in the possibility of better.

surviving the flames

Remember that time I decided it would be a wonderfully stimulating adventure to go to grad school? That time when I didn't realize that grad school = professional hazing where they make you jump through flaming hoops to advance from level to level until you are deemed worthy enough of holding a title that's supposed to mean something? Luckily, I'm not the only one sitting with these feelings, and others have even written about the experience:

  26 Fun Facts About Grad School « Thought Catalog

Right now I am living in a world of #16, #17, #22, and #24. This week though is a bit of a lull (read: tonight I only need to add another preliminary analysis to my dissertation proposal before sending out to my committee, write a few essays for a scholarship application, and finish updating my CV; see #16 above) before the giant storm (oral proposal for said dissertation, oral clinical competency exam) that will be the end of this month.

So tonight, as I wasted some time and thought about the ridiculousness of this grad school circus, I decided that hey, while doing all those dog-and-pony shows over the years, I may have even learned something! Here are a few of those things:

• How to say no
• How to say yes
• How to ask for what I need
• How to manage my time
• How to have fun on a budget 
• That public speaking and group/team work are not my strengths
• That individual interactions, deep critical thinking, and writing are my strengths
• To go between my Russian and US identities more fluidly
• How to delegate tasks and manage the work of others
• That I am good at statistics and ok at math in general
• How to talk about my interests in an engaging manner
• That, despite the debt, I have many more career options than I realized
• That I can persevere, even under a lot of criticism and with few rewards
• How to call out microaggressions
• How to stop apologizing for having a voice
• Enough to understand and find this blog funny

so far

I wish I could write here more. I think I will write here more after May 21, when I better pass my clinical proficiency exam and also successfully propose my dissertation orals.

For now I will say that whoever sent in this postsecret knows a thing or two about advanced degree education. Just replace the words "law school" with "grad school" and you will approximate my experience in the last several years.

P.S. Have I mentioned that my dream in life is to be a Russian-style Frida? I already have my garb in place, now all I need is freedom.

twenty twelve minus one

Just now, less than 10 seconds ago, I decided: eff my principles. The semester has started (my last, my last one on campus!) and I am now permanently in a grumpy hole. I am so worn out and sick of "working on deficits," "improving," and "articulating challenging areas in my professional development" that I became completely against all things self-improvement. Including resolutions, goals, and promises.

I just wanted all of the world's expectations to seriously let me BE.

But you know, reflecting on the good of my life, as is traditional at the start of a new year (even if it's already February), isn't a bad idea. I could use a reminder or ten that last year was not lived in vain, and that it had its purposes of bringing me here, wherever I am now.

So here are the 11 goods I want to remember about 2011:

1. I spent New Year's with my husband, my paternal grandparents, my dad, my dad's wife, and my little sister. This was the epitome of my family's gathering, filled with noise, laughter, Lady Ga Ga impressions, and my sister endlessly playing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" on the piano. I wanted to stay in that moment forever.

2. Sometime in February or March, I decided to leave my exhausting work at midday, told my husband to come pick me up in the car, bring the dog, and take us to a forest. We got a yummy lunch, hiked, and rented a motel room for the night, cheaply. I went to a nearby REI and bought myself a new shirt (on sale) to change into for work the next day. We bought wine and some take-out food, and brought them to the motel. I took a bath, we watched some funny shows, ate the food, drank the wine, and gave each other massages. The next morning, my husband dropped me off at work again. I wore the new shirt, was well-rested, and no one suspected anything. Living spontaneously gave me hope that life can truly have zest and meaning.

The view from our hike in Marin County, CA.

3. I was invited to teach an extra course in the spring semester, which was overwhelming and affirming.
4. My friend and I got together for sushi a lot, which meant that a Jewish gay boy and a Russian tattooed feminist girl took over a tiny quiet Japanese restaurant. We laughed a lot. This sushi place also gave complementary fried shrimp on a stick with frighteningly exploding eyes. Our dates kept me sane and got me through the year.

It sees you. It sees your mouth approaching. It dares you to eat it.

5. My mom visited me and then I visited my mom. We survived both visits, which confirmed for me that people and relationships can change, often for the better.
6. My advisor called me a genius (not to my face)(but a jealous friend confided), about which I kind of have mixed feelings. Mostly happy ones, but also sort of embarrassingly blushing ones. Because not that someone else's opinion of me should define my worth, but coming from a woman I respect and admire, it was still a proud moment. I'd like to remember it during all those other times I am told to improve on my weaknesses.
7. I took a horse riding lesson and briefly joined a rowing team, at least until the fall semester began (I wish I'd still be rowing right now).
8. I went to a few Giants games, participated in Occupy protests, and canoed down the Russian River on my birthday in August. I can't believe I found time to be out, but it felt good.
9. I saw the Foo Fighters in concert, and crossed one of, like, two items on my bucket list (for my opinion on bucket lists, see my current thoughts on goals and resolutions above)(the second item on the list is to drink a pint of Guinness in Dublin).

Dave Grohl, in all his musical glory. I can't believe my little dumbphone took this good of a picture.

10. Friends visited me and I felt unforgotten.
11. I failed at things, I succeeded in things. I persevered, I survived. I understood what it meant to walk through the middle of life's darkness and see a light ahead.

on being a therapist

Therapy is a mysterious process. Something unique happens when two souls meet in a circumscribed safe space. They affect each other in ways that are hard to describe to the outside world. Many people wonder what makes therapy special and what exactly produces results. When people hear about my training, they start asking me questions, or they make comments about therapy that are wrought with their own assumptions. Usually it's people who haven't experienced therapy for themselves.

I've been thinking about my answers to some of these common questions or comments, so here are my attempts to clear up some misconceptions:

Therapists get paid to be supportive and automatically like the people they work with.
Ethical therapists don't lie to their clients, ever. Sure, we receive some training on how to evade certain questions we feel would be harmful to answer, and we don't disclose too much personal information. But other than that, everything we say is truly what we think and how we feel. We are genuinely amazed by people, their survival and their abilities. We don't love our clients blindly and automatically, without any consideration of who they are, just because it's our job. We don't even necessarily love all aspects of our clients all the time. There are usually things we don't like as well, and when the time is right and the relationship is strong enough, your therapist will probably point those out. But therapy wouldn't be what it is if we didn't find beauty in all of our clients' souls. People, in their struggles, in their vulnerabilities, in pain, in perseverance, are pretty amazing. And this includes every person I have worked with up to now and will work with in the future.

What's the point of therapy; can't you just complain to your friends?
Therapy and friendship are similar and different. Both therapists and friends see people during painful and vulnerable points in their lives, and both like those people despite their faults and mistakes. However, therapists are trained to listen with a different ear. They open up a door in their hearts and take on pieces of people's struggles. Therapists listen to their clients, and they listen to themselves. Therapists listen to the tone in the room. Therapists listen for patterns, for significant motifs, for contexts. Therapists don't even really have any stakes in what you say; they just care about what it means to you. They care about how you're feeling now, and how you felt then. They care about your process through tough times, and they rejoice with you in happy times. So the next time you have an issue that you can't talk to your friends about or a feeling so unbearable it keeps you up at night – great! Talk to a therapist; that's what we're here for.

All people do in therapy is complain in the presence of another person, who just gets paid to listen.
Many people tell me that therapy is just about people whining. They ask me how I can choose to sit and listen to people's endless complaining. What they should be asking me is how I chose a profession that is actually one emotional mind-twist. We function on a completely different level than simply "tolerating whininess" and nodding our heads in automatic agreement. Through tuning in to people's emotions, we actually alter their experiences. Consider this hypothetical scenario: a man comes to therapy after growing up with an aggressive father and an absent mother. He has a general disposition of feeling angry, hurt, helpless, ineffectual, undermined, unappreciated. The female therapist, in her position of caretaking and authority, triggers those feelings, and he is usually angry at her in their sessions. But she, unlike his parents, recognizes those feelings, absorbs his anger without retaliating, and also appreciates and empowers him. Over time, he becomes less self-depricating and explosive, and gains a clearer and healthier sense of self. In other words, the process of therapy actually changes his internal experience. So the whining and the complaining is only the tip of the iceberg of everything that is bound to happen in therapy.

Life sucks, get over it. Everyone has issues, move on.
Occasionally I get the "what's the point of therapy; people just need to learn to suck it up" comment. Incidentally, this is a philosophical question that I (and I assure you, many other therapists) have asked myself as well: if therapy is a relatively new field and people have gone on living in tough circumstances and with painful emotions, then why change it all now and advocate that people get help and feel better? The answer is complex, but for me it boils down to these points: a) people have always sought the help of various healers, for emotional, relationship, sexual, existential, etc. issues; b) our knowledge of ourselves continues to grow, how can we not use it to help ourselves (see: medicine); and c) just because people "sucked it up" before, doesn't mean that they didn't suffer all their lives from emotional ailments that we now know are very preventable and healable. Who knows what was getting people through life before (wizards, tight communities, shorter lifespans, rigid social roles, religions?), now we have this tool that anyone can use to find healing and purpose. And I think everyone should give it a try.

Have anything else to add to how therapy works? Anything else left you curious about therapy?