A slightly more personal "About Me"

My first class of my first day of graduate school, I walked into class, but it wasn't a usual classroom. Rather than desks and chairs the room was filled with large overstuffed pillows. Instead of bright overhead fluorescent lights the room had softly lit round lights hanging from the ceiling. We were told to sit quietly and relax until the class was set to begin, at which point the professor said, "Welcome. I have no idea what's going to happen today". We soon learned that that would be a truth throughout our future careers as clinicians. As a therapist, I sit alone with someone I don't know for an entire hour, never knowing what they'll say next, while often they don't know what they're about to say either, under the assumption that as the professional I'm in charge, with the experience and skill to fix any personal problem. It's terrifying. In that classroom I felt so much uncertainty and and discomfort, but in a space that was designed to provide as much support and comfort as possible. Recreating a space of support and comfort to make managing the feelings of discomfort and uncertainty as "less bad" as possible is something I've strived for. It's still terrifying at times for me if I let myself think about it too much, but I know that as hard as it might be for me, it's a million times harder for you. And I have so much respect for your willingness to accept that, but show up anyway.

Something else taught in that first class was that as therapists we'd be a key figure in someone's life during a time of turmoil. Eventually the thing that brought the person to counseling would resolve, the therapeutic relationship would end, and the person would move forward on their own using the tools and understanding we established together. As time goes on the impact of the therapist would fade, leaving the client to only remember the work they did themself to get through that hard time. This idea sold me. I could get to know someone incredibly well, but ultimately stay invisible. I held onto this closely, and learned to establish very clear boundaries, where I resisted ever talking about myself. I'm there for the clients, to listen and support them, never having to experience the slightest amount of vulnerability. Questions like, "Have you ever faced this?" or "what would you do?" were met with, "We're not here to talk about me.". This spoke to my introverted extrovert soul. I could be in the middle of things without having any of the spotlight on me.

This clear boundary worked consistently for over a decade. But now there's been a shift. More frequently, people are unsatisfied with my deflective answers about anything personal. I'm learning that though the common expectation in therapy is to have a space to talk openly about anything and to be heard and supported, there's a new added component of wanting to feel a connection. Maybe it's a response to the quarantining and shut downs during COVID? Feeling lonely while being surrounded by people has become a common experience. People don't want a relationship with me anymore in which they talk, I ask questions, they answer, I share observations and offer suggestions, and they respond. People want those things, but in a relationship that feels more authentic, more than simply patient-to-professional.

As I continue learning, as a human and as a therapist, I will keep striving to adapt and evolve. I will get more comfortable with letting you see me as me, but know that I will always hold clinical ethics above all else. Namely, the ethical principles of maleficence and beneficence: not only will I aim to do no harm, I will also only do what is in your best interest.

Thanks, as always, for letting me be on this journey with you, and for being on my journey with me.