Doing Therapy...

Doing therapy is thrilling. It is an adventure like no other. You never know who will sit down in front of you and what they will bring. And doing therapy is hard. Harder than anything I ever imagined. In class talked about “holding” what the patient bring in. The therapist “holds” the issues so the patient can get some relief from the burden – no matter the issue, no matter the size or depth. Sometimes it is all a therapist can do to just stay in the room. To stay present for the most immense and intense sadness I have ever witnessed. Our job is to stay there, to show the patient that we can survive bearing witness. And if we can survive that, maybe they will come to trust enough to “hold” whatever is causing such pain. I learned all that, but I learned it in my head.

I am working with a population for whom violence and death is absolutely commonplace. It is party of daily living. The majority of my patients have loved ones who have been shot and killed. Plural. Loved ones. They have witnessed harassment, abuse, fighting, guns, knives, robberies. I have one patient whose 8 year old son wants to write a book for kids about gun violence; about how he lost his father and his uncle. I have another patient who has been present for two shooting deaths, as well as a history of childhood trauma. I had one patient who told me she held a knife to a man’s throat because he called her a name.

Sitting in a room, meeting, listening and holding these stories -- these truths -- is exhausting and overwhelming and totally necessary. It is important to bear witness. It is important to say, you are seen and heard. You are not forgotten out here in an alternate universe of day-to-day violence.

 On Friday, I had to call Childline and report a mom for potential abuse. It was the first time I met the patient and she told me that she was worried she would hurt her three week old baby. There is obviously way more to the story but the important parts are this. It was Friday afternoon, my last patient of the day, of the week. I was exhausted and spent. I made it through the sessions with her and then completely fell apart. It was the gravity of all that she told me. It was the weight of what I knew I had to do, of what might happen. It was the responsibility of not doing anything and the safety of a tiny vulnerable little baby. It was those feelings of self doubt that come flooding in, wondering if I was cut out to do this, if this was part of the job.

After I made the call, I called the mom and told her what I did. I told her I was worried and that I wanted to get her more help. I hope that is what is offered to her, more help. I hope that this mom will come back again to therapy, but I’m not sure I can blame her if she doesn’t. I looked out for the safety of the child, but I feel like I betrayed the mom. It was a lose-lose situation.

I hope that I never become so numb that I lose the feeling of the gravity of calling the authorities on a parent but that it might get easier and I can learn to do it without falling apart.  I hope for peace for my patients and their families. I hope for a time without guns and the horrible violence they inflict on  whole communities. I hope for basic safety in our homes and on the street. Truthfully, I hope for quite a few things these days. In the mean time, however, I keep showing up. I stay in the room and I hold as much as I can. I hope it helps.