I'm often questioned about my creative process… Ok, I'm never asked this. I'm not a professional writer by any stretch of the imagination. For my writing I rely on a little luck, a whole lot of coffee, and my overall general appeal (let's face it - people get me). Whatever the magical blending of conditions, I am generally able to just sit down, begin typing and somehow watch my thoughts from the week materialize onto the computer screen in front of me in a (mostly) coherent matter.
My desire to share my process of therapy has thus far given me inspiration enough to grab onto some of the ideas I have floating around in my head, pair those with the concepts I'm learning, throw in a few jaunty lines and turn it into a somewhat presentable blog post. But this past week whenever I tried to sit down and write nothing came. No ideas buzzing around in my head. No clever quips. No excitement. Nothing. My computer screen remained blank, the blinking cursor on an empty page taunting me like a flickering neon sign that read "BLAH'.
My desire to share my process of therapy has thus far given me inspiration enough to grab onto some of the ideas I have floating around in my head, pair those with the concepts I'm learning, throw in a few jaunty lines and turn it into a somewhat presentable blog post. But this past week whenever I tried to sit down and write nothing came. No ideas buzzing around in my head. No clever quips. No excitement. Nothing. My computer screen remained blank, the blinking cursor on an empty page taunting me like a flickering neon sign that read "BLAH'.
The truth is I had nothing to say. The process of therapy can be exciting when you're learning about yourself, challenging your 'old' self with new ideas, encouraging yourself to take risks and having them pay off and seeing progress. But what about when you find yourself stuck at a plateau? Or worse, what about when, despite all your efforts, you find yourself not feeling good at all?
Fresh from my recent vacation and having had a mostly fun and relaxing time I had hoped that things were looking up, still I couldn't escape a lingering feeling of sadness. I looked to my session with P last week to wipe away all of the bleakness I was feeling. I was hoping to have some kind of magical revelation that would help turn everything around. That never happened. We started off the session by talking about my trip. I told P how I'd had a good time and reviewed some of the specific points where I felt I'd made progress. Yet even as I described my so-called 'progress' I still wasn't buying it.
Six months into my therapy now P wanted to review some of the initial goals we'd set when I first started coming to see her. She read to me from a questionnaire I had filled out during one of our first sessions. I'm certain that P's intention was that by revisiting my initial session and some of the thoughts and emotions I'd had circling my mind at that time that I would be able to recognize how much progress I'd made. Instead I was only reminded of how far I hadn't come. I left feeling less accomplished than ever, wondering when, if ever, I was going to start feeling good again.
Six months into my therapy now P wanted to review some of the initial goals we'd set when I first started coming to see her. She read to me from a questionnaire I had filled out during one of our first sessions. I'm certain that P's intention was that by revisiting my initial session and some of the thoughts and emotions I'd had circling my mind at that time that I would be able to recognize how much progress I'd made. Instead I was only reminded of how far I hadn't come. I left feeling less accomplished than ever, wondering when, if ever, I was going to start feeling good again.
Earlier in the week, while still in Miami, my sister and I had been laying on the beach relaxing. We made small talk, with the sun on our backs, absentmindedly running our hands through the sand and looking at seashells. My sister brought up the idea of hermit crabs and how it seems so odd that they evolved to carry an entire shell on their back and yet at some point as they grow they are forced to leave that shell to find another and it would seem that finding the perfect fit would be a one in a million shot. Pondering that thought, she posed the question, "what if that just doesn't work out for the crab in the real world?"
At the time I was kind of struck by that notion but I didn't know why. I realized later that I totally get that crab, in fact I am that crab, wandering the vast ocean, vulnerable to changing tides, desperately seeking shelter and wondering whether I'll ever find my home, my place where I feel happy, safe and secure?
At the time I was kind of struck by that notion but I didn't know why. I realized later that I totally get that crab, in fact I am that crab, wandering the vast ocean, vulnerable to changing tides, desperately seeking shelter and wondering whether I'll ever find my home, my place where I feel happy, safe and secure?
I think maybe I have been looking for the process of therapy to provide me with that security and feeling some of the same negative thoughts and sense of hopelessness I'd first experienced before starting therapy was disheartening, especially at this stage. I think that played a big role in my not being able to recognize or feel happy about the progress I'd made thus far. If after six months of therapy I could still find myself struggling with the same old issues, how then, I reasoned, could I be making any progress?
The difficult thing with therapy is that it's an ongoing process and while you often can recognize the results, they aren't really measurable at least not by any concrete standards. After talking with P it seems that perhaps feeling more vulnerable in general pushed me back into some of those same old patterns because they resonated with the negative feelings I was having. Feeling scared, I'd tried to retreat back into my old shell and I'd sulked there awhile only to realize that it didn't fit me any more.
Therapy isn't easy. It takes effort to look deep inside and discover things about yourself that you may not want to face and sometimes it can feel overwhelming. However, I think it's the desire to change and to find better circumstances that will keep me forging ahead. True, at times it may seem like a one in a million shot, but I think it's worth the risk to find my perfect fit.
-k
The difficult thing with therapy is that it's an ongoing process and while you often can recognize the results, they aren't really measurable at least not by any concrete standards. After talking with P it seems that perhaps feeling more vulnerable in general pushed me back into some of those same old patterns because they resonated with the negative feelings I was having. Feeling scared, I'd tried to retreat back into my old shell and I'd sulked there awhile only to realize that it didn't fit me any more.
Therapy isn't easy. It takes effort to look deep inside and discover things about yourself that you may not want to face and sometimes it can feel overwhelming. However, I think it's the desire to change and to find better circumstances that will keep me forging ahead. True, at times it may seem like a one in a million shot, but I think it's worth the risk to find my perfect fit.
-k
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