As a struggling-to-reform perfectionist, I try pretty hard to be vulnerable and okay with weakness in front of Anju and Ketan, both of whom are well on their way to being full-blown neurotic perfectionists. This means freely telling them, "I didn't know that," and "I was wrong," and "Whoa, that made me nervous!" I also tell them about all the things I'm scared of, from failing to heights to spiders.
When they both started reading Divergent, we naturally began categorizing each other into factions. We have had this conversation approximately twenty billion times.
Anju: You're definitely Amity, Miss Trish.
Me: Yeah.
Ketan: And Erudite!
Me: Yup.
Anju: But not Dauntless. You're scared of everything. Haha, you're such a coward!
So I clench my teeth and nod and admit that, yeah, I'm scared of a lot of things. I do not, no matter how badly I want to, point out that she is scared of infinitely more things than I am, because I am (barely) above comparing myself to a seven-year-old. And when Ketan boasts that his nickname would be Three, thereby claiming to be braver than Tobias, I hold my tongue and do not mention how he sometimes cries himself to sleep.
We went to Six Flags today, and I hate roller coasters, which combine two stupid things: heights and falling. That lurching feeling in your stomach that makes you think you're going to die? I am totally fine going throughout my day without intentionally afflicting myself with it. I want them both to know that it's okay to say no, that no matter how many times they whine at me or tease me, I'm allowed to say no and peer pressure isn't going to change that.
I mean, I'm like really saintly towards these kids. They had better look back some day and think, "Wow, Miss Trish actively and lovingly shaped us into confident, self-accepting human beings." But if they keep needling me about how big of a coward I am, one of these days I'm going to pull a Severus Snape and scream, "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" before fleeing into the Forbidden Forest.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Supervision
It's so great having a counseling supervisor who knows my flaws and gently makes fun of them. It's great because it means 1) I don't have to hide my flaws, and 2) Acknowledging them is the first step to healing. When I find myself in a relationship like this, I'm tempted to create a Facebook status that says something like, "I love when people make fun of my flaws!" but inevitably some rando will "jokingly" insult me, and I am reduced to frowning at my screen because someone didn't understand. The difference is that I have to feel safe with the person who is insulting me.
Supervisor makes me feel safe because he says things like, "I can counsel a pedophile, but ask me to answer the receptionist's phone, and I'll run screaming in the other direction," and "The majority of your married clients will be here because the husband cheated--ugh, men." (And before any reader who is overly invested in my love life starts arching their eyebrows, Supervisor is married. I like to envision our relationship as wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. Please view all these stories through that lens.)
Next week Supervisor is going to make Other Intern and I do a two-hour art therapy session. I say "make" even though I suppose I could technically refuse. Today he said,
Supervisor: Good work today. And next week you can take another step!
Me: Ugh. Another step?
Supervisor: You get to express emotions!
Me: ....Gross.
Supervisor: But it's your favorite thing!
Which is funny, because three weeks ago I was feeling a lot of emotion in supervision, and it was so embarrassing. I finished up with my clients and burst into Supervisor's office.
Me: Am I allowed to be mad at a client??
Supervisor: Um, I think you are mad at a client.
Me: No! Well, yes, but I mean to their face. Can I yell at someone in session?
Supervisor: Oh. No. You shouldn't do that.
Me: Well...can I have a Bullshit Button? I know other sites have those. Can I just obnoxiously press it every time he lies?
Supervisor: You know, I had one, but I think I threw it away. I think you'll just have to learn to empathize with him.
Me: UGH, NO.
Thus began a half hour conversation about why this guy had made me so furious, by the middle of which I had substantially raised my voice, was sitting on the edge of the couch, gesticulating wildly, heaving deep angry breaths. Suddenly I noticed Other Intern looking (nervously?) at me out of the corner of his eye. Oh, no. I had become carried away with emotion! I clutched at my head and said, "Ugh, I am so angry I can't think properly." Suddenly I had a mental image of me, a female wearing a dress, clutching her head while two men watched her emotional breakdown. I sat up straight and mentally freaked the hell out. I do not want to be that person.
The person who feels emotions.
So art therapy next week will be really interesting. I tell that story in horror, but I'm also super proud of myself. There are a lot of things I wish Therapist could have helped me learn, but I am really pleased that together we unlocked my anger. For the first twenty-four years of my life I thought I was somehow immune to anger. Turns out I just bottled it all up and let it flow inward, feeding my depression and self-hate. It was actually a huge accomplishment for me to let myself get so angry in front of two co-workers.
It is such a joy to work somewhere that allows me to be my worst and, in fact, celebrates my honesty in letting it out. Especially since I'm not so much working as learning a trade, and I can't imagine a safer environment for me to struggle and triumph and fail without worrying about anyone else's opinion. I could not ask for a better place to work than one where I am greeted with,
Supervisor: Are you moving? Because I had a dream last night that you were and you needed my help to move your collection of shopping carts. You had one from Korea and one from Japan, and we were, like, pushing them down the freeway.
Me: Well. I'm not moving, but I do have a collection of shopping carts.
SEE. Wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. It's totally a thing.
Supervisor makes me feel safe because he says things like, "I can counsel a pedophile, but ask me to answer the receptionist's phone, and I'll run screaming in the other direction," and "The majority of your married clients will be here because the husband cheated--ugh, men." (And before any reader who is overly invested in my love life starts arching their eyebrows, Supervisor is married. I like to envision our relationship as wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. Please view all these stories through that lens.)
Next week Supervisor is going to make Other Intern and I do a two-hour art therapy session. I say "make" even though I suppose I could technically refuse. Today he said,
Supervisor: Good work today. And next week you can take another step!
Me: Ugh. Another step?
Supervisor: You get to express emotions!
Me: ....Gross.
Supervisor: But it's your favorite thing!
Which is funny, because three weeks ago I was feeling a lot of emotion in supervision, and it was so embarrassing. I finished up with my clients and burst into Supervisor's office.
Me: Am I allowed to be mad at a client??
Supervisor: Um, I think you are mad at a client.
Me: No! Well, yes, but I mean to their face. Can I yell at someone in session?
Supervisor: Oh. No. You shouldn't do that.
Me: Well...can I have a Bullshit Button? I know other sites have those. Can I just obnoxiously press it every time he lies?
Supervisor: You know, I had one, but I think I threw it away. I think you'll just have to learn to empathize with him.
Me: UGH, NO.
Thus began a half hour conversation about why this guy had made me so furious, by the middle of which I had substantially raised my voice, was sitting on the edge of the couch, gesticulating wildly, heaving deep angry breaths. Suddenly I noticed Other Intern looking (nervously?) at me out of the corner of his eye. Oh, no. I had become carried away with emotion! I clutched at my head and said, "Ugh, I am so angry I can't think properly." Suddenly I had a mental image of me, a female wearing a dress, clutching her head while two men watched her emotional breakdown. I sat up straight and mentally freaked the hell out. I do not want to be that person.
The person who feels emotions.
So art therapy next week will be really interesting. I tell that story in horror, but I'm also super proud of myself. There are a lot of things I wish Therapist could have helped me learn, but I am really pleased that together we unlocked my anger. For the first twenty-four years of my life I thought I was somehow immune to anger. Turns out I just bottled it all up and let it flow inward, feeding my depression and self-hate. It was actually a huge accomplishment for me to let myself get so angry in front of two co-workers.
It is such a joy to work somewhere that allows me to be my worst and, in fact, celebrates my honesty in letting it out. Especially since I'm not so much working as learning a trade, and I can't imagine a safer environment for me to struggle and triumph and fail without worrying about anyone else's opinion. I could not ask for a better place to work than one where I am greeted with,
Supervisor: Are you moving? Because I had a dream last night that you were and you needed my help to move your collection of shopping carts. You had one from Korea and one from Japan, and we were, like, pushing them down the freeway.
Me: Well. I'm not moving, but I do have a collection of shopping carts.
SEE. Wise-cracking buddy cop counselors. It's totally a thing.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Torn
I've finished my second of three years at graduate school. While this is definitely a significant event, it feels less important now that I am nearly certain I'll stay in Dallas after I graduate. Not forever, because I haven't yet learned how to commit to something beyond "Sure, maybe for a few years!". But my plan to stay in Dallas for three years looks like it will expand to five, at least.
It's weird, realizing this sprawling city will be home for longer than I initially planned. This weekend my grandparents visited, and one of my favorite parts of the weekend was introducing them to people from my new church. It was lovely to have people come up to us who recognized my family from Facebook. It felt like another step toward "these people are my new faith family."
But.
But there's always a but. Even as I settle into a place where I have "my people," I can so easily fall into discontentment. Because Lindsay and I talk on the phone, or Jenna texts, or Mark says something unabashedly sweet on Facebook, and I think, "Those are my people." I miss the endless hugs on Sunday mornings. I miss being involved in everything, and I miss people knowing my talents better than I do, requesting and occasionally forcing me to use them. I miss going out to lunch after the service because no one wants to say goodbye. I miss the Bible studies and Tuesday night dinners and any excuse to hang out with my faith family as many nights of the week as possible. I miss the friendly insults and the utter comfort with which I knew the men, women, boys, and girls who made up Woodland.
I don't know what to do with this. I don't know how to parse out the difference between the evidence that God is using me in this new city with the fear that I came here because I'm terrified of good things and wanted to start over. I don't know how to hope for a homecoming when I worry I can't take my new self home without regressing. I don't know how to celebrate the life I have now without feeling like I'm villainizing the life I used to know. I don't know how to fast forward through these years of sloughing through relationships, hoping for the level of comfort and vulnerability and trust that I enjoyed before.
I don't know how to be excited and sad at the same time. Life is really good lately. I'm doing something I adore in a place where I feel safe and challenged. Those words--safe and challenged--kind of typify my experience in Dallas. That's a really good place to be, so I'm going to be here for a while longer. But I guess when the future starts solidifying, the past starts tugging at me.
It's weird, realizing this sprawling city will be home for longer than I initially planned. This weekend my grandparents visited, and one of my favorite parts of the weekend was introducing them to people from my new church. It was lovely to have people come up to us who recognized my family from Facebook. It felt like another step toward "these people are my new faith family."
But.
But there's always a but. Even as I settle into a place where I have "my people," I can so easily fall into discontentment. Because Lindsay and I talk on the phone, or Jenna texts, or Mark says something unabashedly sweet on Facebook, and I think, "Those are my people." I miss the endless hugs on Sunday mornings. I miss being involved in everything, and I miss people knowing my talents better than I do, requesting and occasionally forcing me to use them. I miss going out to lunch after the service because no one wants to say goodbye. I miss the Bible studies and Tuesday night dinners and any excuse to hang out with my faith family as many nights of the week as possible. I miss the friendly insults and the utter comfort with which I knew the men, women, boys, and girls who made up Woodland.
I don't know what to do with this. I don't know how to parse out the difference between the evidence that God is using me in this new city with the fear that I came here because I'm terrified of good things and wanted to start over. I don't know how to hope for a homecoming when I worry I can't take my new self home without regressing. I don't know how to celebrate the life I have now without feeling like I'm villainizing the life I used to know. I don't know how to fast forward through these years of sloughing through relationships, hoping for the level of comfort and vulnerability and trust that I enjoyed before.
I don't know how to be excited and sad at the same time. Life is really good lately. I'm doing something I adore in a place where I feel safe and challenged. Those words--safe and challenged--kind of typify my experience in Dallas. That's a really good place to be, so I'm going to be here for a while longer. But I guess when the future starts solidifying, the past starts tugging at me.
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