Studying counseling is...so handy. It's as if all of life involves emotions, and knowing how to navigate them is useful.
One thing I've loved learning is that we grieve more than the loss of humans. We also grieve the loss of opportunities. And every time we choose something, we are necessarily choosing not to do every other thing. Those other things deserve to be grieved.
This is different than the fear I feel thinking about Athens (at which point Kim's voice enters my head: "Don't make a decision based on fear."). This is me allowing myself to grieve losing Dallas. I'm sad that I wont work with Nancy and Tyler. It's so fun for Nancy to crash in my office while waiting for clients. It's so fun to duck into Tyler's office to discuss being Scottish.
I'm sad to leave a group of friends who know me more intimately than any others, friends I made while we were all practicing our counseling skills in getting deeper faster. I'll miss going out for coffee or--oh man, I'm going to miss the live music of Dallas so much. I'm going to miss the kids I nanny, and getting to crash in a fancy house and eat their snacks. I'll miss DTS even, although right now my senioritis finds that hard to believe.
Part of me wants to shove this sadness down. Being sad means I can't move forward, being sad means I'm throwing a pity party. I used to believe these lies, but not anymore. "It hurts because it mattered," John Green wrote, and thinking of leaving Dallas hurts because being here mattered. That's a wonderful thing! It is so good to be sad and to grieve the loss of something meaningful and lovely.
Grieving doesn't mean I'll change my mind. Grieving doesn't mean I'm not also crazy excited about going to Athens. I'm an emotionally complex human being, capable of feeling multiple contradictory emotions simultaneously. And I'll counsel myself via a blog if I want.
Showing posts with label counseling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label counseling. Show all posts
Friday, November 21, 2014
Sunday, November 2, 2014
The Spiritual Gift of Mercy
In my Pauline epistles class, my professor said that instead of thinking of our spiritual things as something we enjoy doing, perhaps they are something which requires sacrifice on our part. I don't see why they can't be both. I've gotten to a place where I automatically reject any Christianese anti-joy stance, because I firmly believe God desires for us to enjoy life and the gifts He gives us. But it makes a lot of sense that in our broken world, the things that ought to bring us joy will also bring us pain.
A couple years ago I asked some people from church to identify my spiritual gifts, and instead of continuing to listen to my professor (who I really do love, but well, I have a short attention span when I'm interested in something else), I searched my emails. There it was, Joel saying he thought I had the spiritual gift of mercy, long before I considered studying counseling and making mercy a career.
I thought back several months, when I spent an agonizing evening with my friend Libby, opening up for the first time to a friend about how the weight of the world sometimes feels like it will break me, how my bouts of depression are more often global in scale than personal. The ways people hurt each other, the inevitability of war and abuse and my helplessness to do anything about it--this can feel unbearable. Libby said I take too much responsibility for other people's feelings, and she is absolutely right. But I think there is something else to it.
If my spiritual gift is mercy, and if spiritual gifts require sacrifice, then this makes sense. Mercy only exists where sin exists. Being tapped into the richness of mercy necessarily means being tapped into the depths of sinfulness. There some days I find this exchange more acceptable than others.
I have always been an emotional sucker for underdogs. I cried for Gollum more than any other character in The Lord of the Rings, because he just needed unconditional love, oh my God. My absolute favorite part of counseling is when a client tentatively admits to some secret, and by not reacting in horror, I get to watch their faces open up just a tiny bit in trust before the rest comes out. All the shame, all the horrible things they have thought or felt or done. I love being the person to hear their worst and to say, "I'm so sorry you went through that. I understand why you would have done that. I'm so grateful you shared that with me." I hadn't really thought of it as mercy before, but of course it is. I love seeing someone at their worst and saying, "I'm not going to punish you for that."
My overabundance of mercy is counterbalanced by an incredibly diminished capacity for justice. I hate war, I hate revenge, I hate the death penalty, I hate giving up on someone. My church is going through Joshua right now, and I very much appreciate how nearly every week whoever is preaching addresses the complexity of what it means to serve an occasionally genocidal God. I struggle with that a lot, and the concept of God's justice in general. There are exceptions, though. I think of the men and women who kidnap children and naive young women, who sell other people's bodies for sex and abuse, who buy homes paid for by someone else's nightmare. I think of those people, and my capacity for mercy shrivels up until I understand God's justice. I understand His disgust with our sin, His desire to see it--to see us--utterly destroyed.
That's unusual, though. And honestly, if I met someone who worked in the sex trafficking industry and managed to talk to them, I'm sure I would discover their own background of abuse and neglect and pain. I'd like to think that I could learn to empathize with even these disgusting people, that I could learn to show mercy to them.
That doesn't negate justice. I understand that justice is an attribute of God, despite my usual inability to fathom it or especially to appreciate it. But I just read G. K. Chesterson's Orthodoxy in which he states the inherent paradoxes of Christianity. Ours is a religion, not of balance, but of passion. Christianity has inspired the gruesomest wars in history as well as an enduring community of people committed to non-violence. Our God is entirely just and entirely merciful, and I think His people, being finite where He is infinite, are able to inhabit and display just one or two of His attributes. Someone else has justice covered. I've got mercy, for worse and for better.
A couple years ago I asked some people from church to identify my spiritual gifts, and instead of continuing to listen to my professor (who I really do love, but well, I have a short attention span when I'm interested in something else), I searched my emails. There it was, Joel saying he thought I had the spiritual gift of mercy, long before I considered studying counseling and making mercy a career.
I thought back several months, when I spent an agonizing evening with my friend Libby, opening up for the first time to a friend about how the weight of the world sometimes feels like it will break me, how my bouts of depression are more often global in scale than personal. The ways people hurt each other, the inevitability of war and abuse and my helplessness to do anything about it--this can feel unbearable. Libby said I take too much responsibility for other people's feelings, and she is absolutely right. But I think there is something else to it.
If my spiritual gift is mercy, and if spiritual gifts require sacrifice, then this makes sense. Mercy only exists where sin exists. Being tapped into the richness of mercy necessarily means being tapped into the depths of sinfulness. There some days I find this exchange more acceptable than others.
I have always been an emotional sucker for underdogs. I cried for Gollum more than any other character in The Lord of the Rings, because he just needed unconditional love, oh my God. My absolute favorite part of counseling is when a client tentatively admits to some secret, and by not reacting in horror, I get to watch their faces open up just a tiny bit in trust before the rest comes out. All the shame, all the horrible things they have thought or felt or done. I love being the person to hear their worst and to say, "I'm so sorry you went through that. I understand why you would have done that. I'm so grateful you shared that with me." I hadn't really thought of it as mercy before, but of course it is. I love seeing someone at their worst and saying, "I'm not going to punish you for that."
My overabundance of mercy is counterbalanced by an incredibly diminished capacity for justice. I hate war, I hate revenge, I hate the death penalty, I hate giving up on someone. My church is going through Joshua right now, and I very much appreciate how nearly every week whoever is preaching addresses the complexity of what it means to serve an occasionally genocidal God. I struggle with that a lot, and the concept of God's justice in general. There are exceptions, though. I think of the men and women who kidnap children and naive young women, who sell other people's bodies for sex and abuse, who buy homes paid for by someone else's nightmare. I think of those people, and my capacity for mercy shrivels up until I understand God's justice. I understand His disgust with our sin, His desire to see it--to see us--utterly destroyed.
That's unusual, though. And honestly, if I met someone who worked in the sex trafficking industry and managed to talk to them, I'm sure I would discover their own background of abuse and neglect and pain. I'd like to think that I could learn to empathize with even these disgusting people, that I could learn to show mercy to them.
That doesn't negate justice. I understand that justice is an attribute of God, despite my usual inability to fathom it or especially to appreciate it. But I just read G. K. Chesterson's Orthodoxy in which he states the inherent paradoxes of Christianity. Ours is a religion, not of balance, but of passion. Christianity has inspired the gruesomest wars in history as well as an enduring community of people committed to non-violence. Our God is entirely just and entirely merciful, and I think His people, being finite where He is infinite, are able to inhabit and display just one or two of His attributes. Someone else has justice covered. I've got mercy, for worse and for better.
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.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Unconditional Love
Therapy
today meant discussing self-worth, which was MISERABLE; I assume for
everyone other than the three or four lucky bastards who had perfect
childhoods.
Therapist: Do you think there's a spiritual element here?
Me: Yes. I was raised knowing that God loved me in spite of my sins, and—it was always in spite of. It's only been in the last couple years that I've learned that maybe God just straight up loves me. Maybe he delights in me.
Therapist: What would that be like?
Me: Comfort. Security. Peace...Too good to be true.
Our conversation moved on, but for the rest of the day I was stuck on this exchange. Later it struck me why it felt so important--the last year or so has essentially been my attempts to prove that God's love is conditional. For so long I've been defined (by others and by myself) as "the good girl," and it terrifies me to think that this reputation is what has earned God's love. Does he only care about me when I'm trying not to sin, when I'm being modest, when I'm focusing on him, when I'm serving others?
So I stopped reading my Bible. I started cussing. I hit my snooze alarm until it was too late to go to church. I ignored chapel requirements for DTS. In my "good girl" way, I went bad. I think I was railing against God, trying to prove to him that, "See!? You don't love me now!" I disobey authority, covet everything, hang onto jealousy, embrace bitterness, wallow in self-pity, and then I held my blackened and shattered heart up to God in defiance. I wanted him to let me down. I wanted him to be like everyone else, so that at least the world would make sense. The rules would be clear--for me to experience love, I need to put on my happy shiny people face and DO STUFF.
But....that hasn't happened. It's not like I've felt showered in God's love. But during this year I've found friends who are in the muck with me, doubting and trying and flailing. I've got this support system that is mysteriously okay with all of my pain because they know that the world is shitty and they're not interested in pretending it's not. And it's through them and their sarcastic, enduring compassion that I think...okay. Maybe God loves me. Maybe I could never read the Bible for the rest of my life, and he would love me. Maybe I could always act selfishly, and he would love me. Maybe he looks down on me and fucking laughs and smiles fondly. Maybe I'm his craftsmanship, and he made me good. Maybe I'm broken, but he sees what I was, am, and will be, and he's just entirely delighted.
Therapist: Do you think there's a spiritual element here?
Me: Yes. I was raised knowing that God loved me in spite of my sins, and—it was always in spite of. It's only been in the last couple years that I've learned that maybe God just straight up loves me. Maybe he delights in me.
Therapist: What would that be like?
Me: Comfort. Security. Peace...Too good to be true.
Our conversation moved on, but for the rest of the day I was stuck on this exchange. Later it struck me why it felt so important--the last year or so has essentially been my attempts to prove that God's love is conditional. For so long I've been defined (by others and by myself) as "the good girl," and it terrifies me to think that this reputation is what has earned God's love. Does he only care about me when I'm trying not to sin, when I'm being modest, when I'm focusing on him, when I'm serving others?
So I stopped reading my Bible. I started cussing. I hit my snooze alarm until it was too late to go to church. I ignored chapel requirements for DTS. In my "good girl" way, I went bad. I think I was railing against God, trying to prove to him that, "See!? You don't love me now!" I disobey authority, covet everything, hang onto jealousy, embrace bitterness, wallow in self-pity, and then I held my blackened and shattered heart up to God in defiance. I wanted him to let me down. I wanted him to be like everyone else, so that at least the world would make sense. The rules would be clear--for me to experience love, I need to put on my happy shiny people face and DO STUFF.
But....that hasn't happened. It's not like I've felt showered in God's love. But during this year I've found friends who are in the muck with me, doubting and trying and flailing. I've got this support system that is mysteriously okay with all of my pain because they know that the world is shitty and they're not interested in pretending it's not. And it's through them and their sarcastic, enduring compassion that I think...okay. Maybe God loves me. Maybe I could never read the Bible for the rest of my life, and he would love me. Maybe I could always act selfishly, and he would love me. Maybe he looks down on me and fucking laughs and smiles fondly. Maybe I'm his craftsmanship, and he made me good. Maybe I'm broken, but he sees what I was, am, and will be, and he's just entirely delighted.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
A Counselor's Prayer
Taken from this website.
God, help me to share my client’s (or friend’s) pain without letting her pain overwhelm me.
Help me to feel her hurt without feeling consumed by it.
Help me to enter her chaos without being sucked into it.
Help me to approach her problems without feeling the need to fix them.
Help me share her grief without trying to rescue her from it.
Help me to bear witness to her past without feeling the weight of its devastation.
Help me to celebrate her growth without taking credit for it.
Help me to hear of abuse without turning cynical, broken relationships without becoming bitter, neglectful parenting without being judgmental.
Help me to hold hope for others even when I’m struggling to hold hope for myself.
Help me to keep my heart open even after it breaks.
And help me to draw closer to your heart every time I’m overwhelmed by the pain in mine.
Help me to feel her hurt without feeling consumed by it.
Help me to enter her chaos without being sucked into it.
Help me to approach her problems without feeling the need to fix them.
Help me share her grief without trying to rescue her from it.
Help me to bear witness to her past without feeling the weight of its devastation.
Help me to celebrate her growth without taking credit for it.
Help me to hear of abuse without turning cynical, broken relationships without becoming bitter, neglectful parenting without being judgmental.
Help me to hold hope for others even when I’m struggling to hold hope for myself.
Help me to keep my heart open even after it breaks.
And help me to draw closer to your heart every time I’m overwhelmed by the pain in mine.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Finding Hope in Purpose
At my first therapy session of the new semester, I had to admit that I had little to talk about. Christmas had gone better than expected. Some of the things that had been weighing on me had been confronted and put away. I felt good.
My therapist asked how I would scale my depressive symptoms against how I felt when I first started therapy. "I was probably a seven in the fall. Now...I think I'm a two."
"A two?" she said. "That's really low. That's great. What do you think changed?"
I didn't know. But the more I think about it, I realized that I have purpose this semester. My depression is almost always wound around feelings of hopelessness and purposelessness. Now that I am starting to see clients, my life has meaning. I am doing the thing for which I came to Dallas and entered graduate school. All these things I've been cramming into my brain are coming out. Instead of talking about stepping into people's pain and wondering what that will be like in the nebulous future, I'm experiencing it right now.
It's terrifying, counseling people. But the good sort of terror, the kind when you see a person and you think, "You're going to change my life," or when the camel you're on lurches to its feet or when you stare at the clouds and feel so small and so massive. It's terrifying, but it is mine. It is what I am made to do, I have not one shred of doubt.
God crafted me into a sensitive, empathetic person. With every book I devoured, I learned to place myself in someone else's shoes. With every person who ignored me, I burned with a passion to give voice to the voiceless. With my heightened sense of disunity, I cried against the separation of heart and head before I ever had a place where I could sit with someone and say, "It's okay to feel things."
So although this first step into the next leg of my journey is stupid scary, I am so excited. And that excitement that I have found from doing what I was made to do--that is what has healed me.
My therapist asked how I would scale my depressive symptoms against how I felt when I first started therapy. "I was probably a seven in the fall. Now...I think I'm a two."
"A two?" she said. "That's really low. That's great. What do you think changed?"
I didn't know. But the more I think about it, I realized that I have purpose this semester. My depression is almost always wound around feelings of hopelessness and purposelessness. Now that I am starting to see clients, my life has meaning. I am doing the thing for which I came to Dallas and entered graduate school. All these things I've been cramming into my brain are coming out. Instead of talking about stepping into people's pain and wondering what that will be like in the nebulous future, I'm experiencing it right now.
It's terrifying, counseling people. But the good sort of terror, the kind when you see a person and you think, "You're going to change my life," or when the camel you're on lurches to its feet or when you stare at the clouds and feel so small and so massive. It's terrifying, but it is mine. It is what I am made to do, I have not one shred of doubt.
God crafted me into a sensitive, empathetic person. With every book I devoured, I learned to place myself in someone else's shoes. With every person who ignored me, I burned with a passion to give voice to the voiceless. With my heightened sense of disunity, I cried against the separation of heart and head before I ever had a place where I could sit with someone and say, "It's okay to feel things."
So although this first step into the next leg of my journey is stupid scary, I am so excited. And that excitement that I have found from doing what I was made to do--that is what has healed me.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Need Buckets Pt. 3
You know the drill: need buckets, it's sad, we meet them with coping strategies, Jesus wants to fill our need buckets if only we'll let Him.
So here's the definition of sin: trying to meet our needs apart from God.
This is brilliant. This the broader definition of sin that I've always looked for, because of course sin can't just be actions, and it's got to be relational at heart if a relationship is what cures it. It also affirms the fact that we are intelligent image bearers of God. People don't sin out of craziness (unless you're criminally insane, of course). People sin because they think it's what they have to do.
Needs are screaming toddlers, basically. If there is a massive hole in our soul, we will do just about anything to get it met, whether that is adultery or murder or lies. We're desperate, hurting people. We will go to church five times a week to earn God's approval or make people think we're holy. Or maybe we go because we need the companionship, we need to look good and have people say, "Hey, you look good, and I'm so glad you're here!" and the thing is, sin is super subtle and we're none of us exempt.
I totally meet my needs in sinful ways--in sinful relationships, in sinful actions, in sinful addictions. I've struggled with some sins for over a decade, which does a number on your faith when there are messages in the Church that say, "Occasional sins are alright, but habitual sins? You're probably not a Christian." And what the hell? Here I thought I was a person who loved Jesus but found it impossible to stop doing this thing that I know is wrong but which makes me feel better. But sin, when thought of as simply actions, as things that are the root of the issue rather than merely symptoms, well, then people can get legalistic on your ass and make you feel like crap.
But framed in terms of need buckets, it makes so much sense. I can't kick my sins because my bucket is still empty. And while my needs are unmet, I'm going to try to meet them in whatever way I can. Even when I know something is a sin, I'm still going to do it, because that need drives me insane. In eternity we're not going to sin, right? Why? Because our needs will be totally fulfilled. That is crazy beautiful, I can't even actually imagine.
Seeing it this way allows me to see myself with so much grace. I'm not openly rebelling, and I'm not hopelessly depraved. I'm hurting. Everyone who is sinning is hurting.
And if I can learn to be gracious to myself, well then look at God.
I often wonder how God can be so patient. How is He so good, so forgiving? Well. He's omniscient. He knows us inside and out. He knows all of our needs, and He knows which ones were met and which ones are still buckets waiting to be filled. He knows all of our tricks, and He knows how unfulfilling they are. It makes so much sense that God would be patient when He sees how deeply our brokenness runs. He knows it's going to take far more than a few well-timed sermons, a few Bible verses, a few worship songs, a few strolls through nature. He knows how empty we are, and He cares. He empathizes with us, and I think that's why He is not nearly so hard on us as we are on ourselves. I think that's why sanctification is a lifetime process, one that just can't be accomplished in this life where we will continue to have our needs go unmet.
God knows that the only way we'll stop sinning is for the coming of the new heaven and the new earth, when we will see God face to face, when we will know Him and truly understand for the first time that He meets our needs fully and completely, filling those buckets to overflowing. And when our needs are met, we won't have to go looking for help anywhere else.
That's going to be a good day.
So here's the definition of sin: trying to meet our needs apart from God.
This is brilliant. This the broader definition of sin that I've always looked for, because of course sin can't just be actions, and it's got to be relational at heart if a relationship is what cures it. It also affirms the fact that we are intelligent image bearers of God. People don't sin out of craziness (unless you're criminally insane, of course). People sin because they think it's what they have to do.
Needs are screaming toddlers, basically. If there is a massive hole in our soul, we will do just about anything to get it met, whether that is adultery or murder or lies. We're desperate, hurting people. We will go to church five times a week to earn God's approval or make people think we're holy. Or maybe we go because we need the companionship, we need to look good and have people say, "Hey, you look good, and I'm so glad you're here!" and the thing is, sin is super subtle and we're none of us exempt.
I totally meet my needs in sinful ways--in sinful relationships, in sinful actions, in sinful addictions. I've struggled with some sins for over a decade, which does a number on your faith when there are messages in the Church that say, "Occasional sins are alright, but habitual sins? You're probably not a Christian." And what the hell? Here I thought I was a person who loved Jesus but found it impossible to stop doing this thing that I know is wrong but which makes me feel better. But sin, when thought of as simply actions, as things that are the root of the issue rather than merely symptoms, well, then people can get legalistic on your ass and make you feel like crap.
But framed in terms of need buckets, it makes so much sense. I can't kick my sins because my bucket is still empty. And while my needs are unmet, I'm going to try to meet them in whatever way I can. Even when I know something is a sin, I'm still going to do it, because that need drives me insane. In eternity we're not going to sin, right? Why? Because our needs will be totally fulfilled. That is crazy beautiful, I can't even actually imagine.
Seeing it this way allows me to see myself with so much grace. I'm not openly rebelling, and I'm not hopelessly depraved. I'm hurting. Everyone who is sinning is hurting.
And if I can learn to be gracious to myself, well then look at God.
I often wonder how God can be so patient. How is He so good, so forgiving? Well. He's omniscient. He knows us inside and out. He knows all of our needs, and He knows which ones were met and which ones are still buckets waiting to be filled. He knows all of our tricks, and He knows how unfulfilling they are. It makes so much sense that God would be patient when He sees how deeply our brokenness runs. He knows it's going to take far more than a few well-timed sermons, a few Bible verses, a few worship songs, a few strolls through nature. He knows how empty we are, and He cares. He empathizes with us, and I think that's why He is not nearly so hard on us as we are on ourselves. I think that's why sanctification is a lifetime process, one that just can't be accomplished in this life where we will continue to have our needs go unmet.
God knows that the only way we'll stop sinning is for the coming of the new heaven and the new earth, when we will see God face to face, when we will know Him and truly understand for the first time that He meets our needs fully and completely, filling those buckets to overflowing. And when our needs are met, we won't have to go looking for help anywhere else.
That's going to be a good day.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Need Buckets Pt. 2
Alright, so we've got needs that were not met as children, and we spend the rest of our lives flailing around trying to meet them through negative coping strategies. It's all rather hopeless until you look at John 4.
Jesus meets with the Samaritan woman at the well, and they talk about water. The woman draws water from the well, and it's effective, but it has to be done every single day, and it's work. Jesus says He's got living water, water that never runs out, that springs out by itself without needing to be drawn. The Samaritan woman is smart; she wants that living water. But Jesus starts talking about her husband. Whoops, husbands and extra lover. Turns out it's not water Jesus was talking about but relationships. Just like the woman worked to get water, she worked to get her needs met by men. Jesus promises living water, promises to meet her needs so fully that she doesn't have to resort to manipulating people into loving and caring and respecting her.
That's lovely, isn't it? That's the hope offered by Christianity.
Except sometimes, God doesn't meet our needs. During break, I told this to the girl sitting next to me, and she said, "Oh, of course He does. He can do anything and..." I'll be honest, I stopped listening almost immediately. She'd just gotten engaged. Clearly she didn't have a problem trusting God.
Dr. Dickens is a nosy guy, so he said, "It sounds like you two are processing over there. Let us in!" So I told him that it seems like God doesn't meet all our needs, and he frowned and nodded.
"God meets our ways in three ways, I think. One, He meets our needs supernaturally, like those peaceful feelings to you can't explain etc. Two, He meets our needs through people, and often they don't even know they're giving you exactly what you need. And three, sometimes He doesn't answer our needs."
I almost teared up. Turns out people telling the truth is crazy validating.
He continued, "Sometimes God doesn't meet our needs. He sees us, and He sees our needs, and He knows they are legitimate. But sometimes He doesn't meet them because He wants us to know we can survive without it. Sometimes we've made the need into something bigger than it really is and He teaches us perspective. Sometimes we never know why He doesn't meet them."
And yes. Yes yes yes.
As mentioned in the previous post, one of my biggest needs is for a vulnerable, committed intimate relationship. Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted a best friend. I want so desperately to have someone to share life with, to make memories and grow together and say, "Hey, remember that time ten years ago? Me too." I've always wanted that, and I've never gotten it. I've had some lovely groups of friends. I've had a couple people who were best friends for a while, but then college ends, or they move, or I move. I've learned that this need really fucking hurts, so I usually employ my coping strategy and get the hell out of dodge before I feel so attached to someone that it's going to hurt when they leave.
And of course, I really want to get married. That's the ultimate committed, vulnerable relationship, right? I want it bad. But none of the guys I've been interested in have been interested back, and that gets really old after a decade, so I started saying, "Marriage? Screw marriage! Not only is singleness a gift from God, I super enjoy the gift! In your face, marriage!" While I will vehemently defend singleness as a gift from God, I have to admit that I hate every minute of it.
So I've got this need for long-term intimate relationships, and I've pretended I don't have it, and I've tried to look perfect so that people would be drawn to me and at least I'd get some kind of affirmation. But that's tiring. I'm tired of looking perfect. I'm tired of getting people to like the Perfect Version of myself. It's absolutely exhausting, and Jesus's living water sounds really fantastic right now.
Only the answer seems to be no.
Now, you can say I have a long-term intimate relationship with God, and you're right. I should definitely explore that and give it more credit. But I do think that God created us with relational needs that are meant to be met by humans. And for that, my needs are being partially met or not at all. And that sucks. And Dr. Dickens affirmed it, and while that doesn't meet my needs, it makes me feel a little less crazy.
Jesus meets with the Samaritan woman at the well, and they talk about water. The woman draws water from the well, and it's effective, but it has to be done every single day, and it's work. Jesus says He's got living water, water that never runs out, that springs out by itself without needing to be drawn. The Samaritan woman is smart; she wants that living water. But Jesus starts talking about her husband. Whoops, husbands and extra lover. Turns out it's not water Jesus was talking about but relationships. Just like the woman worked to get water, she worked to get her needs met by men. Jesus promises living water, promises to meet her needs so fully that she doesn't have to resort to manipulating people into loving and caring and respecting her.
That's lovely, isn't it? That's the hope offered by Christianity.
Except sometimes, God doesn't meet our needs. During break, I told this to the girl sitting next to me, and she said, "Oh, of course He does. He can do anything and..." I'll be honest, I stopped listening almost immediately. She'd just gotten engaged. Clearly she didn't have a problem trusting God.
Dr. Dickens is a nosy guy, so he said, "It sounds like you two are processing over there. Let us in!" So I told him that it seems like God doesn't meet all our needs, and he frowned and nodded.
"God meets our ways in three ways, I think. One, He meets our needs supernaturally, like those peaceful feelings to you can't explain etc. Two, He meets our needs through people, and often they don't even know they're giving you exactly what you need. And three, sometimes He doesn't answer our needs."
I almost teared up. Turns out people telling the truth is crazy validating.
He continued, "Sometimes God doesn't meet our needs. He sees us, and He sees our needs, and He knows they are legitimate. But sometimes He doesn't meet them because He wants us to know we can survive without it. Sometimes we've made the need into something bigger than it really is and He teaches us perspective. Sometimes we never know why He doesn't meet them."
And yes. Yes yes yes.
As mentioned in the previous post, one of my biggest needs is for a vulnerable, committed intimate relationship. Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted a best friend. I want so desperately to have someone to share life with, to make memories and grow together and say, "Hey, remember that time ten years ago? Me too." I've always wanted that, and I've never gotten it. I've had some lovely groups of friends. I've had a couple people who were best friends for a while, but then college ends, or they move, or I move. I've learned that this need really fucking hurts, so I usually employ my coping strategy and get the hell out of dodge before I feel so attached to someone that it's going to hurt when they leave.
And of course, I really want to get married. That's the ultimate committed, vulnerable relationship, right? I want it bad. But none of the guys I've been interested in have been interested back, and that gets really old after a decade, so I started saying, "Marriage? Screw marriage! Not only is singleness a gift from God, I super enjoy the gift! In your face, marriage!" While I will vehemently defend singleness as a gift from God, I have to admit that I hate every minute of it.
So I've got this need for long-term intimate relationships, and I've pretended I don't have it, and I've tried to look perfect so that people would be drawn to me and at least I'd get some kind of affirmation. But that's tiring. I'm tired of looking perfect. I'm tired of getting people to like the Perfect Version of myself. It's absolutely exhausting, and Jesus's living water sounds really fantastic right now.
Only the answer seems to be no.
Now, you can say I have a long-term intimate relationship with God, and you're right. I should definitely explore that and give it more credit. But I do think that God created us with relational needs that are meant to be met by humans. And for that, my needs are being partially met or not at all. And that sucks. And Dr. Dickens affirmed it, and while that doesn't meet my needs, it makes me feel a little less crazy.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Need Buckets Pt. 1
We talked about negative coping strategies in practicum. We all have needs, Dr. Dickens said. Say that you have twenty need buckets. It's not a bad thing to have needs. Humans are inherently needy, created that way by God to fuel community and remind us that we are, in fact, created beings. To pretend we aren't needy is to pretend we are God. So we've got twenty need buckets (let's just say), and our parents are able to fill up maybe fifteen of them if we're lucky. That's 75%, that's a passing parent grade.
But there are still five need buckets that are empty. Those needs could be the need for intimacy, the need for purpose, the need for security, the need for respect. And when our needs are not being met, there are three general coping strategies people employ to get those needs met. Moving toward people are people pleasers. They help people in hopes that they will be helped in return. These people look really good, but their motivation for kindnesses is selfish and manipulative. Moving against people are aggressive. They'll force you to meet their needs by steamrollering over you and demanding whatever they need before leaving you. Again, selfish and manipulative. Moving away people either pretend they don't actually have needs or else set themselves apart, pretending they've got everything figured out so that people will be drawn to them and meet their needs without them ever having to ask for it.
I am so a moving away person. I have, quite literally, moved away. One of my empty need buckets is the need for intimacy. I crave vulnerable, committed relationships. But I pretend this doesn't bother me, or I try to be perfect so people will be drawn to me because it's only if I'm perfect that people will want to be in close relationships with me (nevermind that by pretending to be perfect I've forfeited the authenticity needed for truly intimate relationships).
So we all have needs, and we all try to meet them in sideways moves. Oftentimes these coping strategies are effective; that's why we use them. But inevitably they will fail, and even if they never do, they get so tiring. We're smart; we know the difference between manipulating someone into meeting our needs and having someone meet them all on their own motivation.
As therapists, we're meant to 1) decipher what a person's needs are and 2) what their coping strategy is. They will use this coping strategy against us, so that part won't be hard. The tricky thing is that when they are manipulating, we're supposed to ignore their need. They'll be shuddering apart, flailing for affirmation, and we just sit with them and let them flail. It's only when they tire and let their guard down that we jump in and load them up with whatever their need is. In this way, they'll learn that they don't have to manipulate people into meeting their needs. It's possible for them to give up and stop trying and still be loved.
This is grace.
This is my epiphany: I move away from people, and I move away from God. These last few months (this last decade, more like), I've been ignoring God, trying to manipulate Him into helping me, caring for me, providing for me. Because God chases us, right? He pursues us? So I've been really pissed off because HE HASN'T. He's letting me hang.
But if God is a counselor, and I think that He is, then He's waiting. He's not going to validate my coping strategy by rushing in to meet my needs just because I'm pouting and avoiding Him. And this explains the wonderful moment I had a couple weeks ago. I dropped my act, I opened my Bible, and Hebrews 12 jumped into my heart and comforted me. God met me the second I stopped moving away and let Him in.
Of course, I've since returned to moving away, because that shit is deeply ingrained, and I didn't miraculously learn to trust God. So. I'm still working through this, but like, my brain has opened and I feel like I see what's happening, at least a little bit.
But there are still five need buckets that are empty. Those needs could be the need for intimacy, the need for purpose, the need for security, the need for respect. And when our needs are not being met, there are three general coping strategies people employ to get those needs met. Moving toward people are people pleasers. They help people in hopes that they will be helped in return. These people look really good, but their motivation for kindnesses is selfish and manipulative. Moving against people are aggressive. They'll force you to meet their needs by steamrollering over you and demanding whatever they need before leaving you. Again, selfish and manipulative. Moving away people either pretend they don't actually have needs or else set themselves apart, pretending they've got everything figured out so that people will be drawn to them and meet their needs without them ever having to ask for it.
I am so a moving away person. I have, quite literally, moved away. One of my empty need buckets is the need for intimacy. I crave vulnerable, committed relationships. But I pretend this doesn't bother me, or I try to be perfect so people will be drawn to me because it's only if I'm perfect that people will want to be in close relationships with me (nevermind that by pretending to be perfect I've forfeited the authenticity needed for truly intimate relationships).
So we all have needs, and we all try to meet them in sideways moves. Oftentimes these coping strategies are effective; that's why we use them. But inevitably they will fail, and even if they never do, they get so tiring. We're smart; we know the difference between manipulating someone into meeting our needs and having someone meet them all on their own motivation.
As therapists, we're meant to 1) decipher what a person's needs are and 2) what their coping strategy is. They will use this coping strategy against us, so that part won't be hard. The tricky thing is that when they are manipulating, we're supposed to ignore their need. They'll be shuddering apart, flailing for affirmation, and we just sit with them and let them flail. It's only when they tire and let their guard down that we jump in and load them up with whatever their need is. In this way, they'll learn that they don't have to manipulate people into meeting their needs. It's possible for them to give up and stop trying and still be loved.
This is grace.
This is my epiphany: I move away from people, and I move away from God. These last few months (this last decade, more like), I've been ignoring God, trying to manipulate Him into helping me, caring for me, providing for me. Because God chases us, right? He pursues us? So I've been really pissed off because HE HASN'T. He's letting me hang.
But if God is a counselor, and I think that He is, then He's waiting. He's not going to validate my coping strategy by rushing in to meet my needs just because I'm pouting and avoiding Him. And this explains the wonderful moment I had a couple weeks ago. I dropped my act, I opened my Bible, and Hebrews 12 jumped into my heart and comforted me. God met me the second I stopped moving away and let Him in.
Of course, I've since returned to moving away, because that shit is deeply ingrained, and I didn't miraculously learn to trust God. So. I'm still working through this, but like, my brain has opened and I feel like I see what's happening, at least a little bit.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Hello, Mojo, I Missed You
Going back to school is a guaranteed rush of TOO MANY THOUGHTS. There are classes to prepare for, relationships to renew, and the thing about studying theology and counseling is that those topics sink into real life situations and stick with you. It's a bit of an overload, honestly, which is why I haven't been blogging. I can't blog until I've got a handle on whatever I want to talk about, even if the words themselves flow out without censorship.
The thing about this semester, I think, is that I'm finally taking charge. In my introversion studies, I learned that introverts can be just as a) outgoing and b) assertive as anyone, only they need to feel a) safe and b) comfortable in order to do so. Can I get an amen? Apparently after a year in a new city studying a new subject with new friends, I feel safe and comfortable!
On the social side, I'm a bit flabbergasted, because when did I accumulate so many friends? It's lovely, but a little unwieldy, because whereas before I had a friend in this class and a friend in that class, now we are all together and it's hard to juggle them all. But lovely, too, because obviously. Twice a week I'm at school throughout lunch, and my normal habit is to eat on the stone patio behind the library where nobody goes, then hang out in the library proper and get some schoolwork done before my next class. But I keep being thwarted by people who assume I want to be social! This pisses me off momentarily, because I need to regroup and recharge, but it's nice to catch up with people.
On the academic side, I am killing it. Over the summer I fully owned the fact that I do in fact want to study counseling, and landed solidly on the fact that this is a career I want to devote the next however-many years of my life to mastering. What a difference (plus, see above, comfort, safety).
My angelology class has a group presentation (isn't seminary where we avoid contact with other students, gross, eurgh, yuck) and I was feeling assertive the day we gathered, so I volunteered to be the chairperson. It is so fun! Although last night I realized the danger of leading a bunch of people studying to be leaders, because a guy emailed me a list of extremely detailed notes which "might be useful" to me in leading our meeting today. Back up off me, boy! Really, he was a man in his 40s, and when we met and I incorporated some of his ideas, but not all of them, everyone meshed really well and anyway, I'm just saying I'm really enjoying being the chairperson.
Dr. Barnes emailed the MABC students saying he is researching "Individual Sexuality and the Church" for his sabbatical, and was anyone interested in helping? I'm not sure how emphatically I can say, "SIR THAT IS MY PASSION" but I emailed back my interest, however, what was the time commitment, etc. What I got back was an invitation to his house on Sunday where the team would get together to discuss details and also cookout and don't forget to bring your swimsuit! What? No! Swimming at my professor's house? That is utterly terrifying, but I said yes, because while ambition is a foreign concept to me, I realize networking is like, a pretty good idea.
And finally, practicum I! Dr. Dickens is the best, because as an introvert, he knows springing surprises is the worst for our little terrified brains, so he told us we wouldn't be getting into the Ring of Fire to practice counseling until the third week of classes. Which was this week! "It's kiddie pool stuff," he said. "I'll be the client, and I promise, even if you trip and fall, the water is so shallow you can't drown." "What if we fall on our faces?" someone asked. "I'll turn you over," he promised.
I was antsy to get this over with, because during the first class, Dr. Dickens said, "It will be hard to be the client, but we're all screwed up and that's not going to surprise anyone. It will be infinitely harder to be the counselor. You've invested a lot of money in this program, and this is something you're pretty passionate about, pretty sure you want to do for the rest of your life. What if you stink at it?" Yes yes, so the best way out is through, and I was going to volunteer to go first, but the other antsy kid beat me to it. Thank goodness, because he sat down and Dr. Dickens said, "What do you want to know about me?" and the poor guy just sat there wide-eyed for fifteen seconds of silence. All this studying how to be empathetic and model emotions, and NO ONE EVER TOLD US HOW TO START A CONVERSATION. Terrifying.
Ten minutes later, I jumped at the chance to tag team, and yes, utter terror. "What strengths to you do--do you bring to the, ahem, counseling staff?" I continued, horrified at my inability to speak English. But then he was off, and the conversation turned interesting, and the more I focused on him the less I thought about the twelve students staring at us. I think I looked empathetic, and I enjoyed learning about him, and I realized that counseling is HARD, because people don't say what you expect them to say, so you've got to be mentally agile and constantly map out where you want the conversation to go, but no, okay, maybe we'll go there instead. After my time was up, he gave me a high five, which was either pity or encouragement, and I'll take them both.
LOOK AT ME. Bossin' it up, being all sure I'll do that, and oh yeah, one of my friends asked me to be her sponsor while she goes through Steps, and WHAT. I'm like, all doing stuff I've been talking about, but only talking, and now I'm doing. It's crazy. Three weeks. Suddenly I'm a leader and proactive and passionate, and it feels like I've got my mojo back.
The thing about this semester, I think, is that I'm finally taking charge. In my introversion studies, I learned that introverts can be just as a) outgoing and b) assertive as anyone, only they need to feel a) safe and b) comfortable in order to do so. Can I get an amen? Apparently after a year in a new city studying a new subject with new friends, I feel safe and comfortable!
On the social side, I'm a bit flabbergasted, because when did I accumulate so many friends? It's lovely, but a little unwieldy, because whereas before I had a friend in this class and a friend in that class, now we are all together and it's hard to juggle them all. But lovely, too, because obviously. Twice a week I'm at school throughout lunch, and my normal habit is to eat on the stone patio behind the library where nobody goes, then hang out in the library proper and get some schoolwork done before my next class. But I keep being thwarted by people who assume I want to be social! This pisses me off momentarily, because I need to regroup and recharge, but it's nice to catch up with people.
On the academic side, I am killing it. Over the summer I fully owned the fact that I do in fact want to study counseling, and landed solidly on the fact that this is a career I want to devote the next however-many years of my life to mastering. What a difference (plus, see above, comfort, safety).
My angelology class has a group presentation (isn't seminary where we avoid contact with other students, gross, eurgh, yuck) and I was feeling assertive the day we gathered, so I volunteered to be the chairperson. It is so fun! Although last night I realized the danger of leading a bunch of people studying to be leaders, because a guy emailed me a list of extremely detailed notes which "might be useful" to me in leading our meeting today. Back up off me, boy! Really, he was a man in his 40s, and when we met and I incorporated some of his ideas, but not all of them, everyone meshed really well and anyway, I'm just saying I'm really enjoying being the chairperson.
Dr. Barnes emailed the MABC students saying he is researching "Individual Sexuality and the Church" for his sabbatical, and was anyone interested in helping? I'm not sure how emphatically I can say, "SIR THAT IS MY PASSION" but I emailed back my interest, however, what was the time commitment, etc. What I got back was an invitation to his house on Sunday where the team would get together to discuss details and also cookout and don't forget to bring your swimsuit! What? No! Swimming at my professor's house? That is utterly terrifying, but I said yes, because while ambition is a foreign concept to me, I realize networking is like, a pretty good idea.
And finally, practicum I! Dr. Dickens is the best, because as an introvert, he knows springing surprises is the worst for our little terrified brains, so he told us we wouldn't be getting into the Ring of Fire to practice counseling until the third week of classes. Which was this week! "It's kiddie pool stuff," he said. "I'll be the client, and I promise, even if you trip and fall, the water is so shallow you can't drown." "What if we fall on our faces?" someone asked. "I'll turn you over," he promised.
I was antsy to get this over with, because during the first class, Dr. Dickens said, "It will be hard to be the client, but we're all screwed up and that's not going to surprise anyone. It will be infinitely harder to be the counselor. You've invested a lot of money in this program, and this is something you're pretty passionate about, pretty sure you want to do for the rest of your life. What if you stink at it?" Yes yes, so the best way out is through, and I was going to volunteer to go first, but the other antsy kid beat me to it. Thank goodness, because he sat down and Dr. Dickens said, "What do you want to know about me?" and the poor guy just sat there wide-eyed for fifteen seconds of silence. All this studying how to be empathetic and model emotions, and NO ONE EVER TOLD US HOW TO START A CONVERSATION. Terrifying.
Ten minutes later, I jumped at the chance to tag team, and yes, utter terror. "What strengths to you do--do you bring to the, ahem, counseling staff?" I continued, horrified at my inability to speak English. But then he was off, and the conversation turned interesting, and the more I focused on him the less I thought about the twelve students staring at us. I think I looked empathetic, and I enjoyed learning about him, and I realized that counseling is HARD, because people don't say what you expect them to say, so you've got to be mentally agile and constantly map out where you want the conversation to go, but no, okay, maybe we'll go there instead. After my time was up, he gave me a high five, which was either pity or encouragement, and I'll take them both.
LOOK AT ME. Bossin' it up, being all sure I'll do that, and oh yeah, one of my friends asked me to be her sponsor while she goes through Steps, and WHAT. I'm like, all doing stuff I've been talking about, but only talking, and now I'm doing. It's crazy. Three weeks. Suddenly I'm a leader and proactive and passionate, and it feels like I've got my mojo back.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
I'm A Real Boy--er, Counselor!
I had my first Practicum class today. Essentially it is twelve students and our professor, and we're going to practice counseling on each other, both authentically and as pretend clients. Today was mostly paperwork stuff and forewarning of things to come. Dr. Dickens reminded us that our Stage 2 Interviews would be happening this semester; after those the Biblical Counseling faculty meet and decide whether or not counseling is a good fit for each of us. If they decide yes, we can finish the program. He told us not to be worried about the interview and to be ourselves. What kind of people do counselors like, he asked?
Real people. Counselors like the messiness of people, seeing the doubts and journeys and failures. If you put on a perfect face around a counselor, they will be both a) bored, and b) suspicious.
This more than anything confirmed that I have a counselor's heart. I'm more interested in sanctification than justification. I want to hear about people's doubts more than their faith. I like to hear "well, life has been hard" rather than "oh, I'm fine." When someone cusses or acts out inappropriately, where many people harden their faces and look down upon the person, my face lights up. Not because I approve of everything someone does, but because then I think, "That is the real person. They've let their facade slip and now we see who they are. They're broken like I am broken, and now we can relate more deeply and understand each other more fully."
When church leaders turn out to be sex addicts, I'm saddened by the people who they've hurt, but I'm not going to carry a pitchfork. Of course they're struggling with s***, they are human beings who, on top of normal human being struggles, are thrust into positions of "purity" and responsibility. Why are we surprised by someone's failures?
I'm often surprised that people are not exactly like me, so my confusion of "wait, you don't like when people cuss, and you're uncomfortable with people admitting that they think maybe God doesn't exist or doesn't care?" was nicely cleared up by the fact that those people who are drawn to honesty and messiness are, in fact, counselors! Glad to know my "skills" are going to help me land a job.
Real people. Counselors like the messiness of people, seeing the doubts and journeys and failures. If you put on a perfect face around a counselor, they will be both a) bored, and b) suspicious.
This more than anything confirmed that I have a counselor's heart. I'm more interested in sanctification than justification. I want to hear about people's doubts more than their faith. I like to hear "well, life has been hard" rather than "oh, I'm fine." When someone cusses or acts out inappropriately, where many people harden their faces and look down upon the person, my face lights up. Not because I approve of everything someone does, but because then I think, "That is the real person. They've let their facade slip and now we see who they are. They're broken like I am broken, and now we can relate more deeply and understand each other more fully."
When church leaders turn out to be sex addicts, I'm saddened by the people who they've hurt, but I'm not going to carry a pitchfork. Of course they're struggling with s***, they are human beings who, on top of normal human being struggles, are thrust into positions of "purity" and responsibility. Why are we surprised by someone's failures?
I'm often surprised that people are not exactly like me, so my confusion of "wait, you don't like when people cuss, and you're uncomfortable with people admitting that they think maybe God doesn't exist or doesn't care?" was nicely cleared up by the fact that those people who are drawn to honesty and messiness are, in fact, counselors! Glad to know my "skills" are going to help me land a job.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Encouragement
The best thing that happened at Emily and Joe's wedding (on a personal level) was when Susan Osborn pulled me aside before the reception. "I've heard a rumor," she said, and my heart sank. I assumed she was going to become another well-meaning Woodlander who said, "Are the boys chasing you? No? What's wrong with them?" thereby reminding me of my singleness in the form of a compliment, which confuses me emotionally.
I thought she would say something like that, but instead she said, "Are you thinking of becoming a sex therapist?"
"Oh, yes!" I said. "A marriage counselor, really, but I definitely want to incorporate sex therapy into my practice. I don't see how someone couldn't."
Susan looked straight at me. "Well, I just want to tell you that I think you'll do a great job! You have this disarming smile, and an easy way about you that I think will make people open up with you right away. Before their first session is over, they'll have spilled everything they've never admitted to anyone else."
My shoulders fell. "Susan. That is exactly the thing I need to hear most right now. Thank you."
Because the thing is, when I talk about marriage and sex counseling, I typically get rolled eyes or "of course Tricia would do that because she's weird" comments. Earlier this weekend, I thought of something I wanted to ask Emily about the wedding night, and an adult called after me, "Just remember, you're giving advice from a textbook, not experience."
Ouch. No wonder I spent so many years thinking I couldn't be a marriage counselor without first being married. My professors have beat into our heads that we are equipped to counsel because we're learning how in graduate school, not because we've experienced everything in the world. I believed it too, but hearing someone I admire tell me that my advice was somehow lesser because it did not come from my past set me back a few mental steps.
And then Susan, sweeping in with encouragement that is specific to who I am and how I deal with people. It was so lovely and so needed.
I thought she would say something like that, but instead she said, "Are you thinking of becoming a sex therapist?"
"Oh, yes!" I said. "A marriage counselor, really, but I definitely want to incorporate sex therapy into my practice. I don't see how someone couldn't."
Susan looked straight at me. "Well, I just want to tell you that I think you'll do a great job! You have this disarming smile, and an easy way about you that I think will make people open up with you right away. Before their first session is over, they'll have spilled everything they've never admitted to anyone else."
My shoulders fell. "Susan. That is exactly the thing I need to hear most right now. Thank you."
Because the thing is, when I talk about marriage and sex counseling, I typically get rolled eyes or "of course Tricia would do that because she's weird" comments. Earlier this weekend, I thought of something I wanted to ask Emily about the wedding night, and an adult called after me, "Just remember, you're giving advice from a textbook, not experience."
Ouch. No wonder I spent so many years thinking I couldn't be a marriage counselor without first being married. My professors have beat into our heads that we are equipped to counsel because we're learning how in graduate school, not because we've experienced everything in the world. I believed it too, but hearing someone I admire tell me that my advice was somehow lesser because it did not come from my past set me back a few mental steps.
And then Susan, sweeping in with encouragement that is specific to who I am and how I deal with people. It was so lovely and so needed.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Reading & Empathy & Counseling
Liz and I have talked a few times about the power of reading. More specifically, we've both noticed that people who read a lot tend to be more empathetic than those who don't. Of course this is a generalization! But, well, I think there is some truth to it, because reading (I'm talking about fiction here) is essentially a class on empathy. The whole point of reading a book is to put your mind inside someone else's body and live out their life. As a white single woman in 2013, I can live the life of men and women of color from all time periods in relationships and situations I could never, or hope to never, experience. I can live the lives of good people and bad people, people who are desperate and people who are generous. I learn who I want to be and who I want to avoid becoming.
Empathy is the ability to put yourself in someone else's place. Reading is the practice of putting yourself in someone else's place.
That was one epiphany. During a later conversation, I realized that this empathy was also what has equipped me to be a counselor. Counseling is basically being able to understand someone else's situation, to feel their pain and know their struggle.
What I'm saying is, my 25-year habit of reading a novel every other day is going to make me a kick ass counselor. I'm also saying that maybe I have exactly one interest in life: experiencing other people's stories, and I do that through both reading and counseling. WHAT that blows my mind, here I thought I was a beautiful complex snowflake. So if I were to boil myself down to one characteristic, I think it would be empathy.
All because of books.
Empathy is the ability to put yourself in someone else's place. Reading is the practice of putting yourself in someone else's place.
That was one epiphany. During a later conversation, I realized that this empathy was also what has equipped me to be a counselor. Counseling is basically being able to understand someone else's situation, to feel their pain and know their struggle.
What I'm saying is, my 25-year habit of reading a novel every other day is going to make me a kick ass counselor. I'm also saying that maybe I have exactly one interest in life: experiencing other people's stories, and I do that through both reading and counseling. WHAT that blows my mind, here I thought I was a beautiful complex snowflake. So if I were to boil myself down to one characteristic, I think it would be empathy.
All because of books.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Joking about Virginity
One of the reasons I decided I might be well-equipped at counseling is that I'm fairly unshockable. Of course, you can prove that statement wrong in any number of ways, but the thing is, I expect the worst of people.
That sounds awful, but it's tempered by my equal belief that people are awesome. I believe we are all broken people who make stupid decisions and who act out our insecurities in harmful ways, but that it's kind of all okay because we all do it, and it all comes from a place of pain, and anyway, maybe if we talk about it, it will get better.
I think this makes me a good friend. I was hanging out with someone lately, a friend from Dallas, and she was obviously in a bad mood. She was hinting around at how she wished she had people with whom she could be real, how she hated that her small group at church never went deeper than "well, work is really stressful right now." The two of us haven't really gone beyond hanging out and surface fun, and I knew we were on the cusp of going deeper. She finally said,
"You know, when I first decided to go to DTS, I was positive I was the only student who wasn't a virgin."
"Obviously that is so not true."
"No, I know."
She stared at me.
"Oh, well I'm a virgin, but that's only because no one has ever asked me to have sex with them."
She burst out laughing, and we continued with our conversation, and we shared our frustrations and basically had a lovely, meaningful talk. I'm sure if I'd only said that I was a virgin, even if I said it kindly, not judgmentally, she would have shut up. But by being honest, by admitting that I wasn't a virgin because of my Stellar Character, that I have desires too, that I relate to her feelings if not her experience, well. We could talk. That's a lot to communicate in one joke, but then, I think humor carries a lot of weight.
I'm not sharing this to prove how awesome I am (although obviously, why do I share anything unless I want people to pay attention to me, hopefully positively?), but as advice. We're all broken people who have been hurt and who have hurt others. We all make stupid decisions. The fastest way to heal one another, even just a little, is to listen to someone else's brokenness and expose your own. Preferably with laughter, or maybe that's just me.
That sounds awful, but it's tempered by my equal belief that people are awesome. I believe we are all broken people who make stupid decisions and who act out our insecurities in harmful ways, but that it's kind of all okay because we all do it, and it all comes from a place of pain, and anyway, maybe if we talk about it, it will get better.
I think this makes me a good friend. I was hanging out with someone lately, a friend from Dallas, and she was obviously in a bad mood. She was hinting around at how she wished she had people with whom she could be real, how she hated that her small group at church never went deeper than "well, work is really stressful right now." The two of us haven't really gone beyond hanging out and surface fun, and I knew we were on the cusp of going deeper. She finally said,
"You know, when I first decided to go to DTS, I was positive I was the only student who wasn't a virgin."
"Obviously that is so not true."
"No, I know."
She stared at me.
"Oh, well I'm a virgin, but that's only because no one has ever asked me to have sex with them."
She burst out laughing, and we continued with our conversation, and we shared our frustrations and basically had a lovely, meaningful talk. I'm sure if I'd only said that I was a virgin, even if I said it kindly, not judgmentally, she would have shut up. But by being honest, by admitting that I wasn't a virgin because of my Stellar Character, that I have desires too, that I relate to her feelings if not her experience, well. We could talk. That's a lot to communicate in one joke, but then, I think humor carries a lot of weight.
I'm not sharing this to prove how awesome I am (although obviously, why do I share anything unless I want people to pay attention to me, hopefully positively?), but as advice. We're all broken people who have been hurt and who have hurt others. We all make stupid decisions. The fastest way to heal one another, even just a little, is to listen to someone else's brokenness and expose your own. Preferably with laughter, or maybe that's just me.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Into Darkness
What is it that makes us like darkness? Metaphorical.
I don't like scary movies. THEY FREAKING TERRIFY ME. I can't even watch scary trailers. I can't even listen to scary movies. This used to embarrass me, because I guess watching horror films is a bit of a rite of passage? But now it just seems ridiculous--I honestly don't understand why someone would deliberately do something to scare themselves.
But then I fall off my high horse where serious eff-ed up stories are concerned. I've always been a fan of dark humor, like haha death and stuff! And then when you get into deeply manipulative and well, everything I can think of to describe this stuff involves the f-word. A tamer version that does not capture the power the emotion is: stories that mess with your head.
Those things where you read or watch something and think, "How could someone DO that!?" and it repulses you, but if the story is done well, you've been pulled into the action, and the weird thing is, you do understand.
Maybe that's the sick appeal. Being pulled so deeply into a narrative that you understand someone's actions, no matter how reprehensible. Alright, so maybe not everything. We've all got our limits. It is near freaking impossible for me to accept being in the head of a rapist or serial killer. But there are a lot of other ways in which a person can screw someone over, and I just really enjoy blinking through a story, thinking, "How am I feeling compassion for this horrible person?"
Now that I write it out, it's not such a mystery. I lately realized that my central driving force is the desire to understand (I mean, this was a pretty big self-revelation, and I feel bad that I shunted it to the middle of a blog post on a separate topic). I want to know WHY, and about everything, but especially people. That is why I've always been drawn to literature and psychology and counseling. So of course dark stories are appealing to me; they help me understand the darkness and depravity that people are capable of. And through understanding comes compassion.
It's fair to say that this is potentially dangerous. Well, I GET why that woman cheated on her husband, and don't I feel bad, so maybe adultery isn't always horrible? Right, it's hard to keep a hold of morality and absolute truth when you're confronted with stories outside the norm. And that's true, and I worry about that sometimes. But also...I don't think that's a good enough reason to avoid such things? Not all the time, at least. I want to have the courage to, kind of, metaphorically hold onto the rope of Christ and then jump into the abyss of humanity. Hahaha.
Oh my gosh, I'm not even trying to be coherent anymore. Basically I read a really screwed up story online, and it has OVERRUN my brain, and I know it's an awful story (so I'm not describing it or telling you what it was, because frankly I'm a bit embarrassed I read it), but I can't stop thinking about it. It was SO depraved, but so well-written, and each step taken by the characters was obviously a bad one, but it made total sense within the narrative. It was fascinating! It so accurately portrayed real life, how it's not like we think, "I'm going to kill someone today!" but a series of tiny steps can naturally and subtly progress to something "unthinkable."
Like I said, this thing took over my brain, and I had to process somewhere, so....there's my blog post for today!
I don't like scary movies. THEY FREAKING TERRIFY ME. I can't even watch scary trailers. I can't even listen to scary movies. This used to embarrass me, because I guess watching horror films is a bit of a rite of passage? But now it just seems ridiculous--I honestly don't understand why someone would deliberately do something to scare themselves.
But then I fall off my high horse where serious eff-ed up stories are concerned. I've always been a fan of dark humor, like haha death and stuff! And then when you get into deeply manipulative and well, everything I can think of to describe this stuff involves the f-word. A tamer version that does not capture the power the emotion is: stories that mess with your head.
Those things where you read or watch something and think, "How could someone DO that!?" and it repulses you, but if the story is done well, you've been pulled into the action, and the weird thing is, you do understand.
Maybe that's the sick appeal. Being pulled so deeply into a narrative that you understand someone's actions, no matter how reprehensible. Alright, so maybe not everything. We've all got our limits. It is near freaking impossible for me to accept being in the head of a rapist or serial killer. But there are a lot of other ways in which a person can screw someone over, and I just really enjoy blinking through a story, thinking, "How am I feeling compassion for this horrible person?"
Now that I write it out, it's not such a mystery. I lately realized that my central driving force is the desire to understand (I mean, this was a pretty big self-revelation, and I feel bad that I shunted it to the middle of a blog post on a separate topic). I want to know WHY, and about everything, but especially people. That is why I've always been drawn to literature and psychology and counseling. So of course dark stories are appealing to me; they help me understand the darkness and depravity that people are capable of. And through understanding comes compassion.
It's fair to say that this is potentially dangerous. Well, I GET why that woman cheated on her husband, and don't I feel bad, so maybe adultery isn't always horrible? Right, it's hard to keep a hold of morality and absolute truth when you're confronted with stories outside the norm. And that's true, and I worry about that sometimes. But also...I don't think that's a good enough reason to avoid such things? Not all the time, at least. I want to have the courage to, kind of, metaphorically hold onto the rope of Christ and then jump into the abyss of humanity. Hahaha.
Oh my gosh, I'm not even trying to be coherent anymore. Basically I read a really screwed up story online, and it has OVERRUN my brain, and I know it's an awful story (so I'm not describing it or telling you what it was, because frankly I'm a bit embarrassed I read it), but I can't stop thinking about it. It was SO depraved, but so well-written, and each step taken by the characters was obviously a bad one, but it made total sense within the narrative. It was fascinating! It so accurately portrayed real life, how it's not like we think, "I'm going to kill someone today!" but a series of tiny steps can naturally and subtly progress to something "unthinkable."
Like I said, this thing took over my brain, and I had to process somewhere, so....there's my blog post for today!
Friday, May 31, 2013
The Big O
Most men and women associate sex with orgasm. Sex that doesn't end in an orgasm can feel incomplete or even pointless. This is especially true for men, but women are not immune to the desire for "the big O."
Which is problematic, since orgasms are not guaranteed. Worse, sometimes the preoccupation with orgasms can detract from the true purpose of sex. With this in mind, perhaps we ought to start thinking of "the big O" as not Orgasm, but Oneness.
Women are less likely than men to orgasm. Partly this is biological. In the heat of sexual activity, it takes a man approximately 2-4 minutes to ejaculate. It takes women anywhere from 10-45 minutes. There's a French saying that says, "There are no frigid women, only clumsy men." Oftentimes couples are not educated on biological and individual sex differences, including what it takes to fully arouse their spouse.
On top of that, women (especially in the Church) have internalized a lot of shame when it comes to sex. We are taught to fear our bodies, both for how we might cause our brothers to sin and for how we might be abused because of our femininity. This is tragic. Although men and women ought to take care to think of other people's needs and frailties, men are much stronger than women give them credit for. Men can control themselves, and we ought to teach and model how to do so. But I'm digressing. What I'm trying to talk about is orgasms. Because of shame and repression, women often think they don't need to orgasm like a man does, or that something is wrong with them if they desire it.
Nope. That should be worked through as a couple, and everyone should be able to share in the joy of an orgasm. But. Even though that ought to be a goal, it should not be the goal.
An obsession with orgasming hurts men as well. Especially with age, men take longer to become aroused and might find it more difficult to orgasm. This is normal, but when sex is equated with orgasm, a man's world feels like it's falling apart.
Orgasms are great, they ought to be celebrated and enjoyed, everyone should have them! But they are not what sex is about. Sex is about Oneness. It is about intimately, vulnerably, and playfully being with your spouse. Sex is not just about two bodies become one. It is about two fully realized individuals with bodies, souls, and spirits becoming one. Focusing on orgasms is all about the body. Focusing on Oneness views the spouse wholistically, as body, soul, and spirit.
When Oneness is the goal of sex, physical malfunctions are less of a big deal. The activity is less performance-driven and more process-driven. Every part of the experience can be enjoyed and savored without worrying about or hurrying toward a supposed "end." Seeking "the big O" of Oneness sets a couple up for long-lasting pleasure, joy, and satisfaction far more than seeking "the big O" of orgasm.
Which is problematic, since orgasms are not guaranteed. Worse, sometimes the preoccupation with orgasms can detract from the true purpose of sex. With this in mind, perhaps we ought to start thinking of "the big O" as not Orgasm, but Oneness.
Women are less likely than men to orgasm. Partly this is biological. In the heat of sexual activity, it takes a man approximately 2-4 minutes to ejaculate. It takes women anywhere from 10-45 minutes. There's a French saying that says, "There are no frigid women, only clumsy men." Oftentimes couples are not educated on biological and individual sex differences, including what it takes to fully arouse their spouse.
On top of that, women (especially in the Church) have internalized a lot of shame when it comes to sex. We are taught to fear our bodies, both for how we might cause our brothers to sin and for how we might be abused because of our femininity. This is tragic. Although men and women ought to take care to think of other people's needs and frailties, men are much stronger than women give them credit for. Men can control themselves, and we ought to teach and model how to do so. But I'm digressing. What I'm trying to talk about is orgasms. Because of shame and repression, women often think they don't need to orgasm like a man does, or that something is wrong with them if they desire it.
Nope. That should be worked through as a couple, and everyone should be able to share in the joy of an orgasm. But. Even though that ought to be a goal, it should not be the goal.
An obsession with orgasming hurts men as well. Especially with age, men take longer to become aroused and might find it more difficult to orgasm. This is normal, but when sex is equated with orgasm, a man's world feels like it's falling apart.
Orgasms are great, they ought to be celebrated and enjoyed, everyone should have them! But they are not what sex is about. Sex is about Oneness. It is about intimately, vulnerably, and playfully being with your spouse. Sex is not just about two bodies become one. It is about two fully realized individuals with bodies, souls, and spirits becoming one. Focusing on orgasms is all about the body. Focusing on Oneness views the spouse wholistically, as body, soul, and spirit.
When Oneness is the goal of sex, physical malfunctions are less of a big deal. The activity is less performance-driven and more process-driven. Every part of the experience can be enjoyed and savored without worrying about or hurrying toward a supposed "end." Seeking "the big O" of Oneness sets a couple up for long-lasting pleasure, joy, and satisfaction far more than seeking "the big O" of orgasm.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Breaking News: Honesty is Awesome
I've long been a proponent of honesty, but somehow, I am still shocked by how lovely it really is in practice.
There's this girl at DTS who I have slowly become friends with. And by friends, I mean we mock each other's Type A Academia and rant about humanism. Until today, when we greeted each other in the few minutes before class started, and she said,
Her: Would you like to be friends outside of class?
Me: Yes! I would!
Her: Good, because what else would you say?
Me: No, I am totally satisfied with the relationship we currently have, the one in which we barely see each other. This is good.
Her: ...
Me: I COULD have said that. But no, I totally want to be your friend outside of class!
It's like, actually really nice to affirm feelings. See, it's bombshells like these that make me such an insightful person. Honestly, all of psychology is just this: putting labels on commonsense emotions and practices and describing things that people do every day. And yet, somehow acknowledging and studying these simple truths makes them SO HUGE.
If you want to be someone's friend, ask to be their friend. If you are already someone's friend and enjoy their company, tell them you are glad they are their friend!
Man, I am going to be the BEST counselor. Just call me Captain Obvious.
There's this girl at DTS who I have slowly become friends with. And by friends, I mean we mock each other's Type A Academia and rant about humanism. Until today, when we greeted each other in the few minutes before class started, and she said,
Her: Would you like to be friends outside of class?
Me: Yes! I would!
Her: Good, because what else would you say?
Me: No, I am totally satisfied with the relationship we currently have, the one in which we barely see each other. This is good.
Her: ...
Me: I COULD have said that. But no, I totally want to be your friend outside of class!
It's like, actually really nice to affirm feelings. See, it's bombshells like these that make me such an insightful person. Honestly, all of psychology is just this: putting labels on commonsense emotions and practices and describing things that people do every day. And yet, somehow acknowledging and studying these simple truths makes them SO HUGE.
If you want to be someone's friend, ask to be their friend. If you are already someone's friend and enjoy their company, tell them you are glad they are their friend!
Man, I am going to be the BEST counselor. Just call me Captain Obvious.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Humanism
I'm an optimist. I like to see the best in situations and people. I don't understand the appeal of nitpicking or mocking, although obviously I do both. It's just that afterwards, I think, what was the point in that?
My optimism is why I find humanism so intriguing. Humanists think that people are inherently good, and that if left to their own devices without external negative influences, people will strive for self-betterment. I see the truth of this in my own life and in my interactions with friends and the kids I nanny.
Now hear me out. I believe in sin. I believe that we are all in need of a savior, because we consistently turn to rebellion and selfishness when we ought to faithfully trust in God. I see that truth in my life as well.
Can't both those truths live together? Why do most evangelicals focus on the sinfulness of humanity without acknowledging our beauty? I felt a bit out of sorts when no one seemed to agree with me, but then Lindsay said, "I'm writing a paper on the Scriptural basis of humanism," and Steve said, "Try reading Psalm 8." It's nice to know I'm not alone.
I think people were created good, and then we were stained with sin, and now we are good and stained with sin. It's simple and complex, just the way I like it.
My optimism is why I find humanism so intriguing. Humanists think that people are inherently good, and that if left to their own devices without external negative influences, people will strive for self-betterment. I see the truth of this in my own life and in my interactions with friends and the kids I nanny.
Now hear me out. I believe in sin. I believe that we are all in need of a savior, because we consistently turn to rebellion and selfishness when we ought to faithfully trust in God. I see that truth in my life as well.
Can't both those truths live together? Why do most evangelicals focus on the sinfulness of humanity without acknowledging our beauty? I felt a bit out of sorts when no one seemed to agree with me, but then Lindsay said, "I'm writing a paper on the Scriptural basis of humanism," and Steve said, "Try reading Psalm 8." It's nice to know I'm not alone.
I think people were created good, and then we were stained with sin, and now we are good and stained with sin. It's simple and complex, just the way I like it.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The Outsider
I often feel like an outsider amongst Christians, which is weird, because I find myself thinking, "We all love God, right? We're dependent upon Jesus's salvation? We all think the Holy Spirit lives within us? SO WHY DO I NOT UNDERSTAND ANYTHING YOU STAND FOR?"
Today was a great example of my outsider status. We talked about humanistic counseling theories, which operates under the assumption that people are inherently good and that in an ideal environment of unconditional positive regard, empathy, and genuineness, people will strive for betterment. Almost everything my professor said resonated with me. Except...she kept talking about it as if it were ridiculous.
And I get it, to some extent. Everyone in the class was hung up on the idea of original sin. People are inherently disgusting! Ew, sin! And, sure? I mean, I definitely believe we are inherently selfish--we want what is best for ourselves, regardless of if it comes at someone else's cost, at a gut level. I also believe our world is super screwed up. There are diseases and disasters, and people treat each other like crap. That is all there, I won't argue with you.
But I don't think that's the end of the story. I also think people are beautiful and creative and capable of great love and sacrifice. Men and women are created in the image of God, and that initial declaration of "very good" is still there, no matter how much we've been screwed over by the effects of sin in the world.
I didn't mean to actually defend humanism, but I guess I did a little. What I want to talk about is how every question asked and answered felt crazy to me. I literally could not understand how people were so against humanistic theories. It was like we were two different species, and since I was the one not talking and there were a whole bunch of people making comments, I thought, am I the weird one? Am I wrong?
I kept thinking this over as I drove home, and inspiration hit when I was listening to an Emmy the Great song. She sings about her first sexual experience, and it's strongly implied that it was against her consent. She sings:
"Well I wish I never met you that day
You said I have a room and music to play
I have a room let me show you the way
I wish that I'd never come
But now that I have, I would do it again
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
and the words as they came to my tongue were hallelujah. Hallelujah!
And the sky was so much bluer
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And the world was so much newer."
What is that craziness? She wishes that she'd never been with him, but she would do it again. It makes no sense. AND I LOVE IT. I love her conflicted emotions, and her desires that don't align with what she believes, and her confusion as to what happened and how to react.
That's when I realized the difference between me and the vocal majority of Christians. My gut instinct is to make things more complex. Other people's gut instinct is to make things simpler. Everything makes sense now. From my habit of loving villains (because I want to know why they are evil and what experiences made them think this was appropriate) to my definition of God (I have no desire to explain how God is both one and three, or how Jesus is both God and man--I want those paradoxes to lie hand in hand, undissected). This is also why my tag for thoughtful topics is "stubbornly hopeful skeptic." I have no problem being a skeptically hopeful, or a doubtful believer, or a selfish lover. These truths can co-exist, and I find joy in letting them breathe together rather, admitting the grey rather than living in black and white.
So there's my new self-awareness. I'm happy to let people be both sinful and self-actuating. I believe we screw each other over and build each other up. I believe God helps us whether we are believers or doubters. I believe we can make progress in bettering our lives and we need God. And I know that most people don't like to see the world that way, which is why I so often feel like an outsider.
Today was a great example of my outsider status. We talked about humanistic counseling theories, which operates under the assumption that people are inherently good and that in an ideal environment of unconditional positive regard, empathy, and genuineness, people will strive for betterment. Almost everything my professor said resonated with me. Except...she kept talking about it as if it were ridiculous.
And I get it, to some extent. Everyone in the class was hung up on the idea of original sin. People are inherently disgusting! Ew, sin! And, sure? I mean, I definitely believe we are inherently selfish--we want what is best for ourselves, regardless of if it comes at someone else's cost, at a gut level. I also believe our world is super screwed up. There are diseases and disasters, and people treat each other like crap. That is all there, I won't argue with you.
But I don't think that's the end of the story. I also think people are beautiful and creative and capable of great love and sacrifice. Men and women are created in the image of God, and that initial declaration of "very good" is still there, no matter how much we've been screwed over by the effects of sin in the world.
I didn't mean to actually defend humanism, but I guess I did a little. What I want to talk about is how every question asked and answered felt crazy to me. I literally could not understand how people were so against humanistic theories. It was like we were two different species, and since I was the one not talking and there were a whole bunch of people making comments, I thought, am I the weird one? Am I wrong?
I kept thinking this over as I drove home, and inspiration hit when I was listening to an Emmy the Great song. She sings about her first sexual experience, and it's strongly implied that it was against her consent. She sings:
"Well I wish I never met you that day
You said I have a room and music to play
I have a room let me show you the way
I wish that I'd never come
But now that I have, I would do it again
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
I would forget that I'd piss on a grave
and the words as they came to my tongue were hallelujah. Hallelujah!
And the sky was so much bluer
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And the world was so much newer."
What is that craziness? She wishes that she'd never been with him, but she would do it again. It makes no sense. AND I LOVE IT. I love her conflicted emotions, and her desires that don't align with what she believes, and her confusion as to what happened and how to react.
That's when I realized the difference between me and the vocal majority of Christians. My gut instinct is to make things more complex. Other people's gut instinct is to make things simpler. Everything makes sense now. From my habit of loving villains (because I want to know why they are evil and what experiences made them think this was appropriate) to my definition of God (I have no desire to explain how God is both one and three, or how Jesus is both God and man--I want those paradoxes to lie hand in hand, undissected). This is also why my tag for thoughtful topics is "stubbornly hopeful skeptic." I have no problem being a skeptically hopeful, or a doubtful believer, or a selfish lover. These truths can co-exist, and I find joy in letting them breathe together rather, admitting the grey rather than living in black and white.
So there's my new self-awareness. I'm happy to let people be both sinful and self-actuating. I believe we screw each other over and build each other up. I believe God helps us whether we are believers or doubters. I believe we can make progress in bettering our lives and we need God. And I know that most people don't like to see the world that way, which is why I so often feel like an outsider.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Career Change
I've changed my mind about what I want to do with my life! Again!
So remember when--no, of course you don't, it's my memory. After I lived in Senegal, I took a spiritual gifts inventory, and Knowledge and Encouragement were near the top. That made sense, because I realized one of my favorite things about being in Senegal was telling everyone about it, and then seeing my friends and family travel there themselves and work alongside the Forsythes. I like to learn, and then I like to encourage other people to learn the same things.
Which is, well, exactly what I do with this blog and my Facebook statuses. I stir things up, I make people think from a different angle, I share what I learn.
It should not be surprising that I am SO excited about an elective I am taking this summer.
Sexual Educator Certification I. AW YEAH.
This is what I do. My poor married friends know that the first thing I ask after their honeymoon is how their sex life is, and then I give advice. I never let lack of experience stand in the way of my wisdom. I am a fan of making people uncomfortable, which is a convenient benefit to talking about sex. Ah, the days of living with Tim and Erin, discussing penises and male lactation. I didn't live with Tim, he was just around a lot.
Anyway, this first class (I of III) covers three topics: single sexuality, male sexuality and married sexuality. I AM SO STINKING READY FOR THIS.
Last semester we learned about different counseling career paths: lay counselor, pastoral counselor, professional counselor, or expertise counselor. I've just been assuming I would do the traditional professional counseling, but since that class I've been waffling toward expertise counseling. That means you, well, become an expert in a certain field, and teach it to others. Oh ho, that sounds like what I do for fun!
Maybe married couples won't want a single woman teaching them about sexuality, but probably some won't mind. Regardless, I'm also super excited about this single sexuality topic, and how fun it would be to reach out to a population that is largely ignored where sexuality is concerned (except to say STOP IT, IT'S ALL EVIL FOR YOU RIGHT NOW).
Literally the only thing that makes me uncomfortable with this idea is that I will have to introduce myself as "Tricia, Sex Expert." HAHAHA just kidding that sounds awesome.
So remember when--no, of course you don't, it's my memory. After I lived in Senegal, I took a spiritual gifts inventory, and Knowledge and Encouragement were near the top. That made sense, because I realized one of my favorite things about being in Senegal was telling everyone about it, and then seeing my friends and family travel there themselves and work alongside the Forsythes. I like to learn, and then I like to encourage other people to learn the same things.
Which is, well, exactly what I do with this blog and my Facebook statuses. I stir things up, I make people think from a different angle, I share what I learn.
It should not be surprising that I am SO excited about an elective I am taking this summer.
Sexual Educator Certification I. AW YEAH.
This is what I do. My poor married friends know that the first thing I ask after their honeymoon is how their sex life is, and then I give advice. I never let lack of experience stand in the way of my wisdom. I am a fan of making people uncomfortable, which is a convenient benefit to talking about sex. Ah, the days of living with Tim and Erin, discussing penises and male lactation. I didn't live with Tim, he was just around a lot.
Anyway, this first class (I of III) covers three topics: single sexuality, male sexuality and married sexuality. I AM SO STINKING READY FOR THIS.
Last semester we learned about different counseling career paths: lay counselor, pastoral counselor, professional counselor, or expertise counselor. I've just been assuming I would do the traditional professional counseling, but since that class I've been waffling toward expertise counseling. That means you, well, become an expert in a certain field, and teach it to others. Oh ho, that sounds like what I do for fun!
Maybe married couples won't want a single woman teaching them about sexuality, but probably some won't mind. Regardless, I'm also super excited about this single sexuality topic, and how fun it would be to reach out to a population that is largely ignored where sexuality is concerned (except to say STOP IT, IT'S ALL EVIL FOR YOU RIGHT NOW).
Literally the only thing that makes me uncomfortable with this idea is that I will have to introduce myself as "Tricia, Sex Expert." HAHAHA just kidding that sounds awesome.
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