I have a confession: I love to look at other therapist's websites. Not only does it help me understand how other therapists view our profession, it gives me a clue as to how others approach the therapeutic process.
In my site-surfing, I often notice words like "journey," "discovery," "insight," and "collaboration." When I took a look at my own site (www.therapistsf.com) one word keeps jumping out at me: work.
I fully believe that, of all the things therapy is, it's primarily a commitment to do work. Yes, it can provide insight, self-revelation, healing, change, coping skills, hope, direction and repair. But not unless you're willing to do the...wait for it...work.
I had a client several years ago who came to me in true despair. In our first session, she flooded--spoke rapidly and non-stop--about her history, her deep hurt and her need to be understood. We were off to the races. It seemed to be a good start, with a clear direction for the work. She seemed as though she would be a good candidate for therapy. However, I should have seen the warning signs when, in our second session, she strode into my office, kicked off her shoes, plopped down on the couch, propped up her feet, put her hands behind her head and said, not-half jokingly: Ok. I've told you everything. Fix me. How do I get better?
There is a place for reclining in therapy but I'm not a Freudian or even a neo-Freudian, so the work done in my office is done sitting up, facing one another. After inviting my client to sit up, I also invited her into the therapeutic conversation. Her refrain, for this session and most of the remainder of our work together was, in essence, "I feel so bad. Fix me. Make it better. That's your job."
After assuring her that I am not in the business of "fixing" my clients, and inviting her time and again to participate in her own therapy, I eventually terminated our work together, referring her to a colleague who I thought might be a good fit. Postlogue: my client never went to see my colleague. I can only guess that she just didn't want to do the work--or wasn't ready to do it at that time.
Therapy is not like a spa-treatment. It isn't done to you. Therapy, at its most effective, is more like a collaborative safari. You and I work to set goals, coming to an understanding (over time) of where you'd like to arrive at the end of our work together. My role, if I'm doing my work well, is to provide not only guidance in the process, but also safety. If I do my job as I'm supposed to, I can help to make the therapeutic conversation a safe one.
Not only do I not judge you, I'll try help you be less judgmental, less critical, less hard on yourself. When the room is safe, when the internal focus shifts from finding blame to finding understanding, it's more likely that clients can actually look at issues that, while painful, can be examined with an eye toward change.
Easy? Not all the time. Again, it's my role (among others) to monitor the room, to watch the intensity of the work, and to make sure you have time to "decompress" from the deep work, so you can feel composed and safe to go back out into the world when your clinical hour is up.
So, does therapy have to be chore? I hope not. Challenging? Certainly. Difficult and emotional at times? Yes, often. But the very word--work--suggests accomplishment. And that can make the challenge, the difficulty and the time spent not only worthwhile, but life-changing.
And when's the last time you got that from a mudpack and loofah scrub?
Thanks for listening.
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