People & Spaces

Having been on this planet for a length of time allows me the complicated reality that I have been through difficult times. I realize that I am not alone in this- the sheer volume of things written about resilience and fortitude, tragedy and strength and grief yielding wisdom inform us that this is not just a truth, but also common among humanity. So- these end results are quite real, and as a therapist I know this from my own experience and my work.   But I am also aware that explanations fall short in the moment.

To understand that something is helping us to build character does little to soothe the anguish we are experiencing as it occurs.

My patients have heard me say over and over, “the one thing we are sure of is that this mood will change”. Emotions are not a constant, they are a continuum. Emotions were created to change and shift. 

So, I find myself reflecting on what does actually help in that moment? What do we do in the bleak middle of the night hours when the world feels heavy and lonely, and even endless? The answer is multifold. The truth is that there are those nights, and we need to accept them. We need to know that the morning will come and with it some small incremental change will happen. That is biology and that is nature. We need to trust the healing and wisdom of time. But, there are things that can make us feel better. I believe these things are different for all of us- they are unique, like a fingerprint, or our favorite smell.

I know that for me I have people. I have all the things we are supposed to have- I have a therapist and exercise and “self care”.  But that’s not what I mean exactly- I mean what exactly do I do to know that I will be able to jump to the next lily pad? That I will not sink? To feel the floor underneath my feet when it has been ripped away? I have a few people who I share things with. People who allow me to share my sadness completely, to hold me, physically and emotionally, and who simply step in and become my floor. They fill in until my own floor re-sets and heals and recovers. Because of them, I know the floor will always be there, even though at moments I am on a razors edge.

But also importantly, I have my places. I have places where I grew up, that make me feel like I did when I was young. Before the weight- both incredible and difficult- of life emerged. To return to these places that allow us to step back in time, to a more innocent leaner version of ourselves, gives our nervous system a reprieve from trauma. The nature of the physical familiarity reminds us that whatever we are feeling is not permanent. There was a time in this same space when we felt very differently. That memory will inform our current experience. The memory of the past will support the floor that our people provide. In so doing, we stay afloat.

As we float we allow mother time to do her beautiful work of healing.

Allowing us to integrate, allowing us to change and helping us to move to the resilience and strength that awaits us at the end.