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therapy

Saying what you need to say

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The other day, I got a message from a friend who sent me something she wrote. It was akin to a journal entry, and with it, she had simply said something along the lines of, “Had a rough day and wrote about it if you want to read.”

Of course I want to read, I thought. I read through it, and immediately messaged her back, letting her know how glad I was that she shared, how much compassion I felt for her experience, how I could relate and understood, and that I would be happy to hear more, read more, or talk at any point.

What she did – reaching out, without qualifying it, without apologizing, without drowning herself in shame, is still hard for me. Not always, but often. Especially when what I want to reach out and talk about feels big.

And I get stuck in spinny loops of thinking, but the problem with spinning thoughts is that when you’re having them, they seem incredibly logical.

Maybe I should call her and ask if we can chat. Wait. She’s been so busy at work, and I remember her talking about how tired she is. So really, if I asked for an hour of her time, it would be adding to her stress, therefore burdening her, therefore I am a burden. Good thing I thought this through, not a good plan to reach out.

Yes, of course, looking at that now it’s clear how illogical it is. But when you’re in it, you don’t see it.

Which is why I have conversations like this with my therapist:

Me: So this week I’ve been really feeling like I need to reach out and connect and talk about those things on my mind but I just haven’t.

Her: Oh? Why?

Me: Because those things are big and heavy and I don’t want to be a burden and dump on someone.

Her: Nothing you’ve ever told me indicates that you unfairly dump on people.

Me: But people are busy and have their own stressors and I don’t want to add to that.

Her: Hmmmm. [eyebrows raise]

Me: I know, I KNOW. I already heard your voice in my head yesterday about it, telling me, What would you do if the tables were turned? Would you view a friend needing to check in with you, because she was having a hard time, as burdensome and ‘too much’, even if it was a big or heavy topic? And no, the answer is no.

Her: [laughs, because in therapy, I’m hilarious]

Me: But it’s different. I mean, I know it’s not actually different. But it is. I just worry and feel afraid.

That’s the part where she encourages me, dispels all my arguments, and then (nicely) tells me that enough is enough. That if I need connection, if I need a conversation, I need to ask for it. I need to not sit back and hope that someone turns into a mind-reader and figures out that there’s something I want to talk about. I need to think of those people who have always responded to me with empathy, and not just sympathy, those people who have unconditionally said, I’m here, say whatever it is you need to say, no matter how big or intense. I need to go up to those people and, just as my friend did by sending me her message, say to them, Okay. I need to say it.

Because:

Quote by Maya Angelou

Right?

I also saw this article yesterday, which seemed to tie in nicely as well, and also help me sort through the thought processes that I default to. Lots of thoughts on that.

I am so interested in this topic, in trying to figure it all out. Does anyone else do this, where there are times that you hold yourself to a higher (or lower) standard than you would others? Where you can so clearly act in one way, but are afraid of doing it when the tables are turned? I am equally fascinated by the difference in how I feel when I am met with empathy vs. sympathy. More to write on that some day.

Anyway, I’m working on it. Working on reaching out, making the moves, despite the fear, despite the anticipatory worry. Whatever it’s about, however big or small it seems. It’s a good exercise, really, to ask for what we need. And something I suspect that many of us don’t do enough.

I’ll take it under advisement.

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You know how sometimes someone gives you a thought or anecdote and you appreciate it, but move on, but sometimes someone gives you a random thought or idea and it REALLY sticks and kind of changes everything for the better?

This is that.

Several months ago, I sat in a therapy session discussing a really frustrating pattern I had been having lately.

“I KNOW it’s not a big deal if I wake up really anxious or really down,” I said. “But a part in me kind of panics and is like Oh my god this is a really big deal because what if you don’t ever feel better and what if this lasts forever and how will you ever get things done and be a good wife and be a good mother some day and we have to worry about this and solve it right away and only focus on this.”

“Well,” she responded. “It sounds like your Self is trying to say, ‘It’s okay, don’t worry’. But this other part of you is trying to protect you by ensuring you think about each possible horrible outcome. And it’s very sweet of that part to do so. The problem is, it’s creating fires where they don’t exist, and trying to solve a non-existent problem in a very unhelpful way.”

“YES!” I agreed. “Exactly. And my Self believes all those things: I can be where I am, feelings come and go, this moment is just this moment, but then I start to worry and spin and before I know it, I’ve only been awake for ten minutes and I’ve already come to all these dramatic conclusions about the probability of how successful I’ll be in my life and what the hell is up with that?”

“So, let’s acknowledge that little panicky part,” she said. “Because really, it has good intentions. It’s trying to protect you. But you don’t really need its constant chatter. So allow it to speak, hear what it has to say, and humor it. Respond to it and say, ‘Thank you for your concern. I’ll take it under advisement.’ It’s up to you if you actually take its content to heart and spend the rest of the day pouring over the worries it brought to the table. But this way it’ll be happy, because it got heard, and your Self is still the one making the decisions and calling the shots, so it’s a win-win.”

I loved it.

And I’ve been doing it constantly. Rather than getting upset when I have a thought, or a worry, or a fear, rather than immediately following its instructions (We need to worry about x, panic about y, analyze z) I calmly listen to the suggestion. Because after all, it’s a part of me. And has anyone really had success with internal hatred?

(Years ago, in the midst of a panic attack, I said to a friend, What the f***! I shouldn’t be feeling this way! I just need to snap out of it, this is so stupid!!  She responded with her loving sarcasm: Ohhh, so you’re going to berate yourself out of a panic attack? Yeah, let me know how that goes. Right. Point taken.)

So anyway, yes, I listen. And then I play the role of Leader of the Council Board, and I acknowledge it. Telling it, “Thank you for your concern. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Only, usually, I don’t spend any more time on it than just that. And I move on. Because I am the leader, and I call the shots, and while I am an excellent listener, I certainly don’t have to take all of the suggestions I am given.

Not anymore.

Clarifying

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I would like to clarify a few things about my last post. Now that I’ve actually read what I wrote, heard some good feedback, and had a great conversation with my dad about it, I’m have a bit more clarity.

I’m going to start with an example. Examples and metaphors and comparisons help me fully understand things. So: imagine that, when I was born, there was some way of knowing that I was going to be a highly-sensitive introvert. Would I have wanted doctors to tell my parents, “eh, just let her be, it’s who she is and whatever that brings with it, she’ll deal with, it’s just her”? NO. What I would want them to say is, “Your daughter is a highly-sensitive introvert. Let’s give her support around managing her sensitivities and intense emotions, help her with her anxieties and obsessions, and capitalize on how this makes her who she is.” If those same doctors had said, “Your daughter is going to be a highly-sensitive introvert! Let’s help her recover from this so that she never feels extreme emotions and doesn’t have anxieties and quirks” then I would’ve lost who I am at my core. I would have lost my love for nature, my mixing of senses, my tearing up at a sunset or a song, my intuition around people, my understanding of the kids I work with…..it goes on and on.

That is what I was trying to get at in my last post. Do I want doctors to say, “Your child is autistic. Okay, good luck with that”? Of course not! I’m a speech-language pathologist. I believe in therapies, of all forms. I believe in therapies in all forms for all individuals, neurotypical or autistic. I believe in early intervention, I believe in getting children all the supports they need as early as possible.

I believe in helping them to be functional in their lives. Being as independent as possible. Being safe. Forming friendships. Connecting with others. Learning.

But I don’t believe in trying to extinguish their personal interests, their stims, their scripts, their quirks. That’s their core, that’s who they are. If we try to remove those (harmless) aspects of them, we remove their essence.

So when it comes to treating autistic individuals, there’s a difference between removing their core being, and helping them reach their full potential and quality of life.

And, as my dad pointed out, it’s also an issue of semantics. The term “recovery” is just a dangerous term here. It indicates that the individual is afflicted with something that needs to be fully gone. So, I’m particularly sensitive to the idea of helping kids “recover” from autism. Again, it’s an and, not a but. I’m sensitive to the term “recovery” from autism. And, I believe we should do everything in our power to support them to be the best they can be, as they are.