Six years ago, I wrote a blog article about how to move forward when the world feels heavy. Those words feel just as true today as they did when I first wrote them. It seems like every time I turn on the news, open a social media app, or check my email, there’s some new horror waiting to be discovered. I sit in session as we parallel process the events unfolding around us.
It’s not always easy to help clients maintain a sense of balance, especially not when we are going through those same history-making events outside the therapy room. It is these moments that remind me of the importance and value of being authentically human even in the therapy room.
Our clients look to us to help them put distressing experiences into context, yes. But a clinician who shows no reaction to environmental stressors that profoundly impact our clients can be hard to relate to. Let’s be human together, because nothing will kill the trust like trying to fake a calm we don’t feel while asking our clients to be vulnerable with us.
Let’s revisit this 2019 blog article about how to cope when the world feels heavy.
The wordless weight
There are times when, despite the years of training, education, and experience, there are just no words for what lies between two people in the therapy room. When the grief and pain is tangible, with mass and weight and texture that words fail to capture. The images and sounds and the felt sense are vivid, but they come with a heaviness that suffocates our language.
At those times, I am especially grateful for the eloquence of others. Today, I will borrow the eloquence of one of my favorite songwriters to share my wishes for you.
Italicized lyrics from “These Frail Hands,” written by Reese Roper/Brave Saint Saturn.
When the concrete of the world
Becomes too cumbersome to lift
And the cataracts of fear and doubt
Cloak truth beyond what we can sift
The weight of pain carried over time can bow the shoulders, pulling us downward making it hard to look forward. Systemic injustice, unbelievable violence, and unbearable cruelty can make the world feel too heavy to lift, too burdensome to straighten under. We, alongside our clients, have witnessed shocking acts of violence and injustice in unexpected places. With the flick of a thumb, we scroll from videos of cute cats to videos of murder in the streets.
At these times, the fear and anger and injustice of the world loom like pyroclastic clouds racing down the mountain to overwhelm us. Too big to climb. Too dangerous to fight. Too fast to flee. The scope and speed of the roiling darkness can bring despair as the cloud bears down upon us. We see the cloud approaching, gobbling up life and leaving behind ash, and it makes us feel small and afraid.
With all the courage you can muster, face that cloud and hold on. Hold tight.
Hold to the connection within, between our scared parts and our calm Self-energy. Hold tight to the connections without, to the hands of those who continue to fight for justice even when it feels impossible. Let yourself lean on the strength of those around you when you need to rest, and lend yourself to the fight when you can.
The dark of night
And darkness, darkness bleeds its way
When crippling anguish clouds our sight
The ghosts of dusk have bared their teeth
Set their claws to bring the night
There’s a point in our journey where we trade in the blinders of blissful ignorance for clarity, giving up our rose-colored glasses for 20/20 vision. Some days that feels like a gift, allowing us to see through the fog and deceit of abuse. For therapists, the 20/20 vision means we see and hear things no one should have to see and hear, shared by the people who should never have had to go through them.
When seeing clearly means seeing into the dark, it means giving up the comfort of not knowing the truth. Going through the worst of humanity alongside our clients, watching shadows crawl across the floor and cover what we thought we knew can be demoralizing. When our eyes are opened to things we didn’t have to see before, the world changes irrevocably, whether those changes happen on an individual level or a societal one.
When you take off your glasses and see cannot be unseen, hold on. Hold tight.
Hold on to those who speak Truth, even when it’s hard to hear and burns your ears. When the grief and anger threaten to drown you, hold onto what grounds your feet. Anchor yourself in trustworthy relationships and those who See you truthfully. Put your arms around those who love and value you, and hold on.
The light of hope
Hold on
Hold tight
Darkness can’t perceive the light
Though lightlessness has chilled us numb
And though its wings may cloud the skies
The dark shall never overcome
The world is big, and some days the awful things we learn will all just seem like too much to bear. The pyroclastic cloud will seem too big and too fast, the shadows too deep and too dark. Being a therapist doesn’t immunize us from fear, grief, and pain, and being in therapy doesn’t mean bad things won’t hurt. On those days, when grief and anger feel monstrous large and you feel small with feelings that are just too big, hold on. Hold tight.
Hold onto the love you give and receive in your truest relationships.
Hold tight to the memory of daylight, and the sure knowledge that it will return even after the darkest night.
Hold onto the knowledge that you don’t have to be everything for everyone, even if your job description is that of a helper.
When the world feels heavy, sometimes the way forward is clearest when we gather, shoulder to shoulder, to carry the weight together. We are all human, and we are all in this together.
