Although common lore likens the process of psychotherapy to peeling an onion, the image that more often comes to my mind is that of untangling a long chain of jewelry.  Many of us have had the experience of picking up a favorite chain necklace or bracelet, only to find that it has one or more tightly bound knots in its length.  Simply pulling on the chain does nothing to relieve the tangle, and in fact often strengthens and tightens it all the more.   

To untangle a jewelry knot requires patient, sequential and delicate application of tension to various points on the chain.  One might need to use one’s fingers, or fingernails, or perhaps a small implement such as tweezers or a straightened paper clip.  It often is not quite clear where to start.  You cannot see the inner part of the knot, so you don’t whether teasing out one part of the chain will loosen or tighten another part elsewhere.

Even after making your best guess as to the right starting point, not infrequently you loosen one part only to find yourself stopped by a bind in another.  You must work loose the other before resuming work on the original part.  Care must be taken, for if too much force is applied at the wrong time, the chain may break.  Sometime you must even unclasp the chain, and thread one end out through the knot while the other dangles free.

And so the process progresses, hopefully resulting in longer and larger sections of the chain gradually being loosened and freed. If you’re patient, eventually the entire knot is released, and the chain is free, loose and ready to wear.   

I’m not sure that psychotherapy is always quite as complicated as untangling jewelry (although it can be, and even more so).  But when I sit with clients whose bodies and minds are knotted in old patterns of pain and tension I recall the many others that I’ve seen freed from knots over the years. So I point to the nearest part of the “knot”, and say, “Have you thought of tugging a bit here?”  

 

 

ShareThis

Recently, I was sitting with a client and happened to offer her a simple statement of caring about something that was troubling her. Instead of pausing to “digest” the caring, she had breezed right by it and continued on with our discussion. My internal radar went off. “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Did you notice that I just offered you some compassion?”

For some reason, in my mind I suddenly saw the image of my offer of caring as a “muffin of compassion”, with a full dome top, blueberries and sugar coating. “Did you notice I offered you a muffin? Did you notice I offered you some caring?” I said. Holding out both hands, as if they were cupping an actual muffin, I said, “Here. Here is a muffin of compassion for you.” (At this point, we were both laughing.)

What she said next was a very common response – “But it’s only temporary!”, she protested (meaning that when she left my office, she wouldn’t feel it any more.) “Exactly!!”, was my response. “If you don’t take it in and swallow it (so to speak) now, it will only feel temporary. In fact, all caring will feel temporary if you don’t digest it. It will always feel like it doesn’t last.”

“I guess I don’t really trust it…,” she said.

Perhaps in the past, the muffins that she had been offered weren’t truly made of compassion, but contained instead pity, or judgment or control. Or perhaps they were delivered with strings, and pulled away when she reached for them. Perhaps muffins simply couldn’t be trusted. And perhaps now, she couldn’t tell the difference between a genuine muffin of compassion, and a false one.

And herein rests the challenge. If you can’t recognize and trust the true, caring, “muffin of compassion” that is being offered you in the present, you won’t truly accept it and digest it into your system. You’ll think, “It’s not real. I don’t believe it. She doesn’t really care about me.”, etc. Even the most delicious, golden muffin of compassion will languish unconsumed. And you will end up feeling empty, depleted and emotionally hungry, perhaps believing there is no compassion in the world, or at least none for you.

Shall we bake some muffins?

ShareThis

Suddenly a scene flashed before my mind of an event that took place over 20 years ago on a rafting trip with my best friend from college. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we were participating in a river rafting race in upstate New York. The rafts were created by tying 10-20 inner tubes together with strong ropes. Teams of people would jump on and float down the river. We talked and sang, and laughed. It was great fun.

At one point the river passed under a bridge with huge concrete abutments. Somehow, our raft hit smack in the center of an abutment. Instead of bouncing off and continuing on its way, it collapsed around the abutment in a heap of rubber and rope. Everyone except my friend tumbled off and floated downstream laughing. We were all wearing life jackets.

My friend, however, did not let go. She panicked and instead of floating free, she grabbed onto the ropes and hung on for dear life. Seeing her plight, we swam to the shore and ran back upstream, calling to her. From the shores of the bank, we were only about 10 or 15 yards away from her, but separated by the swirling river.

The current right next to the abutment was powerful and deep. As she held on, the weight of her body in the current started to drag her underwater. Her face was submerging and she was starting to inhale water. She was drowning herself by holding on to the ropes. We were screaming at her to let go. “Let go, Kathy, let go!” In her terror, she either couldn’t hear us, or didn’t believe she would be okay if she let go and floated down the river. (She was also wearing a life jacket, and there were people poised downstream to grab her.)

In one of those surreal moments in life, it dawned on me in horror that I might watch my best friend die in front of me as a result of her own fear.

If I had entered the river, it would have carried me beyond the abutment before I could reach her. It suddenly occurred to me that I could run upstream 100 yards or so, swim into the river, get carried down and hopefully land on the abutment. Then perhaps I could pry her hands free and make her let go. I was just about to do this when she suddenly looked up and realized what we were saying to her. Slowly, she let go of the ropes and floated downstream into the arms of her rescuers.

I have never forgotten this terrible moment and the lesson it taught me. In her fear, my friend was doing exactly the opposite of what would save her. She was holding on to the very thing that was causing her to drown. Safety was in the opposite direction. Safety wasn’t in holding on, but in letting go and trusting that the flow of the river would bring her to shore.

Is there something you are holding on to that is causing you to drown? What would it be like to let go, to trust that the river will carry you safely into friendly arms? What would it be like to trust the flow?

ShareThis

How do you feel when your mental and emotional wealth account is full? You have plenty of energy, you feel resilient and able to handle what comes your way, and you feel calm and confident. On the opposite end of the spectrum, when your account is depleted you can feel drained, easily overwhelmed by life events, and either anxious or depressed (or both).

As a psychotherapist, I spend a good portion of my day helping people create and maintain emotional and mental well-being. In this blog, I hope to share with you some of what I know about how you can increase your own emotional and mental “wealth”

ShareThis

You might be aware that the phrase “Don’t Panic”, written in “large, friendly letters” was on the cover of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a science fiction comedy of the same name, by Douglas Adams. The first time I heard it I was immediately struck by the power of the words “large” and “friendly”. “Large” evoked memories of words written in a children’s book. Simple, straightforward words. Words that could be easily read and understood. “Friendly” made me feel like I had an ally, someone who was on my side, reassuring me that all would be okay. “Don’t Panic”, when written in large, friendly letters, suddenly seemed far more powerful and far more possible than just the words alone.

Adams was apparently tuned into the brilliant and yet obvious insight that panic responds to the emotional tone of the voice giving advice, far more than to the advice itself. Our higher cognitive functions DO go off line when we get more anxious – but we tend to retain the ability to respond to the feeling of the words. Words spoken slowly, simply, and most importantly, kindly continue to have the ability to reach us when we are frightened. Words spoken unkindly, critically or harshly have just the opposite effect, tending to increase the feeling of panic. The trick here, for most of us, is that the voice that needs to speak kindly to us when we are experiencing panic is the voice in our own heads – our self-talk.

The next time feelings of anxiety or panic start to emerge inside, notice the tone of your self-talk. Is it large and friendly (kind)? Or something else? Can you imagine you have a recording in your head that says (in a large, friendly voice), “Don’t panic. You’re okay. Everything will be all right. I’m on your side.”

I cannot over-emphasize the importance of regular practice to develop a reassuring tone of self-talk, not only for situations where you feel panic but for so many others as well. Try it right now with your inner voice: “Don’t panic, friend, everything is alright.” Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

It’s the perfect guide to the universe.

ShareThis