UCM: Zen-master therapist

This morning in group supervision at my internship site, one of the other interns described "having a melt down" last week and "crying in the bathroom or the mailroom" at intervals throughout the day. The cause of her consternation apparently was:

-- The lack of *any* orientation to the computer system, which has mental health-related software that is unfamiliar to all the interns (which has sucked for all of us)

-- The lack of *meaningful* orientation to all the paperwork required by Medicare for us to continue giving services to our clients (which sucks in more ways than you can imagine, even when you know what all the paperwork is and when to complete it)

-- The fact that she has only received *two hours* of individual supervision since the beginning of September (whereas I have been getting one hour a week, per my school's requirements)

-- Her new-therapist jitters that leave her feeling like she has no clue what she's doing (one of the most important reasons to have regular, reliable, useful individual supervision)

-- A strange setup wherein my peer has no regular access to a treatment room (an important reminder that I should not add an extra day to my internship on the day she's there, because obviously t'ain't no room at the inn...)

-- An even more peculiar setup whereby she sits at one desk and her phone rings at another which is all the way across the office (which she called a "minor incovenience").

I feel for my peer, I really do. If I didn't have an office in which to meet clients and my phone rang in another part of the building, I'd be making a stink. I'm not sure I'd be crying in the mailroom, but those things would add needless stress to what is already a stressful situation.

The other intern started going on about how difficult it is for "all of us." But then they both looked at me and one of them said, "I'll bet UCM has a totally different take."

I'm sorry to say, I replied, but I'm actually doing pretty good.

"I *knew* you would say that!" the stressed-to-crying intern said. "You are *always* so calm and so centered within yourself. You *never* get flustered!"

Don't get me wrong, I said, I have my moments. Trust me.

"That may be," she replied, "but I can't imagine we're ever going to see one of them. You are so peaceful. Whatever your secret is, I wish you would share it!"

Perhaps it's just that I don't give a shit.

Eyebrows go up in the room.

I mean: Yes, this paperwork is outrageous and, on the surface, overwhelming. Yes, there are all these strange Medicare requirements. I would not say it's a 'minor inconvenience' that you have neither a therapy room nor a phone that rings where you can actually hear and access it. Those things are fundamental. But when it comes down to it, all that paperwork and bureaucracy and all the stuff we don't even know that we don't know about? Well, as far as I see it, if I fuck up some paperwork, I expect someone will tell me eventually. Until then, I really don't give a shit -- not when it comes to sitting down and being with the client. That's what my job is, and I'm not even being paid to do it. So....

Fortunately, our group supervisor is not the same kind of namby-pamby Stepford therapist I had doing group supervision at my practicum last summer. He can take a little "shit" here and a little "fuck" there. But more to the point, he supported what I was saying completely: You can't know what you don't know, and you can't even be expected to ask questions about things that are outside of your sphere of understanding that there are even questions to be asked. Someone has to TELL YOU stuff at one point or another. Once a foundation is properly laid, then you have a basis from which to ask questions.

But we didn't get that on accounts of all the turnover in staffing that went down in September.

It has been a rough transition, and there were a couple of weeks back at the start when I was wondering when I would be able to see clients and how they would be assigned to me. Then, stuff started to fall into place, sometimes in surprising ways, and I've been seeing clients pretty regularly.

Despite the evaluation of my peers that I have some kind of zen-like demeanor, I have a serious concern about whether I will get enough client contact hours over the next nine months to meet the requirements of my school and state licensing. If I don't, I'll have to extend my stay at the site, and there is no way I can actually afford to do that. This spring is the last term for which I can get student loans, so I have to be done and working full-time by June. That's all there is to it. This is a source of stress for me.

But it's also something I can't carry around with me in my day-to-day life, especially not when I'm working.

I'm not sure if it's a matter of me being zen-like or whether it's a remarkable ability to dissociate and still somehow remain "present" -- if there's even a difference between the two -- but I learned a long time ago how to put most, if not all, of my personal shit aside and focus on the work of being with people. Therapy requires it, and in many ways, journalism did, too.

There's some kind of switch I learned to flip a long time ago, and it seems to be more valuable and more powerful than I ever realized.

Nevertheless, I was still surprised tonight when, telling all this to S2, she said, "See, I told you, you've got it going on!" I thought, given her experience of me as a highly vulnerable and agonizing entity at times, she would be amused to think others saw that in me. I thought she might recognize it as fraud.

Isn't that funny?

I suppose that's my own projection, really. I know better than to think I'm a fraud. I know from my insides out that what my peers are noticing is really there. I *am* calm, especially compared to them on a surface level. But I am also, in this environment, a strikingly composed, generally unflappable person.

My projection around S2 is simply that she has seen my wiggly, untidy insides in other areas of my life. She has seen me go through a year of firey personal torment marinated in a lot of death and loneliness. She knows what the overwhelmed me looks like. I thought, perhaps, that such knowledge meant that she would no longer be able to see the calm competence that I'm capable of maintaining, as well.

Why do I think myself -- and my friends -- so one-dimensional at times? It's probably that part of me that has difficulty forgiving myself for perceived weaknesses. Also, I think that I got so much BULLSHIT thrown at me by the aforementioned Stepford counselors in my practicum and had to deal with so much strange feedback around it that it distorted the lens through which I was able to perceive my strengths.

It's important in this work to have a solid grasp on both my strengths and my ... uh, ... "areas of development."

One truth about me that can be boiled down and bottled is just what I asserted rather vehemently to one of the Stepford counselors: I know the difference between being a student and being a therapist. I have a professional persona that doesn't require any significant effort to maintain -- no more than any other aspect of myself. Put me in a situation, I usually do what I believe the situation calls for.

In my estimation, being a therapist requires self-awareness, being calm and centered and, above all, being focused on the client rather than on my own riff-raff.

There are days when this work really wears me down. I've already learned that I'm subject to feeling the emotional turmoil of my clients. But I've also learned that engaging in a determined practice of self care is not just "a way" to deal with all that stuff, it's essential. Beyond getting good sleep, eating well and doing yoga, it takes serious mental work to maintain one's personal boundaries while also maintaining meaningful connection with clients. It's a matter of self-preservation and protection.

Now.

If only I could figure out how to protect my nose from a client who smells a bit odd, *that* would be zen-like. Until the poo-curious odor no longer raises the hair on the back of my neck, I'll always have some distress. But if you see me crying in the mailroom after a session with him, rest assured it's probably just my eyes watering.