From θερᾰπεύειν (therapeuein, “to heal”)
I’ve been thinking a lot about therapy recently — over the past year, really, but particularly over the past few weeks as I have noticed certain thoughts and subjects bubbling up in almost every conversation, at every turn of my focus.
Some years ago a teacher of mine suggested it might be helpful for me to go to therapy, and instead of seriously considering it, I more or less took offense, and felt self-righteous relief when another of my teachers said “That’s absurd! you’re a perfectly healthy girl!” Ironically (or predictably?) that second teacher turned out to be emotionally abusive, and… who knows? maybe if I’d have found a good therapist they might have guided me out of that relationship before I’d thrown my back out twice and finally left screaming from mental anguish, and too scared to take another lesson for about six months.
But. That’s not really the point of my sitting down to write this morning.
Why was I so set on thinking I could not benefit from therapy - from healing? Am I so determined, still, to consider myself whole and self-sufficient? Why would I seek any relationship if I am already complete? Why is emotional wisdom so frequently and thoroughly overlooked in favor of perfectionist intellectualism?
…When without emotional wisdom and attunement Poetry, and Music, and all Creative Art would scarcely exist — and what did would be grasping and lackluster.
Is it because it is not quantifiable? Not counted in busy calendar hours, in papers written or exams passed, in jobs completed, or even in philosophers read…
Is it because we value anguish? and the romanticism of being misunderstood, even by our very own self? I don’t have answers. Only questions.
Nor am I implying that Therapy might be the magical solution, the automatic provider of Emotional Wisdom and perfect self-comprehension. But why are some of us so afraid of it… so afraid of admitting - except in the most esoteric ways - that we are broken, that our past may weigh on us more than we say, and influence us in subtle ways we might not yet be able to understand by ourselves.
… It might influence how we breathe, how we sing, how we search out words, how we hold our body, how we interact with other human beings…. And we should not feel ashamed of asking another person to help us figure out those things. Nor, certainly, should we ever judge another, or think one iota less of them, for seeking that help.
I think it’s safe to say that life has weighed a bit more heavily on every one of us in the past seven or eight months, and that manifests itself in different ways for each of us.
I’ve observed in myself two near-contradictory things:
One is that I no longer am afraid or apologetic about telling people ‘no’ when I am socially overwhelmed. No, I can’t go on that walk today, because my mind is already full. No, I can’t sit out in your yard and have coffee tomorrow morning, because I know that doing that in addition to being at work all day with other people around will be too much for me. No, you can’t come sit on the other end of my porch and visit this week, because being around people at that lovely outdoor concert yesterday caused me to have a panic attack once I got home…
The second thing is that I’ve been forgetting words. Mid-sentence my mind sometimes freezes and I cannot supply the most basic word — baking sheet, garbage bag, pepper-grinder…. It doesn’t really worry me, but it is strange. It’s happened before. About six years ago when I was the most stressed, anxious, and depressed I’d ever been. It was worse then, though, because it wasn’t basic vocabulary that my brain froze on, rather it was in the most basic attempts to articulate my emotions, and to defend my choices and actions — even when I knew I was making and taking the right ones for myself at that time. As soon as I tried to put my real and justifiable reasons into words it would feel as if my tongue were tied to a cart whose wheels were frozen in a muddy pond. Pull as I might, those wheels would not budge, and it only made me ache — with the effort, and with the longing for my thoughts to flow freely.
I experienced what was likely the most dramatic emotional growth spurt of my life in the aftermath of that phase, so… it was worth it, I suppose. At any rate, it reminds me that ‘this too shall pass’, and perhaps some better state of being shall come of it. At any rate, it is far preferable to forget what to call an odd kitchen item than not to know how to stand up for, and express, one’s worth and value as a human being.
Whether or not you or I ever formally go to therapy, I hope that neither you nor I will ever judge another, or ourselves, for seeking help and healing. And I hope we will keep learning to better value and respect the wisdom of the heart, and not just that of the head.
Red Hook Cottage
Sunday 11 October 2020