“So, what you do?” the mom at my son’s new school asked me.
” I am a therapist” I respond.
It’s the easiest way I know to tell people what I do in a way that they will understand. But the description is completely inadequate and absolutely lacking in its depth. Yes, it tells you what I do, but it does not inform who I am in my work. It does not give you a sense of how I show up for and with my clients. And that is what matters the most to me. More than my degree or my credentials or my education.
Because my license and theoretical orientation are not what help you heal. Our relationship heals. Our connection heals. Vulnerability, consistency, safety and transparency are the salves for your wounds.
And so this is how I aspire to relate to you. This is what I bring to the table.
I am a truth teller, a reality shifter, and an ass kicker. I am a stripper away of pretenses, a destroyer of illusions. I cut through bullshit with the precision and clarity that you don’t yet have.
I am a rug puller, a paradigm changer, and an identity shatterer. I am a hold your feet to the fire button pusher because the heat is what transforms and forges anew.
In many ways, I am the harbinger of death. Death of the self as you knew her to be. Death of your firmly entrenched stories about the way it was. Death of the old, the comfortable, the familiar. I do not apologize for this. Those things have to fall away for your brilliance to shine through. And you are brilliant, make no mistake about it.
I see your tears, falling hard and fast. I don’t pity you. I rejoice for the you that is being broken wide open.
I am also the medicine bringer, the loosener of things too binding, the seed planter and the chain smasher.
I am the benevolent witness to years and years of your secret shame. I am the catcher of your dreams and the holder of your visions until you can claim them both for yourself.
I am the collector of your bones that you have begrudgingly scattered and buried over time. I am the gatherer of the remnants of your story that you had no choice but to fling to the wind.
I am the messenger of hope. I am the breather of life into your pieces and parts until the breath catches hold like a spark and you can fill your own lungs.
I am the empty vessel and blank screen for all the manifestation of your wounds.
I am the flicker of flame when you are lost in the dark, disoriented, tripping and stumbling. I am the voice that says ” Sweetheart, get up. You can do this. I have been where you are and I can show you the way home”
I am deeply honored to show up for you in these ways. You deserve no less.
But ultimately, I am not the one who does your healing for you. You do that for yourself because it can’t be any other way. It’s an inside job.
I am not the one who saves you. I offer you a life jacket, but you have to be the one who puts it on.
I am not the one who knows what’s right for you or what path you should take. But you do. I simply help you clear away the layers of debris that have clouded your vision.
I open the door and invite you in. But you have to be the one to step trough the portal to your own transformation.
Are you ready?