Dear Diary,
I don’t really know what to write about.
Perhaps that’s been why I haven’t written in a while.
(That’s not entirely true. There are some deeply personal and vulnerable things I could write about, but I’m not quite ready to share those just yet. Someday, maybe. See, even therapists have dark corners they don’t want to broadcast.)
But when I think about what I do want to write about, I’ve just come up blank.
I definitely have a stockpile of ideas, all centered around my greatest hits: Yes, And, relationships, being a human, emotional intelligence. Even some interesting new observations about the disconnect between Boomer parents and their adult Millennial children.
I could definitely run with any one of those topics, but when I sit down to write, I generally want to be moved by something. There’s usually this gnawing idea or feeling that I simply must put words to, and when the time is right, the words just flow.
That just hasn’t happened in the past month.
Ideas have popped up, and with each one came a sense of, Nah, I don’t think I could do that one justice today.
So here I sit a month later with no entry.
But that reminded me of how clients come in sometimes.
At least once a week someone says at check-in time, “I was thinking about it before our session today, and I didn’t really know what to talk about.”
I must admit, when that happens my heart skips with a sort of giddiness at the possibilities.
Don’t get me wrong. I love when people come in with a whopper of a topic. I love helping them slow the frame down and process not only what happened, but how it felt inside. I love helping them untangle the web of emotional and relational complexities. And the feeling we both get when it finally makes sense to them and their feelings are honored is what keeps me going.
But when they don’t know what to talk about, something else special happens.
Several something elses, actually.
What Surfaces
Sometimes I find that when this happens, things surface that wouldn’t have otherwise. Without the crisis of the week and without a preconceived agenda, some of our deeper, yet more subtle experiences surface. The ones that seem to get tucked away in lieu of the louder, more prominent, and more time-sensitive concerns.
The ones that wait quietly to be acknowledged and have for years.
I imagine those as the left-behind parts of us that just get by because there is always something more pressing in front of them.
But when life settles and the day-to-day doesn’t feel so crowded with fires to put out and tensions to soothe, those parts can get acknowledged.
And it is simply beautiful.
What Gets Celebrated
Other times, these moments are when therapy becomes celebration.
There is recognition that what would have become tension, conflict, or hard feelings actually dissolved quickly because of growth.
It isn’t uncommon for clients to feel like they just keep coming in bitching about the same thing over and over. With that, I sense a twinge of frustration with themselves for not having “figured it out yet.”
So, when there isn’t anything to figure out in session, I point out that maybe that’s because they figured it out.
I tell clients all the time that my job is to work myself out of a job. I want them to feel confident in managing their life and connected to their natural supports so they can continue doing that.
Even so, I welcome my regulars who simply appreciate the space for whatever it brings and use it as a check-up.
But still, when clients don’t know what to talk about, maybe it’s a sign they’re figuring it out.
Nothing to Fix
Finally, and perhaps my favorite, is simply this:
“This is it.”
There is nothing to process, good, bad, or otherwise.
Life just feels stable.
There are no fires.
There is no crisis.
There is nothing to do.
Just Be
And perhaps we can simply rest in the mundane.
And that right there is perhaps one of the most difficult things to do as a human.
We are wired to be alert.
We are wired to do.
Our highly evolved brains anticipate, plan, and prepare—at the most basic level for survival, but more practically for efficiency and productivity.
But what about just being?
Just existing.
Just experiencing life.
Not because there’s a problem to solve, but because life on planet Earth is beautiful.
And living doesn’t have to be purposeful.
It can just be.
And what I’ve found is that this is often an uncomfortable place to be for most people.
Even as I write, I imagine what that would even look like.
For me, it might mean swinging on my porch swing in the morning sunshine with my cup of coffee (damn those mosquitoes for stealing that away from me currently!).
Walking, without the dogs, because usually that’s my reason for walking.
Reading, not for a CEU or a class, but simply because I enjoy the story.
But how often do we do that without a nagging sense that we should be doing something else?
I’ll speak for myself: this is something I’ve been actively working on in recent years.
Allowing myself to simply be.
Fighting the internal dialogue that shames me for not doing something on the never-ending to-do list.
Intentionally stepping away from the tasks of life for no other reason than understanding it’s what a healthy human needs every now and then.
And don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t start with a serene sense of peace and calm.
Usually there is an itchiness that revs and requires time to settle into.
A couple of years ago I started taking a solo trip into the woods.
At first I just wanted to see if I could do it myself. Orient myself. Start my own fire. Cook my own food. Be with myself.
But what I found was that simply being—simply taking care of my body and keeping my head where my feet are—settled something in me.
I often describe it like a snow globe.
My mind and my nervous system have been shaken up all year long.
As soon as it gets set down, something else picks it up and shakes it again.
And it takes nearly a full twenty-four hours for the snow globe to fully settle before entering into something beautiful.
A stillness inside that cannot be described, only felt.
And for the next two days I get to relish in it.
And it’s not stagnant or quiet.
I’m moving.
Birds are chirping.
Waves are crashing.
I’ve even found myself talking to myself. (There may be video evidence of this, but this also falls into the “dark corners” category.)
But even so, the stillness inside is not shaken.
It remains a crystal-clear snow globe of calm.
Being reminded of this feeling makes me look forward to my trip again this summer.
But when clients come in not knowing what to talk about, sometimes it’s nice to rest in that feeling—or explore the discomfort of it first—and get to talk about the importance of finding it and embracing it so we can be settled, healthy humans.
How’s that for not knowing what to write about today?
Sincerely
A therapist — still figuring it out
Reflections:
How comfortable are you when there is nothing obvious to fix, solve, improve, or accomplish?
If you had an hour today with no responsibilities, expectations, or goals, how would you spend it?
Is there a part of you that has been quietly waiting to be acknowledged?
