May Photo A Day, Day 3: This is really good!

The Photo A Day prompt for today was "This is really good!" I was going to go for the obvious photo of my dinner (which was delicious, I must admit), but I found something even better than food: the book I'm currently reading.

It's called Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gays-vs.-Christians Debate (by Justin Lee.) I learned about Justin and his book via one of my favorite blogs (Rachel Held Evans), and it has been a great read. It's mostly about Justin's own life as a gay Christian. He was raised in a very stable Christian home and was serious about his faith from a young age. He realized he was gay in high school and went through some pretty heartbreaking stuff in order to try to "fix" this "problem." It's hard to read about all the ways other Christians rejected him, leading him to feel (for a time) that he couldn't be both gay and  Christian. I think his story is important for the church to hear--not because it's unique, but because it isn't. The church needs to understand that there are people who are redeemed by the gospel and seeking to serve Christ with their lives, who also happen to find themselves attracted to members of their own sex. We are called to love them in the same way we are called to love everyone else. Because God loves them the same way He loves the rest of us. I earnestly hope for a future in which gay (and lesbian, bisexual, transgendered...) believers are not treated any differently than the rest of us sinners. I want to do my part to make this hope a reality.

A couple other books I've read that have helped me understand LGBT issues as they relate to Christian faith:

Calling the Rainbow Nation Home by E Sundby

Transgendered: Theology, Ministry, and Communities of Faith by Justin Edward Tanis

Photo A Day October, Days 19-21 (Catch-up Time!)

Well, folks, the Photo A Day project has taken a bit of backseat to the fact that there was a SQUIRREL IN MY HOUSE. I know I mentioned that on Day 15, but that turned out not to be the end of the saga. It really is gone now though.  Anyway, that's my excuse for why I didn't blog for two days AND why these three photos are sub-par.

Day 19: Letters. A new test we just received at work, which I brought home to practice and have not looked at since (see above excuse about the squirrel in my house.)

Day 20: 4:00. I was about an hour late on this one, but here's a tree at church, where I was hanging out at a picnic.

 

Day 21: Calm. Here's the kitchen windowsill, which is where I first spotted the squirrel. Now that we're squirrel-free and all this stuff has been thoroughly cleaned, I feel much calmer, indeed. :)

Photo A Day October, Day 16: Something You Wrote

"Something you wrote" was today's Photo A Day prompt. I've been kind of enjoying how this challenge serves as a visual daily diary of my life, so rather than break out the markers and write something a little more visually appealing specifically for a photo, I just took a picture of something I wrote at work. I was writing a psychological assessment report that included an intelligence test. I score these tests with computer software, but there's one measurement called the General Ability Index that the computer doesn't calculate for me, so I have to pull out this chart and figure it out on scratch paper before I type it up in the report. It looks like this:

Fascinating, I know. ;)

Photo A Day October, Day 10: Emotion

The Photo A Day prompt for today was "emotion." Since my clients are off-limits and my husband doesn't like having his picture taken, the only available model I had today was myself. So I put together this silly little collage:

It reminds me of these visual aids we therapists call "feeling faces." They have 30-50 hand-drawn facial expressions on them and are useful in assessing the moods of kids who don't yet have much of an emotional vocabulary. Six-year-olds aren't going to tell you they feel "frustrated," but they can point at a face that communicates the same thing. How funny would it be if I created my own "feeling faces" with these crazy self-portraits?!

Photo A Day October, Day 4: What You Read

Today's Photo A Day prompt was "what you read." I took two photos again today. First, the work edition:

I don't know if I have mentioned that in addition to counseling, my new job entails lots of psychological testing, which I really love. I've gotten very familiar with about 15 different test manuals, but these are the ones I consulted today during my scoring and report-writing.

Now, the home edition:

 

I must admit that this photo is staged, but soon I will be curling up in bed with this book (and yes, the highlighter--always.) It's The Creative Habit by renowned choreographer Twyla Tharp, and I'm really enjoying it. She has a lot of brilliant ideas to share. Maybe I'll blog about what I do with them when I finish the book. Come to think of it, though, I'm working on being more methodical about my creative "work" right now--that's the whole point of this Photo A Day project. Twyla would definitely approve. :)

BIG NEWS!

I finally jumped onto the Instagram bandwagon! ...Okay, that's not the big news, but I am going to use Instagram photos to illustrate the big news: I have a new job! 

Here's the cake my (former) co-workers gave me on my last day. It was sweet in more ways than one.

And here's the place where I shared a second helping of it with my nearest and dearest. Cool sky, eh?

A couple of days later, I showed up to my new workplace to find that I already had business cards! And with my full name, just how I like it. 

And as if that were not enough, my Granny sent me flowers! Such a lovely surprise! :)

Needless to say, it's been a very happy week. :)

We all have feelings!

Weird things are going on at work. For one, I went from doing work only with adults (mostly individual therapy) to working with a group of kids for 30+ hours a week. It's a little nuts, but I'm trying to find the good. Exhibit A is this kid-created sign in my new classroom.

So basic, but so profoundly true, and so often NOT acknowledged. Leave it to kids with mental health issues to speak truth into this world.

Jesus said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 18:3

21 Day Photo Challenge, Day 11: Words

Today's challenge theme is words. I had always planned on taking a picture of a book page for this one, but I didn't know which one. I'm a big-time bibliophile, so the possibilities were a little overwhelming. I already used the Bible for Day 9, so I figured it should be something else, but what? Harry Potter? C. S. Lewis? Emily Dickinson? So many wonderful choices. I assumed this would be an after-work decision. 

But then, I had a no-show at work. Sometimes--and especially on Thursdays when I work at a small satellite office away from all my stuff--this means I have nothing to do. So I always have a book in my purse for these occasions. I had just finished one (The Know-It-All by A. J. Jacobs), so it was time to start something new: The Schopenhauer Cure by Irvin D. Yalom. He is a brilliant psychiatrist and psychotherapist and probably my favorite living writer. He writes about psychotherapy in a way that reminds me why I love it and gives me hope that helps me keep coming to work everyday despite paperwork and bureaucracy and budget cuts and an overwhelmingly large caseload. His books have helped me believe (on good days, anyway) that in spite of all that junk, I can be effective by engaging with people in an authentic way and acknowledging all those existential issues that are hard to talk about. Like the fact that we are all going to die:

Yep, that's the first page. Good stuff, huh? I'm excited for the rest of this journey with Irv. (That's what his clients call him, and I kind of feel like I'm one of 'em.)

I guess the sentiment here isn't so different from Day 9. The grass withers, and bubbles burst, but life is beautiful in spite of that. Or, perhaps, because of it.

21 Day Photo Challenge, Day 10: Favorite Place

My bright ideas just aren't panning out today. It started at work. I had a therapy client who pretty much refused to talk to me. I spent the first 20 minutes asking millions of questions trying to get somewhere, to no avail. I asked if he wanted to talk about anything at all, and he said no. I asked if he wanted to leave, and he said no. That left one option: sit in silence for the remainder of the session. So I told him so. Because, of course, that would teach him a lesson, right? He'd see that he was being irrational and wasteful, right? He'd begin to take responsibility for his treatment, right? Wrong. We sat in silence for 40 minutes. It was a long day, needless to say.

After work and dinner, of course, it was time for today's photo challenge. The theme was "favorite place," and I had given it some thought. I have a lot of favorite places in the world: the swing on my  parents' back porch, the front porch of the old farm house I lived in in college... Look! A pattern! Porches. So I decided to photograph my favorite local porch, the one at the yacht club. I had it all composed in my head; I knew what angle I was going to shoot from and where I was going to position the rocking chair. When I got there, though, there were people everywhere. They were in the way of my intended shot, and I was too embarrassed to be moving furniture around for a picture in front of everyone anyway. I gave up and walked a couple of miles up and down the beach with my camera instead. I took a lot of pictures of egrets and the sunset and so forth, and it was a lot more enjoyable than that crowded porch. I decided that the beach itself is one of my favorite places, especially when I have my camera in hand. So I took a picture of a stranger who seems to agree. 

I wanted to capture her looking through the viewfinder, but I didn't want her to spot me photo-stalking her, so this is all I could muster. I don't hate it. It might even be better than the porch picture I had in my head.

Re-decorating my office!

My office just got a facelift! I'm a mental health therapist by day, and the space I use for that isn't ideal--no windows, fluorescent light, walls that need to be painted/cleaned/patched, and artwork that was actually upsetting to more than one client. No more! After months of agonizing over which of my own photos to choose, I finally made a decision, bought prints, frames, and mats, and made it happen!

I may be a bit biased, but the room really does feel more therapeutic now. I get to look at waves rolling in and pine trees reaching toward the sky while my clients gaze at a natural reflection in water and a seagull in the sky. Soaring above it all to gain a better perspective? Reaching toward heaven? Calmly reflecting...? The counseling metaphor possibilities are endless! My mental health is improving already.

be her guest

Brigita of the etsy shop bluejules graciously allowed me to be a guest blogger today! She's starting a series called "around the world," in which artists and crafters introduce both their creations and the places where they live. Since my photography is so closely tied to where I live and have lived, I thought it would be fun to join in. See what I have to say here!

...yeah yeah, I know it's a bit ironic that I'm struggling with my commitment to blogging for Lent and yet have no trouble contributing to other people's blogs. It doesn't make sense to me, either.

Wait. Actually, it does. This was easier because it was like an assignment (albeit a voluntary one.) There was a deadline. And guidelines. Like graduate school. Like what I'm used to. I associate writing with duty and evaluation now and am having trouble linking it to my own mental health and spiritual growth. My guest blog is sort of personal and reflective though. Apparently I can still do that, but only on demand.

Graduates school is eating away at my soul.

I am kidding, but only sort of.

victory is ours

I finished my work with a therapy client a couple weeks ago after fifteen sessions and have been on a bit of a professional high ever since. She set a goal for herself that was pretty overwhelming even to me, and I did not know how we were going to get there--if we were going to get there. It was really, really hard work. We had conversations that reached a level of depth and intimacy that I believe many people don't ever experience. I challenged her. I helped her to make connections that she couldn't see on her own. I asked her to describe some pretty horrifying stuff--stuff I can't really imagine living through. I asked her to acknowledge it, to face it. To face her own feelings--to face herself. I encouraged her, nudged her toward the goal, all the while feeling in over my head and fearing that it was just too big, too much.

It wasn't too much: she did it. We did it, and I am so, so proud. It's that funny kind of pride that's so paradoxically mixed up with humility, but it's on a level that I haven't experienced before. Because it's not really about me; I'm proud of her...and yet, I know that I was an important part, maybe even an essential part.

I'm not a parent, but I think maybe it's like that. I know my own parents act as if my accomplishments are beyond them. They think I'm smarter and more capable and more creative than they are. They think they couldn't have done what I'm doing. I'm always uncomfortable about this claim, partly because I think they don't give themselves enough credit, but also because it just doesn't make sense to me. Because, in the most basic way, what am I but the sum of my parents? Certainly I grew up as a person who is different from both of them, perhaps because I am not just a biological and genetic being, but have been shaped by experiences which aren't necessarily the same as my parents'. But still, my parents are the context for all of that. They didn't teach me everything I know, but they sent me to school and helped me with my homework. I did a lot of things myself, but I did them in the safe, nurturing, encouraging, secure container of my family, my home. I was the one achieving, but they facilitated my achievement, and that's a pretty big deal.

I think that's what I was for this client. She isn't me, and she is the one who accomplished this goal. It does feel like it's beyond me, like I couldn't have done it. And yet, it was done in a context that I created--the container of our therapeutic alliance. She may have gone further than I can go, but I'm still the one who facilitated her journey. I cannot imagine spending my life doing anything better than this.

And yet, I know this doesn't always (or even usually) happen in therapy. Highly motivated clients aren't the norm, and the modal number of counseling sessions is one. Some people "work on" the same things for years with no progress because they aren't really "working" at all. Or they are, but the therapist doesn't know how to facilitate this particular change for this particular client. It's complicated and messy, and it doesn't always work. I have certainly seen it not work a million times.

But I am so thankful for this client who unwittingly convinced me that sometimes it does work. This is not futile work. There is something powerful about therapy. About getting down to the real stuff of life, being ok with unpacking the huge mess of the soul with the confidence that it can be cleaned up, improved, maybe even healed. I am absolutely sure now that there is something powerful about me, in a room with someone else, listening, validating, understanding, guiding.

I will feel discouraged and frustrated and doubtful again (and again, and again), I know. Maybe even tomorrow. But I will always have this victory to remind that there's hope. I know that I will always be thankful for this client and our time together. If I ever don't think this work is worth it, I will think of her, and I will keep going.

these dreams

"These dreams go on when I close my eyes. Every second of the night, I live another life..."
-Heart

Last night, two other lives. Neither of which I want to live.

Let me back up. Obviously, I didn't blog yesterday despite my Lent commitment. I'm not going to beat myself up about it because 1) I don't have the energy for that and 2) I think it's more righteous to "try harder next time" than to give up because I didn't measure up to some rigid but arbitrary goal I set for myself. That being said, I didn't forget to blog yesterday... but by the time I was done with everything else I had to do, I just couldn't make myself do it. It's been a really, really, exhausting couple of school/work days. I had only done one intake interview all semester, but I had to do two of them on the same day (Tuesday), and just that little extra time and effort kind of sent me over the edge. Being on the go for 12+ hours a day--especially in this environment where I feel like every move I make is going to be evaluated--is just too much for me. When I got home from school yesterday (and by school, I mean work, lunch, clinic paperwork, research meeting, dinner, yoga, supervision, more paperwork), I was completely spent. I can't remember being this exhausted for a long time. I didn't take any time to decompress or reflect or chill out or pray or even talk to Alexander. I just collapsed onto my bed.

Oh, how I wish I hadn't done that. I had horrible dreams. And I hardly ever have bad dreams. I dreamed, basically, that I was one of my clients. I was still me, but I was experiencing some really stressful interpersonal things that my new client is currently experiencing. I woke up at 3 a.m. (I don't think I've done that since I've been thyroid-less) and was exahusted, but so relieved that "it was just a dream." It took me quite a while to go back to sleep (again, hasn't happened since 2007, I don't think), and when I did go back to sleep, it got worse. In the next dream, I started having a horribly traumatic experience that my other client experienced as a kid. I can't even bring myself to say out loud (or type out loud) what it was. I woke up at 6 feeling more mentally exhausted than I was when I went to sleep.

Clearly, this is not a good situation. Therapists should not be unconsciously experiencing their clients' trauma. It might seem like I have no boundaries and can't leave therapy in therapy like I should. But really, I'm pretty good at that, usually, because I spend waking time reflecting about it so that I can put it away and move on. I've actually been pretty pleased with my ability to do that so far in my "career" as a therapist. I guess it's easy for me, because I naturally take time to reflect, which actually helps these sort of thoughts not to follow me around when I don't want them to. I give them attention when they need it (which is usually right after sessions or in this case, supervision), and then I file them away for next week. But my fatigue stopped me from doing that. The last thing I did yesterday was talk to my supervisor about my clients (and then get their paperwork in order.) Since I didn't have my normal decompression time, all that crap was still floating around unresolved, so it showed up in the worst way possible.

One positive: I have a whole new level of empathy for what these clients have experienced.

Another positive: I have a whole new appreciation for the importance of "self care" as it relates to clinical work. It is so, so important for me not to get so exhausted that I don't have time to chill out.

Lord, come quickly. And bring Spring Break with you.

jesus, sigmund freud, and me

I’ve been teaching some gifted teenagers about psychology for the last seven Saturdays as a part of my assistantship, and today was the last day of the program. I’ve enjoyed it; I love teaching, and I’m pretty good at it. I’ve even had moments of thinking that I “missed my calling” (like my boss told me), but today, I’m glad it’s over and that I’m going to spend my life doing therapy instead.

I brought my Sigmund Freud action figure today since we were talking briefly about psychoanalysis, and my kids got a kick out of it. I probably shouldn’t have explained the significance of his cigar, but I did. ;) I stopped short, though, of telling them how this action figure is part of my favorite metaphor for life. You see, someone who knew me very well bought this action figure for me several years ago, along with a Jesus action figure, and these two men have been standing side by side on various shelves in various places I’ve lived (Emory, Radford, Ashland, Hattiesburg) ever since. The point of this gift, of course, was that I am a psychology student and a Christian, so these two guys represent my worldview even though they look like a rather strange and humorous pair.

My worldview, though, is obviously not one half psychology and the other half faith. Faith comes first, and psychology is contained by it, guided by it, supported by it. That part of the metaphor has made itself concrete in the action figures too, much to my amusement and, well, inspiration. You see, the Jesus action figure has a broad base and two wheels on the bottom, so it’s very stable. Sigmund, however, has two skinny little feet that don’t always seem to be exactly level. He falls over backward quite easily. That’s why he has to stand so close to Jesus: Jesus’s hand is always right behind Freud’s, propping him up so he doesn’t fall.

It’s funny, yes. But it’s also such a clear picture of God’s sovereignty and love. Christ might appear to be just a part of the story, but none of the other characters would be around if he weren’t there first. Even things that are not “Christian” are able to exist only because of the life given them by God. Sigmund might not notice Jesus standing there at all, but Jesus’s presence is the only thing keeping Sigmund Freud (and me) standing.

being > doing

In the field of counseling, we spend a lot of time researching, writing, and talking about different treatment approaches. Some disciples of certain theoretical orientations or interventions seem to be quite invested in making sure theirs are the “best.” But data (and experience) keep telling us that what we “do” as therapists matters less than how we do it—or maybe even who we are. We use the term “common factors” to refer to things like genuineness, empathy, hope, warmth, and unconditional positive regard—things that characterize good therapists whose clients experience improvement. Sometimes we conceptualize this as “being,” contrasting it with the “doing” of interventions.

I’ve always believed in the idea that the most important thing is that I care about my clients, but sometimes, in session, it doesn’t feel like enough. I can care all day long, but what if I don’t know what to do? I’ve begun to trust my instincts a lot more than I did at first, but sometimes I still wonder if the “common factors” are really all they’re cracked up to be.

But Alexander and I had our third pre-marital counseling session with our pastor on Sunday, and it really restored my faith in the idea that being is more therapeutic than doing. You see, our pastor is 1) very young and 2) not a counselor at all. He makes no bones about the fact that he is not trained in counseling and is largely winging it. I have to admit that I sometimes find myself silently assessing what he’s doing and thinking about all the ways I would do it differently if I were in his shoes. For example, this week, Alex and I completed a questionnaire about the “five love languages” (based on this book), and our session focused on a discussion of our results. Except there was no “processing” of our experience completing the questionnaire or even of our initial responses to our results. We turned them in, he interpreted them, he talked about what they might mean for us. It was several minutes before either of us had an opportunity to say anything at all. Our pastor didn’t ask us if his words made sense to us; he didn’t ask us for examples (though I gave some anyway.) Knowing what I know about using psychological assessment in counseling, I would say that he did it all wrong. And speaking in this technical sense, I might even say that what he “did” was a waste (at least for me), because the information that the questionnaire gave us was not news to me—I already know how I communicate love. I already know how Alex communicates love. I already recognize that these aren’t always the same, and I already work hard both to communicate love in the way he receives it and to recognize when he’s communicating love to me. From an intervention/treatment/ “doing” perspective, it was useless.

And yet… it wasn’t! At all! It was a really, really, really positive experience that I enjoyed quite a lot. Our pastor is very intelligent, and a really nice guy. He’s real with us. He’s present with us. He welcomes us, he likes us, he deeply desires for us to be blessed and fulfilled in our marriage, and he faithfully believes that we will be. We left our session feeling happy, refreshed, confident, supported, loved, and excited about what’s ahead. And what more could I want for my clients than that?

affected

For one of my classes this week, we all took the VIA Survey of Character Strengths (here) and discussed our results. These were my "top strengths:"

1. Spirituality, sense of purpose, and faith
2. Curiosity and interest in the world
3. Judgement, critical thinking, and open-mindednesss
4. Capacity to love and be loved
5. Love of learning

I was struck by one of my classmates who was sharing that my "#1 strenghth" was at the bottom of his own list. He said, "I believe, but I don't let it affect me." At first, my (internal) reaction was, I admit, quite smug. Clearly he has missed something. It is impossible to come into contact with the creator of the universe, the lover of our souls, and not be affected. This guy obviously doesn't know God!

And yet... Is it obvious that I do know God? Do I live in such a way that people know I have come into contact with the creator of the universe, the lover of my soul?

Lord Jesus, please affect me. Amen.

rocket [wo]man

"...and all this science, I don't understand. It's just my job five days a week..."
-Elton John

I really do love psychology, but sometimes I feel very disconnected from the world of academia. I want to understand people and to know how to help people, but some days it feels like the stuff I spend my time doing has very little to do with any of that. Sometimes grad school feels like some sort of silly obstacle course, and instead of teaching us what we need to know, it tests to see how badly we want to know, then releases us out into the world with a degree that qualifies us to figure it out on our own.

I was thinking the other day about my first day at Pathways, when I didn't even realize what I had been hired to do. I was passively observing a group therapy session, and Vicki, my boss, abruptly asked me to take the uncooperative kid next to me into the other room for an individual session. I was shocked and terrified, and I felt like I was mostly making stuff up as I went along. It turned out to be one of my best sessions, actually, but the whole time, I just kept thinking about how unqualified I was to do what I was doing. And yet... after a year (almost) of grad school, I can't think of anything that I know now that would've made me any more prepared or less freaked out about that situation. That's not to say I haven't learned anything; I've learned some research things and some theories and such, but hardly anything that really translates into how to be a therapist.

Maybe next year.

the pros of prose

I just logged on to poetry.com and was planning on composing a little PIM to post here (surprise, surprise), but I was very troubled to find that the website has completely changed, and the Poetry in Motion feature (the only good part of poetry.com) is nowhere to be found! I am very sad about this.

BUT. Maybe that means it's time to write something else in here. I really do miss the days when I wrote my experiences and thoughts in here. Somehow, when pieces of my life are recorded, they feel more real...like I have not fully experienced something until I have adequately reflected on it. And, clearly, reflection has been lacking, at least in any sort of concrete way.

I certainly can't make up for the whole academic year of stuff that has happened, but maybe if I do a quick re-cap, I will be able to get back into the groove.

So. I'm in graduate school in counseling psychology, so that's what constitutes the largest portion of my time. I'm doing well, but it's not the sort of challenging, exhilarating experience that school used to be. I didn't realize just how much I love learning until last semester. I was so excited to be a student again, but I didn't feel like I was learning anything new, and it was very frustrating. I've had moments of actually wishing that I were less intelligent or that I had not been so well prepared by my undergrad experiences. I'm regularly jealous of people who are struggling to grasp new stuff. It sounds weird, but it's kind of sad, really. The weirdest thing about is it that I really have never felt this way before. I've always been smart and a good student, but I was always happy with what I was learning and felt like my teachers/professors had something great to offer me--that I would benefit from their guidance and wisdom. Now, it's more like "I just have to get through this so I can do what I want to do," and I don't like that at all. Maybe I'm just disillusioned with academic nonsense, or maybe I've just become a self-righteous and arrogant snob. Probably both.

And my snobbery comes into play at my assistantship too, because I have to deal with being disrespected and demeaned on a regular basis (not by my boss, just to clarify--she loves me). I can deal with it a lot better now than I did at first, but there are still rough days.

It's not all bad, really. I like the people in my program very much, and I don't know what I would do without my "best Mississippi friend," Natalie. And my weeks are bearable because I spend them looking forward to weekends, which I spend with my beloved Alexander, usually at his house on the coast. It's funny how we rarely saw each other before we moved here but miss each other MORE now. The more time I spend with him, the more sure I am that I want to spend more and more of my time with him. His house, and our relationship there, feels much more like home to me than my apartment in Hattiesburg or my role as a grad student. The disconnect between the two is hard, but the one makes the other all worth it.

I've also gotten involved in a small group at the church I go to when I'm in Hattiesburg, and while I haven't been particuarly stimulated by the books we've read, I really enjoy the fellowship. Even though I tend to be a loner, I've always found it essential to be part of a community of believers, and I'm grateful to have found that.

Despite the list of complaints here, I really am happy. It's just that I feel such a strong conviction that I will be happier. The best is yet to come.

lessons learned (1-5)

In that message from futureme that I just wrote about, my past self asked me if I had learned from the struggles I've had with Graves' disease and the consequences of it. In my post, I wrote that I have. I throw around that idea a lot, referring to the ordeal as a "learning experience" to lots of people I talk to, but it's time to be specific. What exactly have I learned? I haven't tackled this because it's just too much, too vast. I will never be able to articulate all of it; it will never be complete. It can't be clearly quantified, but I nonetheless feel like it's time to compose a list. Here is the first installment.

1. I learned that the stigma associated with mental illness is still around and that it even affects people who know better. Educated people. Insightful and compassionate people. Clinical psychology majors, for goodness sake. I thought I understood that people with mood disorders like depression weren't to blame--that it wasn't their fault, that they needed help and shouldn't be ashamed of getting it. I thought I viewed mental illness the same way I viewed physical illness. I didn't think I judged or looked down on people with depression... but then I became one of them. And I denied it, and I hid from it, and I ran away from it, and I denied it some more, just for good measure. I thought, depression happens, but it can't happen to me! What on earth will people think?! Etc. I know this doesn't sound like a very hopeful or helpful thing to learn, but it is. Understanding my own bias has informed my understanding of this stigma in general, which will make me a better therapist on a few levels. This inside information, complete with messy emotions, will, I hope, help me to know better what I can do to help eliminate stigma, as well as how to relate to clients who are resistant to therapy (or medication) at first. I'll know how hard it was for them to show up and say, "I'm depressed," because I had to do it myself. I'll get it, because I was there once too. I'll be able to say "I understand" and mean it.

2. More generally, I learned what depression feels like. I already knew the DSM criteria, but now I get it. This first-hand understanding will help me to have a level of empathy with depressed people (clients or otherwise) that I wouldn't have had before. A few years ago, I wouldn't have a really hard time processing a statement like, "I can't make myself get out of bed and take a shower." I still have thoughts along the lines of "How can that be?" but I nonetheless know that it can be. Because it was.

3. My diagnosing skills have also been greatly informed by my personal experience. Most notably, I know the importance of a little criterion we like to call "rule out GMC." Practically every diagnosis has this criterion--a message to the diagnositician that if these symptoms you've checked off are the result of a physical illness, then you don't make this mental health diagnosis. The doctor I first went to didn't follow this rule. He wrote me a prescription for antidepressants before he even took my vitals. If the nurse hadn't taken my heart rate and blood pressure (and noticed that "big thing" on my neck," I would've suffered for a lot longer, because a general medical condition was the reason for my symptoms. "Rule out GMC" is usually an afterthought, both in the classroom and in the doctor's office, but it probably saved my life. In therapy, I will never treat someone for depression without strongly encouraging them (because, you know, coercion is kind of frowned upon by APA) to get their thyroid checked. Mark my words.

4. Along the same lines, I've learned a lot about the mind-body relationship, which plays a central role in psychopathology and psychotherapy. The book of Proverbs tells us, "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones"(17:22) and "A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones" (14:30). Physical health and mental health are inextricably linked. The affect each other bidirectionally. Though I have my hunches, it really is impossible to say which came first (my depression or my thyroid disease) , but the point is that each of them made the other worse. The two couldn't be separated, and they both had to be treated. My understanding of this connection will surely inform my work as a clinician.

5. Obviously, I've learned a lot about the thyroid and Graves' disease itself. This education has enabled me to help people with thyroid disease--to offer advice and information as well as encouragement. Just a few days ago, I got an email from a fellow Graves' patient who stumbled upon my blog. I was thrilled to have an opportunity to be a resource for her--and hopefully a source of hope, too. I hope to have more of these opportunities.

(more to come...)

MS

When I heard the news, I changed my facebook status to "Sara is getting an M.S. in MS!" Much to my amusement, my friend Krista's immediate thought was that I was currently in McGlothlin-Street Hall (on Emory's campus) contracting Multiple Sclerosis. Not quite. In reality, I was announcing that I'll be getting a Master's degree in Mississippi. And now that I think about it, the real story might not be any less random and unexpected than Krista's fictionalized account. I never, ever thought I would be moving to Mississippi.

Of course, this didn't happen all at once. All winter, I worked on applications to Ph.D. programs. My hopes were high, but I never really felt like it was going to work out. In the back of my mind was the idea that later, I would have to apply to Master's programs as a back-up, but my ego kept persuading me to put it off. Then I got this phone call from my boyfriend who was in Mississippi interviewing for a job he originally didn't think he wanted but was now quite excited about. He was in the car and had just driven by a (not the, we now know) campus of the University of Southern Mississippi. He was frantic, beseeching me to investigate this school immediately and find out if they had a program for me to apply to. I obliged him, and found that they do have a clinical psychology Ph.D. program... but the deadline had passed. They also have a counseling psychology Ph.D. program... but the deadline had passed. The deadline that wasn't passed was for the Master's program in counseling psychology. No. No, no, no. That's not what I want. At first, I didn't even want to consider applying. But I did consider it. And I prayed, and I thought, and I analyzed, and I over-analyzed, and I listened.... and I applied.

Alexander decided he wanted the job, and he got it. My brain was reeling for a long time, trying to figure out what I wanted. I was afraid of being away from him, afraid of losing him, but it was so unlike me to make a major life decision based on a guy. I couldn't even believe I was thinking that way. I didn't want to admit that I was. But I was. And I was ok with that. And that freaked me out. I never said it out loud, but at some point I realized that I want to be with him more than I want a Ph.D. And certainly more than I want a Ph.D. right now. But still, could I possibly turn down an offer to start a Ph.D. program? Even if I did, nobody would approve, and could I really blame them? So I prayed that that wouldn't happen--that there would be no decision to make. I prayed that if God wanted me in Mississippi, He wouldn't let me get in to a Ph.D. program. And much to the understandable chagrin of my parents, I decided not to apply to any other Master's programs. I prayed for discernment, and while I didn't get any audible answers from God, I kept feeling more and more at peace with my desire to go to Mississippi. I went. I interviewed. I loved it. I felt like I was clearly the best candidate. It was a done deal.

Except that I didn't get in. I got an email telling me I was an alternate. I was devastated. And so, so confused. I decided that it had to be because of my withdrawal from school, and I started getting very angry (again) about Graves' disease. Hadn't it already screwed up my life enough? Was I never going to be able to get past it? I didn't get along very well with God for a few days, but I tried to think that things would work out. I got a lot of love and support and prayer, and Dr. Qualls made a phone call for me which I think might have changed everything. Eventually, obviously, I got in. And I'm going! I'm going to live with Missy, a fellow Christian, fellow nerd, fellow grammarian who I bonded with at our interview day. I'll be about 80 miles from Alex, who will be in Ocean Springs, right on the gulf coast. I could not possibly be more excited. It's perfect. Completely perfect. And completely crazy.

I never thought I would get a degree in counseling psychology. I never thought I would move to Mississippi. But here's the thing: I never thought I would get sick and have a part of my body radioactively destroyed; I never thought I would leave school; I never thought I would live with my parents post-college; I never thought I would work at Pathways again; I never thought I would be a youth leader; I never thought I would sell art; I never thought I would fall in love with my friend's brother-in-law.

But here I am.

Paradoxically, it's actually quite comforting to be doing something so unlike what I ever predicted. It is because it's so crazy that I know it's God. It's nothing close to what I ever planned for myself, so it must be His plan. How else could I have ended up here? One of my favorite scriptures for a long time has been Matthew 10:39, in which Jesus says, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." I've had lots of discussions about what exactly this means, and I think there are a lot of interpretations, all of which are probably valid. I used to think of it as a dichotomy: two sets of people. Finders of life, losers of life. Finders get lost, losers get found. But what I've found, it seems, is that I'm both. Or rather, I was one, and then I became the other. I did try to "find" my life. Though I certainly tried, I really can't say that I was ever able to completely surrender my life to Christ. I said I did, and sometimes I even thought I did, but really, in the back of my head, there were certain expectations I had--things I expected God to include in His plan because I wanted them. I wouldn't (couldn't?) totally "lose" my life, my plan. But then... well, I did lose it. This is where my understanding of the scripture has changed. I always thought this "losing" had to be a willful, purposeful surrender. For some people, of course, it is. Those people are stronger than me. My "loss" of life was something that happened to me, not something I chose. But who's to say that that means it wasn't lost "for Christ's sake," as in the scripture? I'm an imperfect, flawed, tremendously proud person, not righteous enough to hand over my whole life. But God, in his infinite, miraculous grace, took it from me anyway. Because he loves me so very much, he redirected my life, helped me find my life again--my real life, the one I'm meant for.

What a beautiful thing.

But what a long journey it has been to this point where I finally feel like I know at least a little bit of what God is doing. In My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers wrote these words:

"God does not tell you what He is doing. He reveals to you Who He is."

I have found that to be so true. Through this whole process, I have felt so clueless as to what would happen, and yet God has shown me so much of his nature. One of the most poignant examples happened while I was in Mississippi for my interview. Late at night after the day of my interview, I was sitting outside our motel room, where I had been talking to Alexander on the phone. Even though I was optimistic about my qualifications, I was feeling very anxious about getting in to USM. We had had a wonderful conversation that only strengthened my desire to be in Mississippi--my desire to be with him. I'm going to sound like one of my borderline clients when I say this, but I was feeling downright desperate. So I started praying right there on the sidewalk. It went something like this: "God, please please please let me get in. I just want to be with him so badly. So badly, God. Do you understand me? That's what I want. Nothing else seems important. It's like I don't care about anything else except being with him. Even if I hated this place and hated this program and hated everyone here, I wouldn't care because I'd get to be with him. I just want to be with him so badly..." I was being illogical and emotional and yes, slightly ridiculous, but it was how I felt, and I kept going and going because I didn't think God understood. I didn't think he knew what this passionate, desperate feeling was like because, you know, he had never been in love. But then a funny thing happened: God laughed at me. Now, he wasn't laughing at my feelings, of course. He was laughing at the idea that I had to keep going on and on explaining things to Him as if he didn't know. I didn't realize this at first, though, and I just paused, confused about the distinctive sense I had that God was chuckling. Once I let my mind get quiet, I'm pretty sure what He said to me was, "Now you know how I feel."

It wasn't any sort of intellectual, theological idea, but it was as if I suddenly understood God's love in a whole new way. God didn't send Christ to die for us because of some sort of corporate love. It wasn't because it was "the right thing to do." It wasn't because God is "good" and he wants "what's best for us." These things are true, of course, but what God seemed to be telling me was that His love is romantic--erotic. Christ died because he wanted to be with us so badly. He was desperate. He was passionate. He was in love.

I am so thankful that he lets us participate in that love, to share it with each other in our measly little human way. After all, 1 John 4:19 tells us that "We love because He first loved us." All the love in my life--and yours--originated with Christ and is rooted in Him. The Lord has never ceased to amaze me. And if I've learned anything, it's that He never will.