REFLECTIONS OF A 9-11 THERAPIST

(Adapted from a talk I'm giving today to fellow therapists on Long Island)

     This day is sacred as perhaps no other day in our time because it connects us to our deepest principles and values as Americans. This day unites us a union of diverse peoples. This day calls us to wrestle with the deepest questions we have as human beings. 9-11 has been a national trauma and our uncertain and sometimes faltering recovery has also yielded a national renewal across many divides. In the helping professions, one deep aspect of this renewal has been a resurgence in attention to matters of the spirit in the therapeutic process. These few thoughts, born in the experience of working with several hundred First Responders, represent a distilling of one practitioner's experience. I offer them to you to strengthen myself, to encourage my colleagues, and to offer to those who fell and those who are still wounded by this day a testimony that their sacrifices will continue to yield lessons and blessings for years to come.

     1. I am forever changed by the stories I heard, the stories I hold, and the stories that burn in my brain. The secondary trauma of listening to survivors hurts, to be sure, but also holds the gift of being able to use that experience to CONNECT with them.
     2. The connection is the key. My respect for the survivor and the empathy I communicate gives him or her the confidence that I can help.
     3. The wound is painful beyond words. I choose when to speak and when to be silent very carefully.
     4. Every bit of my own life helps me connect with survivors. "It's all good."
     5. The courage to open up about the pain comes from the pain. Survivor's pain has to count for something or be meaningless. I look to my own experiences of recovery from deep wounds as a source of hope.
     6. My ability to stay with pain and not "flinch" mirrors a survivor's ability to "get the job done," and can be a connecting point [like "method" acting -- tap into my own times of courage and resilience to meet the client in his/her heart].
     7. The same God will not survive the trauma. But that can open one to Mystery, truth at a deeper and more real level than before.....
     8. Spirituality is a fluid, multi-colored canvas that can shift in an eye-blink for me and the survivor. Perhaps the most important key is attention to the moment (mindfulness) for both myself and the client. Stories, fictional and not (all the arts, really), are an important resource for mindfulness.
     9. The "performance" that is my work as a therapist needs a 100%commitment (especially on days when I feel 40%) -- sometimes I have to "fake it 'til I make it."
     10. My confidence that I can help communicates and strengthens the survivor at his/her weakest moments. (A 12-Step tip: if you need some faith, borrow some of mine.)
     11. I am a container, a human repository of some of the most precious and painful memories available. I have to hold those memories with respect and care. I also have to release them (I need self-care and the support of supervision).
     12. The ultimate gift of trauma may be the compassion it awakens in each of us for each other's pain. Remember the Amish saying: A grief held is doubled. A grief shared is cut in half."

Deer at Dawn

     This morning's walk almost didn't get more than a few steps out the door. I started out walking, tripped and twisted my ankle. Thoughts of turning back immediately flooded into my brain, but a calmer part of me said to keep walking gently and see -- sure enough, within a couple of minutes I was walking freely and able to take in the beautiful, cool spring morning.

    I spotted my 6:18 bellweather train just visible across a field recently turned over for spring planting. A few rabbits hopped down long driveways, while all kinds of birds announced various bits of news in their world, most of which probably had to do with mating, it being spring and all.

     I had just reached the turn around point in this walk when I came to an opening into those plowed fields. In the beautiful dawn sunlight, two deer dashed away from me, kicking up dust and ground moisture as they moved away. Each jumping step made a big puff of floating sparkle in that light. What a grace note!

     Back closer to home, I had to cross one busy road, crowded with the Trade Parade of workers' trucks and cars, hurrying to hundreds of home renovations and construction sites. Despite the ongoing building, there's still a fair amount of woods and ponds and meadows in this area of eastern Long Island, home to uncounted numbers of birds, insects, smaller and larger animals, including those deer.

     Less familiar to me and seeming more out of place in this past week has been a solitary wild turkey, hanging around the small downtown area of our hamlet, Water Mill. He's been poking about the village green and dodging traffic as he crossed an even busier highway than the road I negotiated this morning. So far, he's made it with only a few close calls. I spotted one of his brother birds up island who had an unfortunate encounter with a fast car and was sitting stunned by the side of the highway facing a most uncertain future.

     In my busy life, it's all too easy to go through life with blinders on, oblivious to the wonders of life in front of us every day. Bugs, mice, raccoons, deer, turkeys and even twisted ankles are small reminders to me to pay attention and pause to take it all in. I can be all rattled and separate, or occasionally, at least, quiet and connected in this life we share.

     Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, invited us to see and do all of life, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam, to the greater glory of God. That's a good invitation.  

Boston

     The events yesterday at the finish line of the Boston Marathon sickened me and brought me to tears. The story of the little guy, Martin Richard, who ran out to congratulate his Dad finishing the race, then ran back to where the explosion happened and was killed, took the heart out of me. When any kid dies, it's sad. When any kid dies as part of some lunatic act of terror, no matter what the cause, it's an abomination. God bless his family in their grief and anger and confusion at such a senseless act. Bless the families of the others killed and  bless the wounded and their families. Bless all the people of greater Boston and their marathon guests from around the world whose wonderful day was so marred by the act of terror.

     Many people have mentioned the First Responders as shining lights on a dark day. Once again, cops, firefighters and emergency medical personnel run toward the danger and the awful suffering, joined by numerous Boston Athletic Association race volunteers and brave spectators who joined in the rescue efforts. Class acts, all of them. That's where I look for the clear signs of a loving God who has to walk with us, his poor creatures, through the worst that this world can deal.
    
     More than once when I've tried to congratulate a First Responder, they somewhat indignantly informed me that it was "no big deal, that's our job!" Some job, guys and gals, some job. You teach us so much more than you realize. Thanks are due.