A 'death' I could never stop grieving

Tonight I came across an article that troubled me....although it wasn't the actual subject matter that bothered me; my concerns ran deeper. As I read about Barnes and Noble's recent decision to "put itself up for sale" this month, I nearly cringed when I saw this sentence: "My hunch is that B&N never really embraced the Internet or e-books, tied as it was to the old-fashioned world of physical books and stores."

I could care less what happens to a corporate bookstore, but what I do care about is the future of 'physical books.' My concern is that with such rapid advances and trends in technology, there may come a day when physical books become obsolete. And if that day comes, that may bring with it a grief I may not be able to bear.

This may sound bizarre to most people, but books are more than just mere physical objects to me. I have a relationship to books that few people could probably understand.

From a very young age, I spent a considerable amount of time occupying myself with books. While I couldn't always count on people, books were one of the few constants in my life. I knew I was loved....but my family members always had so much going on with their lives that oftentimes I felt invisible. Books were a friendly comfort and escape from the loneliness I felt so much of the time (Interestingly, both my grandfather and my mother loved books/reading.....so in a weird way, I also felt a little more connected to them with this shared passion.)

With books, I could dive into a whole other world of people, places, and possibilities. I could pretend I was the center of attention. I could be the heroine. I could empathize with the characters and their struggles. Sometimes it even seemed like a book was specifically written just for me, as if the writer could somehow get inside my head like no one in my 'real life' ever could.

If you were to ask me about a particular book I've read, most of the time I can recall a very vivid memory attached to the book....whether that be where I was while reading a particular book, a book reminding me of a particular person/relationship or time in my life, what year I read the book, what was going on in my life at the time while reading the specific book, and my interests/curiosity (in life, genres, topics/issues).

Throughout my life, books have been an extension of myself....my personality, my identity. They are a reflection of the very heart and soul of me. They have also been my closest and dearest companions. With books, I feel connected to myself and the world at large more than I ever have with just people or words on a computer screen.

Online books don't provide meaningfulness, symbolism, or unique memories. You can't smell the newness or oldness of an online book. You can't touch the pages and take a trip down memory lane in your mind. You can't place it on your real bookshelf. There's just something very sacred and intimate about 'old fashioned' books.

If there's ever a day in the future where 'real' actual books become obsolete, I don't know that I would be able to handle it....a 'death' I could never stop grieving.

Opening Up (book review)

Working in the counseling profession, I wanted to learn/educate myself on the topic of open relationships (something I knew hardly anything about), so I decided to read "Opening Up: Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships" by Tristan Taormino.

While it was challenging for me to wrap my head around some of the complex issues connected to the subject of open relationships, I found this book to be articulately well-written and informative. I learned quite a bit and it challenged me to examine negative assumptions (based on my ignorance) I previously held about this particular subject. I still don't understand it completely, but this book helped me to know what it entails and how to help others (such as my clients) explore if it is a lifestyle they wish to pursue for themselves.

Totally recommend this book to clinicians in the counseling field, as well as the everyday person who wants (or is curious about) open relationships. Having an open mind, however, is essential to reading this book. Prepare for your preconceived cultural perceptions of monogamy vs. nonmonogamy to be questioned, maybe even shattered...

Culture of a city

(Photo at left taken by me: Fremont Solstice Parade, June 2009)

I got to thinking about this last night while chatting online with a friend (after telling him about something I've noticed about the city in which I reside). It dawned on me that prevalent cultural interests or trends aren't just specific to countries or even just regions....they can extend to cities as well. I can only speak to the city I am getting to know quite well, but so far it has me wondering how the culture of a city can influence one's personality ( a city as being more liberal vs. conservative, friendly vs. standoffish, earth conscious vs. wasteful/toxic, intelligent vs. dumbed down...and the list goes on and on). How much more (or less) inhibited may we become in regard to self-expression depending on where we are living?

In the time I have lived in Seattle thus far, I have seen, heard, and done things I had not done before while living in Chicago...mainly because Seattle has presented cultural opportunities not offered in Chicago. Before I moved, I perceived Seattle to be a city very much like Chicago...at least in regard to the liberal arts, intelligence, education,etc. But after having lived here two years, I am noticing how very very liberal it is here....so much so that it almost makes Chicago look like a prude city.

Since living here, I have gone to a solstice parade (which includes a feature of naked cyclists). I have observed marijuana to be a staple 'crop,' including in brownies. There's the annual celebration of HempFest. I have been to an erotic arts festival. I have gone dancing at an all lesbian bar/club. I am also starting to learn about a widespread popularity in the alternative lifestyle of "polyamory" (which I really need to learn more about for my work with clients who are into this just to understand its concepts and practices). I recycle because it's expected here. I'm surrounded by people who love, respect and spend oodles of time in nature (national parks, beaches, mountains). I've also noticed a majority of the population here has a better vocabulary than anywhere else I've lived. Even a 12 year old the other day used the word "offensive" while conversing with me (I almost fell out of my chair in proud astonishment)! These are all things I never even remotely came across while living in another major city.

Last weekend when I was dancing with my friend, I told her that I had a feeling Seattle would bring out my confidence/take away my inhibitions. She didn't seem to think it had anything to do with Seattle.....but I do. When you're surrounded by very very liberal people (for someone who is already of a liberal mindset, like myself), what's the likelihood that you're going to become very very conservative? Not likely. You either find yourself drawn to the norm, or you stay away from it.

Who I am won't change completely, but the aspects of myself that are yearning to be expressed? The culture of this city may just make it all the more likely.

*ADVENTURE*

(Photo at left taken by me: Alki Beach in Seattle, June 2010)

Do you ever wish you could go back to a time in your life when things felt more exciting, full of adventure, spontaneity, and just a hint of crazy goodness? Does a certain place bring this out in us or is it a sign of youth vs. getting older?

What if we are capable of being adventurous, and just choose to or not to be?

I have been pondering this quite a bit lately. Most recently, I was thinking that my life has been feeling pretty boring since I moved to Seattle and chalked it up to mainly not having formed solid friendships in the area thus far....as well as being at a different place in my life than most of my friends (ie, most are married and having/had kids). But now I'm starting to feel it goes beyond that.

I realized last night (while I was having an experience new to me) that perhaps it has more to do with being presented with and/or seizing opportunities that have the capacity to allow one's adventurous side to reveal itself. Maybe it's also about finding other people who we can push our comfort zones with to try new things with an adventurous spirit.

I could be wrong, but it has been my observation that this is a rare quality I have come across (or rather, not come across) in people I know, have relationships with,etc. Or if I do know people who have this capability, they're not being transparent about it. I told my friend June last night she's the only adventurous person I have met (so far) since I moved to Seattle. While I can certainly cultivate my own adventurous side by myself, there's something to be said about the dynamic being stronger when you're with another person/group to really draw this out...or so I feel.

Why aren't more people pursuing the intriguing thrill of the unknown, that juicy part of life that connects us to something deeper and can reveal to ourselves the magnitude of our confidence, our sensual/erotic side, our inner growth? Are people that afraid to learn about the mysteries of life, the "taboos," themselves? If this is the case, how incredibly sad. I am grateful I am not this way, if this really is the case.

When I was younger, I used to yearn for a sense of belonging. I never fit in with popular social circles in school...or even in my own family (I felt like the displaced/invisible family member starting at a very young age). There were a myriad of aspects in which I always felt different.

I was never thin or athletic. I was never a fashionista or a girly girl (though can't say I ever wanted to be anyway, hahaha). I was the new girl at school more often than I'd have liked, moving frequently during my formative years. I was a bookworm. I listened and observed. I loved learning. I was open-minded. I yearned to really know people beyond the surface level. I couldn't understand why people engaged in small talk (boring!!!!) rather than more worthwhile topics of conversation. I more often than not felt frustrated, depressed, and angry that I couldn't find people that shared some of these qualities that made me so unique/"cursed."

It is only with the eyes of a 32 year old that I can smile with gratitude for these early experiences. For what was once a curse is now an absolute blessing. I don't want to belong anymore. Paradoxically, I find myself yearning for and seeking out experiences that will bring out that very feeling in me...but in a liberating and confident way.

The way I see it, how much can we learn about the world and ourselves if we surround ourselves with the status quo, with dogma? How can we know our inner world if our outer environment is routine and stagnant?

If we are curious about something we know nothing about and have some anxiety about doing/learning about it simply because it is completely foreign to us (or maybe there is a fear of what other people will think of us), this is likely a sign to explore the unknown. Learn about yourself. You may be pleasantly surprised and refreshed with what you discover. I think society and the media drill such fear into us, playing out stereotypes and negativity. Why does something thrilling, exciting, bold, juicy, and adventurous have to be perceived as "bad", "dark," "crazy," "dangerous," or just generally "threatening?" God forbid, we should encourage people to think for themselves and really know those secret/deeper aspects of themselves....

Without such new and unknown experiences, I wouldn't know how confident and comfortable I have become in my skin. I wouldn't know just how little I genuinely care what other people think of me when it comes to me not compromising who I am at the expense of having relationships with others. I wouldn't know what freedom and independence feels like. I wouldn't know how to transcend my fears, my preconceived judgments, my ignorance. I wouldn't truly know how capable I am of 'holding my own' in divergent situations and relationships. I wouldn't discover fun and intriguing things I now want to try that I didn't even realize I wanted to try in the past!

Without them, I wouldn't feel truly alive.

The In Between Crisis

There's the teen angst phase, the quarter-life crisis, and the midlife crisis. But what about the crisis that comes between one's 20's and 40's....thirty-somethings who experience something of a cross between the two (ie, the 20something's feeling of not knowing what's in store for the future, yet the 40something's feeling that your life is starting to feel like a succession of boring moments and monotony)?

Is there a name for the thirty-something who experiences THIS kind of life stage crisis? Granted, we can't expect our lives to always be exploding with excitement....but when you can't remember the last time you felt even a modicum of adventure and crazy spontaneity, what does that reflect about your inner and outer life?

I remember reading something in grad school about how there are two Chinese characters for the word 'crisis,' one representing 'danger' and the other 'opportunity.' If we have a choice in how to respond when a 'crisis' presents itself in our lives, how do we embrace 'opportunity' in lieu of the unwanted alternative?

Post-partum friendships: the great divide

Every time a close female friend of mine is pregnant/has a baby, I get to thinking about what I have come to experience in an almost textbook way....what I shall call 'the great divide.'

Let's rewind to the days when my close female friends were single, even just newly married. There was once long conversations ranging from witty to serious, covering anything from worldly topics to mundane, silly, or idiotic stuff we've done. We would hang out, laugh, drink, and just generally...bond.

When my friends started getting married, it was weird enough to think of them as 'married.' It seemed like there was this invisible wall that separated single me from the coupled 'them.' It took some adjustment, but eventually I felt less of a sense of segregation the more friends I saw getting married. Perhaps it also made a difference that marriage didn't seem to change their personality much.

Pregnancy and motherhood, however, is a whole different ballpark. I feel awful for saying this, but I secretly have this weird sense of both happiness and sadness when I find out a friend is pregnant. I'm happy for my friend, without a doubt. From all that I've ever heard and observed, motherhood is this powerful and amazing experience. I even want to know the experiences my friend is having in her pregnancy, what it's like and welcome being an 'auntie' of sorts to this future child with excitement.

At the same time, my friendships are never the same after a child is in the picture. In a way, it's like my friend has "died." No longer is there hanging out, nor long conversations (if any at all) or shared experiences. I used to think maybe there was a part of me that was jealous, but I realized I wasn't....well, at least not jealous of having a baby. The thought of giving birth to a child still frightens the bejesus out of me.

What I'm jealous of is the feeling that I'm missing out on a shared collective experience amongst my female friends who are mothers. They start gravitating (and naturally/understandably so) towards their female friends who DO have kids/are mothers. They swap pregnancy and motherhood stories, a unique bonding all its own. Since I don't meet that criteria, I am not given a second glance. In a way, it feels like an elite members only country club. Sometimes I wonder if it would feel differently if I were also married and expecting....

The more life stages/roles that aren't parallel to a friend's, it's my experience that the more distant our friendship becomes. It's sad to think that the power of bonding in my female friendships is strongly dependent upon shared life experiences. Given that I'm single and childless, I'm shit out of luck because I have no way to 'catch up' and salvage the kind of bond I had once before with these women.

I will always love my friends (child or no child), but I can't deny 'the great divide' exists even if it's the elephant in the room that no one wants to admit is certainly the reality in post-partum friendships. What's worse is that I can never tell my friends this because I don't think they would understand....just as I don't understand how this little human being has changed their world so drastically as to make my interactions with them feel less meaningful than they were pre-partum. They also might think I'm being selfish. And maybe I am, but why shouldn't I be when (at this stage of my life) my friends are all I've got?

I wonder if single men feel the same way in their friendships with men who are fathers. Maybe. But probably not (just my hunch). Sometimes I wish I were a man. I'm sure no guy is brooding about this topic on a blog after 10:00 on a Saturday night....

A man's fateful poison

(A poem I wrote, June 10, 2005)

He drowns in a pitch black park of familiar faces just to escape his own

Cannot feel except the damp tears drying on his sunken cheeks

He tightens his grip on the liquid eraser that promises at least six hours of blurry vision, but not enough hours in the night to help him forget the finality of someone who was gone long before his death.

"He didn't hit me or anything. He just didn't care."

Then you wished he hit you instead, as if violence were a warped way of showing he cared and loved you.

He thinks death follows him. Who could be next?

The grim reaper creeps behind him, hiding his face behind a morbid glare.

Reluctant and heavy with sorrow, he keeps from his world those who could be close.

If not for the fear of the black hooded creature taking away the only ones that matter

He might be able to take off his own armor....

"I Remember..."

(An excerpt from one of my journals, June 2005....this was an exercise suggested in a creative writing book to help jog memories of your life)

I remember our annoying loud bird Fred (Dad was surprised I remember him and says I have a "good memory") and I remember biting into a small donut that turned out to be a rumball when I was 11 or 12---I spit it out! I remember talking on the phone with my grandmother and having to pee so bad by the time I was able to get off the phone with her because she liked to talk for so long!

I remember my first unofficial job at 15 at the Dairy Queen in North Carolina and turning the banana filled blizzard upside down and it spilling all over the counter because no one told me you can't turn the ones with bananas in them upside down (no thick consistency to hold it together). I remember feeling grateful that Mom took us away from Derry, New Hampshire (aka Hicktown, USA) to live in other places to give Alex and I perspective in life.

I remember helping Nicole push her car down the hill around the corner to the gas station when the car completely ran out of gas. I remember Nicole and I driving over to a cemetary in San Marcos after we watched the creepy "What Lies Beneath" at the movie theater. I remember Skip brushing his teeth every day after lunch when I worked at the computer lab in the Health building at SWT.

I remember giving a poem to Anita that I had written to put on her boyfriend Dave's car that he ended up liking very much. I remember getting pizza sauce on my dress when Dad took me to Papa Gino's when I was probably 5 or 6 in Derry and we didn't want Mom to find out because she'd be mad. I don't know if she did....

I remember Todd loving the poem I wrote about his daughter Brittney. I remember how boring of a date my "fantasy" high school crush was, how reality shattered the more intriguing illusion.

I remember speaking in front of everyone at my grandfather's funeral, but I can't remember what I said. I remember my former stepfather and I sitting at a table at Lake Travis in Austin discussing my fear that he would never talk to me again once he started his new life in England with Debbie (the woman he fucked on a kitchen table apparently) and how he said "that won't happen"....and it did.

I remember how excited and scared I felt when I was about to "drop" from the high in the air freefall ride at Great America last summer with the Rice crew. I remember Keith from Rice asking me if I thought he was "smart and handsome" and wanting to laugh at how he asked me such a question.

I remember reading the first book that changed my life when I was in my apartment on campus at SWT living with my first roomate Kim: "Man's Search for Meaning." I remember one of the few good dates I had was with Chris (church boy) that I worked with at Kroger---lunch at La Madeleine in Kingwood and good conversation. I also remember Christian (also from Kroger) talking about his toe fungus. Why? I guess he thought it would be a turn-on? Sadly mistaken.

Why?

Why is it that when you stop caring what people think, they suddenly respect you or are somewhat drawn to you more than before? Does confidence hold that much power?

Why is it that you can be consistently kind and generous in character towards others, yet be ignored and unappreciated....until one day suddenly these individuals reciprocate with kindness, generosity, and appreciation? You have been the same all along, but perhaps they have changed?

Why do we choose to share what we share with others (about ourselves)? Is there a fine line between telling people too much and not enough? How much of our lives do we compartmentalize to make ourselves look good according to the relationship we have with a particular person (ie, friend, family member, colleague, lover, spouse)? What if how well someone knows us is dictated more by how much interest others show in wanting to really know us on an intimate vs. superficial level?

Why is it that most of the people who say they "love" us barely know the things about us that really matter?

Why do we play into dysfunctional patterns with family members if we know it's dysfunctional? Is it because we would rather deal with the dysfunction than risk the possibility of conflict and not being liked? Or is it because we would rather hold onto idealistic hopes than to see the harsh, honest reality?

Why do we continue to have expectations of others for which not much can be expected?

Why is it that those who admire us most are the ones we usually admire the least?

Why can't people talk significantly less and listen significantly more?

What really dictates our attractions?

Not sure why this occurred to me, but while I was out for a run in my neighborhood earlier I realized my friend Scott is currently one of the few close male (heterosexual) friends that I have not had any kind of sexual dynamic with throughout the course of our 4-5 years of friendship (at the same time, I'm also not a promiscuous woman by any means)....which then had me pondering if this is normal for friendships in the 21st century (ie, sex becoming a dynamic at some point in a friendship between two heterosexual or even two gay friends) OR if this is more the exception.

And I'm not talking about friends with benefits where there's a mutual agreement to engage in casual sex just for the aspect of physical pleasure. That's a whole other topic of discussion. What I'm talking about is specifically in regard to the context of the relationship you have with a friend.

What's funny for me is that male friends I have formed a sexual relationship with (and/or that have turned into a romantic relationship if even for a brief time) have more often than not been guys I didn't initially even desire or think about sexually. But the more I got to know these guys, something would shift or spark an attraction for me.

I remember about a month ago my coworker Sarah was telling my colleagues and I something she read or heard about (I can't remember her source, or if she even knew where she heard this)...a psychological/sociological theory or study that shows we have a tendency to become attracted to individuals simply by seeing or being around them all the time.

So how much of our attraction to a person is based on closeness (ie, being in the same physical environment...or "mental" environment like social networking, chat rooms,etc on a regular basis) vs. physical appearance? Or familiarity (ie, how intimately we know facets of their inner self) vs. someone you don't have much overall contact (physically, mentally, or emotionally)?

And if this is the case, perhaps we are less inclined to be superficial than we may believe we are when it comes to connecting with each other on a very human level...

Memories and the senses

Visual. Auditory. Taste. Touch. Smell. (And the ever elusive/not so concrete "6th" sense, but that's a whole other topic I won't go into here!). I have been pondering the subject of how our memories (and overall daily life experience in general) is significantly impacted by the presence or lack of one or more senses.

Between personal experiences I find myself reflecting on (ie, my memories) and fascinating sensory related conversations with clients over the past two weeks, I find myself ever more aware of just how much we truly depend on our senses....not just to be able to go about our daily tasks, but how our senses can heighten or perhaps diminish a particular experience we have. Senses also influence the way in which we form a memory.

I always used to hate those conversation starters/'what if' questions that would ask "If you had to choose one sense that you could no longer have, what would it be?" because it seemed so hard and impossible to choose. If you say hearing, you never get to hear the sound of laughter or music again. If you choose not to smell things, I would imagine a sense of taste wouldn't be there either...not to mention missing out on the smell of the ocean, flowers, the scent of a lover, a wonderful meal, and so many other things that resonate with comfort, "home," love, happiness,etc. And then there's touch. Who can survive in this life without absolutely no touch of any sort? Psychological studies have shown that babies who have not been touched and nurtured reap negative consequences, emotional deficits,etc.

That leaves us with visual, which also comprises a huge aspect of our identity and emotional experience. Being the very visual creative person (with photography) and analytical (reading and writing) person that I am, I can't even fathom living without my eyesight. So if I ultimately had to choose, I guess I would want my visual sense to be the last to go...but how much of our experiences take up just ONE aspect of all five senses? Very few.

On the contrary, the senses are like slices of pie. When pieces are missing, the pie isn't whole. The absence of one sense may influence other existing senses to be stronger....like hearing things more easily or in a different way if you are blind. I wonder how this extends to something intangible and less concrete though, like memories.

Are we able to still "experience" our memory with our senses that do "work" if we no longer have that sense (in which the memory was originally formed) anymore? Does the memory disappear or just our conscious perception of it? For example,I'm sure you've had that experience of hearing a certain song come on and instantly you're reminded of a certain place or person (visual and auditory memory). Or maybe you travel back to your hometown after being away for several years and seeing certain buildings brings you back to a certain experience you had, the memory of any number of people in the past,etc. If that sense is gone, what happens with that memory (the meaning of the memory, as well as the thoughts and feelings it evokes)? I also wonder if it's harder or easier if you've never had the sense in your lifetime (versus if you've had to adapt after losing it at some point in life).

Back in the fall, I attended an excellent seminar about PTSD and how to help trauma survivors heal from their painful memories. What really struck me as most fascinating out of the whole entire training was learning about how differently memories are stored depending on our developmental stage. Those first few formative years from birth to the toddler years, visual and touch are the most critical in determining how we experience and remember something. Part of the challenge in helping trauma survivors heal is helping them shift a painful memory of something they experienced in a very specific sensory way into a non-threatening way (with or without other senses to create a new meaning?).

See how convoluted this intangible challenge of memory and the senses can be? Regardless, I find this subject incredibly intriguing. I wish I had "answers," but all I can do is ponder and ramble about it. I like that there's no answers though because if I knew, I probably wouldn't be compelled to think about the air of mystery of it all...

The power in choice

Living in a society that feeds on fear and other negative emotions, it can sometimes be easy to slip into a mindset of feeling powerless and hopeless that there is something we can do to change any given situation. What we need to hear more of and bring to our conscious awareness is that while we may not be able to control the conditions of what is going on in our external environment (including how others interact and respond to us)....what we can control is how we (individually) choose to respond when something happens. It is only by having an awareness of our emotional triggers that can allow us to explore these patterns, challenge how they are unhelpful to us, and eventually grow/go forward with a more grounded response. It is possible to have compassion for others (and for ourselves) without judging or allowing ourselves to become easily shifted. You can care about someone, yet also be detached enough to let go and allow them their own experience. Granted, it may not always feel easy to do....but it is entirely possible. I speak from my own experience, as well as being a close witness to this with various people I see every day.

Why do we give others so much power over our own thoughts and feelings? No one has more power over you than you. Ever hear the saying about being your own worst enemy? Perhaps we say so and so "makes me feel like" this, that, or the other because it takes away responsibility from one's own choices. But how can you expect to make changes within yourself if you keep expecting everyone else to change only/first, especially when logically speaking we all know that it's impossible to force someone to change?

Paradoxical as it may sound, taking 100% ownership of your choices increases your confidence, sense of freedom, and the possibility of a healthy, joyful life. This means creating a balance between what you choose to think and what you choose to feel. Ultimately, you can create your own heaven or your own hell right here on Earth (I'm speaking metaphorically and psychologically; this isn't about religion). You can choose to love, forgive, encourage, laugh, and embrace life. You can also choose to be angry, indignant, intolerant, critical, and fearful of things you have absolutely no control over.

So what's it gonna be? Heaven or hell?

Unless you're a therapist....

Unless you're a therapist, you probably haven't had to think about whether your words or body language convey compassion or a false sense of validation when you don't agree with the individual's faulty perceptions of self, other people, and overall worldview. This is especially difficult when a client talks in a judgmental or derogatory manner about someone's sexual orientation, race, creed, culture,etc. Sometimes all I can do is nod my head to acknowledge that I'm listening, yet I wonder if my nodding gives off the impression I agree. It's one thing to challenge someone's unhealthy perceptions, yet I also cannot impose my values and belief system because I would then be judging that person's process of change. You remind yourself that it's their "stuff" that landed them in your office to begin with, thus it's not about you and convincing them to believe something else....but it still doesn't make it an easy task.

Unless you're a therapist, you may never truly know what it's like to get "too much information." Sure, therapists are generally open and receptive to talking about pretty much anything. But must we really be forced to hear someone say that they can't come in for therapy today because they have a yeast infection or my personal favorite, a "runny bowel?" Yet it's the nature of the beast, something they failed to leave off of the therapist job title when you're getting your clinical training in graduate school.

Unless you're a therapist, you might not understand what it's like to be working with an individual consistently for months or years having the same conversations about the same problem over and over again...until one day *poof*....they suddenly (!) make a connection, have an insight and change sinks in. It's a cool thing to witness, yet may sound bizarre in the context of everyday life and interpersonal relationships.

Unless you're a therapist, you might not be as conscious of the sacred nature of absolute trust someone has in you with their deepest and most intimate vulnerabilities. You might not even know what it's like to see a progression in someone's level of trust in you and how meaningful it feels when someone lets you into their private world even more over time or circumstance.

Unless you're a therapist, you may not understand that given all these challenges and idiosyncrasies of the job, we keep wanting to help and find the intangible rewards rich beyond measure.

"I couldn't do what you do," say most people with a sense of awe when they hear you're a therapist.

Perhaps they are right; they couldn't....which only makes me smile, because I can.

The Unknown

Why does the 'unknown' possibilities of future life experience tend to primarily hold a weight of such fear and anxiety for people? Why does one tend to jump to the conclusion that something will be horrible, a failure, humiliating, or that one somehow won't 'rise to the challenge?' Such a mentality leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy. If one never ventures outside of the known, how will one ever truly and intimately know oneself...or the world?

Knowledge can be attained through external and contrived means, while wisdom occurs through integrating both personal experience and intellect on a deeper level. Knowledge may be easier to acquire because it requires less choice; it's more of a one-sided event. It's like doing a research paper. You look up information from various scholarly articles, books, and professional forums. You take notes of what other people say about the subject and put it all together to hopefully form a cogent paper. After the paper has been completed, however, how much of it becomes "part" of you? For me, this is the difference between knowledge and wisdom. A paper full of knowledge is not something I will remember or deeply resonate with in the long-term. Wisdom is different; it has no shelf-life in the recesses of my mind. All else may be taken away from me, but I will always have the wisdom that has meaningfully accrued over the span of my life experiences. As I reflect on those experiences that have provided me the richest wisdom, I can attest it has usually been the result of those 'unknown' moments I chose to embrace rather than hide, flee, or freeze.

Embracing juicy risks in lieu of the comfort of familiarity or status quo....this is what I seek and live for. Don't get me wrong. I would be lying if I said I have no anxiety or that my worst enemy can be my own imagination....I just choose to do something in spite of that part of my mind that freaks out. I recall the many times I have been able to 'hold my own' and know that whatever happens, will either be great or perhaps just an opportunity to learn something intimate about myself that wasn't brought to awareness before. I know you're waiting for an example (or maybe not, but I'm going to give you one anyway) to apply what I describe, so here's an experience I had that led up to writing about my reflections today.....

I had been talking with a friend of mine here in Seattle about my curiosity to go to the annual Seattle Erotic Art Festival (SEAF) a few months ago. As she has lived in Seattle for about 7-8 years now and boldly embraces the erotic arts (ie, she occasionally teaches strip/pole dance classes), she has been attending SEAF regularly since she moved to Seattle. I knew if there was anyone I would want to have this 'unknown' experience with, I would want it to be her. The funny, ironic thing is I haven't even known her that long.....but there's something about her I truly admire and find incredibly refreshing. She is confident and comfortable in her own skin. Her confidence oozes and radiates toward others around her. Some people find this intimidating; I find it welcoming! So when I asked her if I could join her and her fiancee at SEAF, I was happy she said yes.

It wasn't until the morning of the event that I started to get a bit nervous. We were talking on the phone, making plans for what time to meet at the Seattle Center Exhibition Hall.

She told me it was a black tie event and everyone was going to be dressed up, adding that people could be wearing anything from formal wear to fetish attire.

"Last year there was someone wearing a pony costume," she joked. We excitedly agreed on how much people watching there was to be had. My only concern was what to wear, given the nature of the event.

Funny enough, in the everyday world one may tend to be concerned with wearing something that will look too racy or provoke too much attention. In this instance, I was concerned of the opposite. I wondered if I needed to wear an outfit that would fit the aforementioned qualities. My conundrum was not wanting to wear clothing that would make me stand out in a boring way. I searched the depths of my drawers for something remotely sexy that I could safely wear outside of my bedroom, crossing my fingers I still had that pair of red fishnet stockings I bought back for my Halloween costume in 2004. Sigh. No such luck. I then got pissed at myself, thinking Why the hell did I ever get rid of those?!?!

Moving on, I was thankful I at least had my hot pink tights to slightly spice up my classy, albeit conservative black blouse and black skirt combo. I resigned myself to the fact I might be the most conservative looking person there. Oh well. Screw it. Isn't the purpose of something like this to emphasize how erotic pretty much anything can be? I rationalized to myself in that moment that it didn't matter what I was wearing, but how I felt about myself. I was feeling beautiful and confident with my body. I was feeling adventurous, my heart beating fast at this bold new experience I was about to embrace. I was also open to seeing anything and everything that might be at this event; it was an adrenaline rush. Off I went.

Greeting my friend and the love of her life, I was immediately taken in by the art gallery feel of the place. I'm not sure what I was expecting, maybe something more explicit and in your face. I was wrong. It was a colorful, classy assortment of erotic art strewn along the walls with unique performance art in between its open spaces. The atmosphere was warm and relaxing to the senses. My friend commented with joyful surprise that she couldn't believe I showed up, as she had invited other people and I was the only one "who had the nerve."

"Really?" I said, taken aback with surprise. Throughout the course of the evening, she proudly introduced me to her friends and acquaintances as the "SEAF virgin." I smiled and chuckled in amusement.

Ever the curious voyeur of human nature, I soaked in the night like a sponge. There was the huge pink couch/chair in the shape of a boob. The professional rope/bondage man demonstrating in his performance art how a couple can intertwine rope between each other in bed (on an actual bed). A fanciful burlesque show with visually stimulating (and at times, period piece specific) costumes. White porcelain Kleenex holders in the shape of a butt with Kleenex coming out of them; that cracked me up. People watching galore. A woman whose fetish was to have onions grated on her nether regions, which some people openly obliged for her (this I couldn't wrap my head around....especially onions, yikes! But, whatever floats your erotic boat!). A room where you could have tasteful photos taken (erotic, not porn), though the photographers seemed less than amateurish. I think I could have done a better job at those photo shoots. When my friend and her fiancee had their picture taken, she told me they were just pointing and shooting with no quality creative goal in mind. Shame on those "photographers," especially for overcharging what mostly turned out to be shoddy photos.

On the other hand, what most impressed me was the erotic photography I saw as I walked by the numerous walls. I only wished the framed photos on the walls were cheaper. I was drawn to a photo of a woman's black shoes laying on the end of a bed. There was something about the way it was shot and the contrast of black and white (though it was a color photo) that caught my eye. Too bad it cost about $300. Though I couldn't afford to purchase it, I wandered into the festival's store and did find another photo I had liked from the photo gallery...this one more within my price range: a woman with red hair across her face (in mid motion as she had turned her head to the left) wearing what I can best describe as a black skin tight outfit covering her torso. There are small holes all over the black shirt, very subtly exposing the woman's breasts and nipples. It looks like something you would see in a fashion magazine. Hot, yet classy. I bought my very first erotic (and professional) photograph that night!

As the evening progressed, I talked with my friend and pointed out specific pieces of art that really resonated with me. I couldn't help but happily smile as she remarked with an impressed tone of voice how much she's learning about/seeing a different side of me.

When we tend to judge a book by its cover, we lose the possibility of being able to see others (and ourselves) in the various (and sometimes intimate) contexts of experience. I'm glad I haven't lost this ability to surprise myself, and other people. Now that's wisdom and excitement I can hold onto for years to come. No pun intended.

The value of a dollar

When I was a kid, I remember hearing adults talk about those who "don't know the value of a dollar." Fortunately, they weren't referring to me. The first born daughter of New England parents who had a strong "Protestant work ethic," I learned early on that things aren't just handed to me on a silver platter for the taking. Sometimes I remember wishing for that silver platter, that my life would have been so much easier...especially in my teens.

When I was 15, my first unofficial job (I got paid under the table) was making Blizzards, taking orders, and cleaning the dining area of the Dairy Queen with my (now ex) stepmother's family in Cherokee, North Carolina over the summer. Shortly after my 16th birthday, my mom practically pushed me out the door to get a part-time job. While my friends were having fun at a party on a Friday night, I was making Subway sandwiches and mopping the sticky floors to oldies tunes blasting from the speakers. A succession of customer service jobs ensued over the years, sometimes paying me so little that I had to work two jobs so I could pay my bills. I also had to get loans while in college and grad school, all the while wishing my parents could have helped me if only they were more financially secure themselves.

Having many bills and loans to pay back certainly isn't fun, but I have to say all these experiences have certainly taught me the value of a dollar. For one thing, no matter how stressed, embarrassed, or sad I feel about my financial situation not being what would make my life most comfortable (yet)....I am always taken care of in the overall scheme of things. If I really want something (within reason), I find a creative (or in some cases, practical) approach to help me get there. I see some people piss away money like it grows on trees (the same people who pay for expensive things they never use?), as if it's paper...which, it is...but lately I find that the more money I put into something, the more value I place on it. The quality of the product or experience changes in my mind's eye. It motivates me and pushes me beyond my comfort zone. And that, to me, is priceless.

Rehab, in the non-traditional sense

I grew up surrounded by emotional eaters. When there was chaos (divorce, remarriage, multiple moves, deaths, conflict, or just flat out stress or unhappiness/sadness), we stuffed our feelings deep down in our psyches by stuffing our faces with food...for comfort, for solace, for pain relief. I never saw my parents drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, or take any drug more potent than a Tylenol. But food, that was the deadly enemy...lurking in the far reaches of the kitchen cabinets, the nooks and crannies of the refrigerator. My mom always bought the most delicious, though not always the most nutritious, food over the years. It always tempted me. I loved food in the moment I was eating it, and I hated how it made me feel about myself afterwards. Especially carbs, my ultimate drug of choice. I have overdosed on bread, pasta, and potato chips more times than I can remember in my lifetime.

Sometimes I think I can relate to my clients (who struggle with addiction and recovery) more than they could ever know, even if it's in a different way. Learning a whole new way of being and living your life is challenging, especially when you've never done it in the most healthy way before. Changing the relationship you have to yourself....your thoughts, feelings, behaviors, and shifting the way you view yourself (from insecure to confident and capable) takes dedication and tedious effort.

The whole term "rehabilitation" seems like a misnomer to me. How does one 'rehabilitate' when 'habilitation' was never present in your life? It's like saying reteach someone to go to school and learn when they have never gone to school in their lifetime. But I'll go with the cultural norm of this term as I ponder my experience.....

Today I was running on the treadmill, simultaneously proud of myself and pissed off that I had to push myself further by bumping up to a 3.0 incline so that my workout wouldn't be too easy. If I want to see changes, I have to set the stage for it. This is what I told myself, despite my misgivings. I continually looked at the time ticking away on the digital timer in front of me, trying not to think about how hard it was as I focused on my endurance. As I neared the remaining 3 minute cooldown, I had this epiphany: The gym is my rehab. In a sense, I am in recovery. I am still guilty of relapse (ie, I ate half a bag of potato chips one night last week when I was feeling incredibly stressed from overwhelming stuff I've been dealing with at work lately), but I am working on changing my overall lifestyle and more importantly, my self-worth. This takes time. I can't expect it to happen in 3 short months, just as people can't expect to never use alcohol or drugs ever ever again or snap their fingers and their lives are easier simply because they spent three months in a stringent, hard core inpatient rehab facility. That's silliness. You can change your environment, but you must ultimately change yourself. You are with you wherever you go, whether it's the gym, the kitchen, your home, or Timbuktu. I realized I have to give myself credit for the strides I have made thus far, instead of finding fault in what I haven't "attained" yet....a difficult thing to do for someone who is a super overachiever AND whose forte is NOT physical fitness, sports,etc.

Right now, I am in "rehab", an intensive outpatient 3-5 days a week structured environment that forces me to work on myself in a challenging and vulnerable way: the gym. It requires self-motivation, time, energy, and commitment. This is the hardest thing I have done in a long time, honestly harder than graduate school and almost as hard as counseling hardcore drug addicts at the crack of dawn for 6 days a week, two and a half years straight.

I have always been excellent at mental, intellectual pursuits....and for the most part, have tended to avoid physical ones. When I was a kid, I was the nice and smart fat girl. As a young adult, I was the down-to-earth, intelligent, witty, overweight, and intriguing risk taker with a great smile. Now in my thirties, I would like to see this negative physical image of myself disappear from the description of my self-identity...the aspect that says I'm not good enough because of my cellulite.

The most hurtful thing that has ever been said to me to date (by the first guy/boyfriend I ever slept with) was "You don't have the ideal body for sexual escapades." Try as I might, I cannot forget this years later. I have forgiven, but not forgotten. I remember it as vividly as if it just happened yesterday. I had read the email while on a break at work. My eyes filled with tears; I had to run to the back of the building to cry so no one would see that I was upset, broken even. It's bad enough when there's something you don't like about yourself, something you know is a weakness. You don't need someone else to rub salt in the wound. In retrospect, I realized Andrew was an asshole (who was more insecure with himself than anyone else)....but that part of me that never feels completely hot, or completely beautiful and desirable to men, the one that doesn't have that 'ideal' body....it's still there, waiting to be conquered. I'm working through it.

The gym is my new ally, my new comfort, my new solace. It welcomes me. It cheers me on. It motivates me. It brings out my beauty, as well as my strength (both mental, and physical). Even when it sometimes feels like an enemy, deep down I know it's a metaphorical friend who only wants what is best for me. It reminds me and rewards me in the little things when I least expect it....my new trainer touching my right shoulder that now feels strong and sculpted with muscle that wasn't there before. Brushing my hand over the top of my left thigh while driving in the car and smiling because I realize it feels firm. Walking confidently in my hot pink tights and black skirt, feeling sexy with my increasingly muscular legs. The muscular curve in my back. Feeling the definition of muscle that is slowly forming in my core. This keeps me going, keeps me moving towards ever more confidence and recognizing the beauty I am capable of possessing...and the beauty I have always possessed, no matter how many Andrews of the world I have or may encounter.

Would you rather?

Would you rather live in a beautiful place with cold, detached people or a cold place with beautiful, warm souls?

Would you rather be surrounded by those with bookish intelligence and no common sense, or those with rich life experiences and great people skills?

Would you rather talk to someone who is open or puts up walls?

Would you rather see honesty or saccharin sweet bullshit?

Would you rather rely on yourself or lean on the unreliable?

Would you rather feel like a sardine crammed into a can or dance to a different drum?

Would you rather see lots of weird and crazy shit while people watching, or yawn at their predictability?

Would you rather be a gem or the status quo?

Would you rather have it all figured out or would you rather wait to see if life pleasantly fucking surprises you?

Would you rather an exhilarating adrenalin rush or the security of monotony?

Would you rather listen less and speak more boldly, or listen wisely and open your mouth less?

Would you rather have a perfect body or a perfect mind?

Would you rather gasp for air or swallow absolute freedom?

Would you rather live to feel love, or love the feeling of living?

Would you rather fight back the tears of sadness or shed tears of joy?

Would you rather laugh till you're clutching your abs or fake it till you make it with a forced smile?

Would you rather judge by quality or quantity?

Would you rather experience compassion or apathy?

Would you rather throw in the cards or demonstrate fortitude?

Would you rather create profound, positive change in humanity that no one else notices or contribute something mediocre that gives you accolades and fame?

Would you rather be admired for who you are right now, or would you rather be placed on a pedestal for what you simply appear to be?

Would you rather be rich in relationships or would you rather be rolling in money?

Would you rather be a treasured memory or a forgotten existence?

Would you rather be comforted or the comforter?

Would you rather understand or would you rather seek to be understood?

Would you rather confront or avoid?

Would you rather be an open book or just a short nondescript chapter?

Would you rather push the envelope or would you rather blend in with the crowd?

Would you rather inspire people to think in a more helpful way or would you rather mentally shut them down with bullying tirades?

Would you rather feel lonely in a crowd or would you rather be alone at home?

Would you rather people talk to you only when things are going well or only when things are awful?

Would you rather be right or would you rather be kind?

Would you rather change yourself for the better or repeat the same redundant shit with no awareness and sense of personal responsibility?

Would you rather live in a world of choice or a world of self-induced oppression?

Would you rather someone who agrees with you or someone who argues and disagrees with you?

Would you rather me keep going or would you rather I stop with the Would You Rathers?

Various ponderings....

Over the course of the past week or two, there have been a few ideas marinating in my mind of things I wanted to write about soon. I felt like I had so much to say about these particular topics, and now it seems the juicy thoughts have disintegrated. If only I had more mental energy to blog after a hard day's work, days when these thoughts have flooded my brain. :( I even jotted them down on scratch paper. Now I can hardly remember what I wanted to say about all three topics, extensively anyway. Sigh. Perhaps instead, I can still briefly write about them and pose this more as a forum....a survey of sorts to you readers. What are your thoughts? Comments, please.

1. I recently joined (yet another) dating website and while I feel generally pessimistic about online dating, I was trying to put my best profile forward so to speak. See, I have this problem with talking about myself. I'm not good at it. I don't know how to capture a true representation of "Katie" in a rinky dinky About Me box. It's a numbers game; too bad I've always sucked at math. I originally had written something boring (unintentionally of course), got annoyed with myself, and enlisted the help of my best friend. I had him look at it and bust out the proverbial red pen with suggestions on what to modify. It's funny how changing what you write can attract a different "audience" of who is interested in you. I went from Geekville (in a bad way) to Jockville (also bad). With profile #1 I attracted men who may have had a brain, but no social skills and no physical attractiveness. With profile #2, I seem to attract men who are pretty attractive but are lacking a sense of humor and not enough brains to string a coherent, grammatically correct sentence together. So what I wonder my readers, is it even humanly possible to say the perfect thing in that damn About Me box to attract a match who is at least 80-85% of what you're seeking in the dating/relationship world?

2. I recently had a therapy session with a client and the topic of BDSM (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BDSM) came up, as my client told me she used to engage in this sexual activity in the past. I explored this more with her, specifically the safety of the practice and the emotions that come up for her when she has done this. Interestingly, she talked about how it allows her to cry without guilt or shame (because the message she received growing up was that she looked "ugly" when she cried). As I listened, I was completely fascinated and reminded of the thin line between pleasure and pain. Sure, there are more conventional methods to healing through emotional pain...but who am I to judge that BDSM may in some way be helping this woman heal? I can't say it's "good," nor can I say it's "bad." My perspective on issues is almost always in the grey. This is what I love about my job. It stretches my mind to think beyond the status quo, beyond the dictates of "normal." Honestly, I don't know anything in depth about this form of sexual behavior....and now I'm tempted to learn more just for the sake of knowledge. What are your thoughts on BDSM? Does it seem bizarre? Is it just an unorthodox sexual behavior? Does it have the potential to heal powerful emotional "wounds" stored in the body?

3. I am extremely curious to ask my Dad about this one: This particular subject I got to thinking about comes from a therapy session with another one of my clients. Due to confidentiality, I cannot go into details of what exactly happened. All I can say is that it involved the issue of tazing by law enforcement. A few years ago, media sensationalized the practice with the "Don't tase me bro!" slogan. It became a cultural joke. Tazing, however, appears quite disturbing and inhumane in my eyes. I don't know much about it yet, but I am learning about it now and intend to ask my dad (a cop) how acceptable it is for an officer to use this as a weapon when they're on duty, how often it is abused by law enforcement, and WHY it's even used in the first place (to me it seems like it causes more harm than "good"). Maybe when I research this topic more (by "interviewing" my dad for instance), I will blog more extensively on the subject. How much do you know about tazing? Thoughts? Comments?

The stigma of (not drinking) alcohol

How often do you drink alcohol? Daily, weekly, a few times a month, a few times a year, not at all? When you drink, how much do you consume? Is there a pattern to your drinking (ie, have a beer or glass of wine to "relax" after work, go for a night on the town with friends, partying till all hours of the early morning, special occasions,etc.)? How many years have you been drinking? Can you remember what your life was like before you first drank alcohol? Can you imagine what your life would be like without it? Do you feel (or act) differently when you drink than when you're sober? These are but a few questions I asked myself recently.

In recent months, I have become increasingly aware of how frequently alcohol and drug addiction is mentioned in the media. Of course, I realize that the media is built upon the idea of sensationalism (the nice word for "drama" if you will), as well as exploitation...but given how working with addicts has been a large part of my professional career the last five years, it is very real and very accurate. In fact, I would go so far as to say it's even more rampant than what we even see in the media...but I digress.

Coupled with the aforementioned questions that have run through my head, I also had a growing awareness that alcohol is everywhere. If people aren't drinking, they surely will be soon. They talk about looking forward to drinking. They joke about needing a drink. They talk about how much they drank last night or last week, and with whom. They plan happy hours. They bar hop. They talk about their favorite alcoholic beverage. They mention alcohol as a reward for having to endure something crappy or stressful that's going on. They use it as a social lubricant, to feel that somehow they are more confident, fun, and interesting than they are sober. They are consumed by it and god forbid the response you get when you challenge this mindset by stepping outside the norm. Stigma for drinking? Think again. Stigma for NOT drinking: Katie's social experiment.

It has been 30 days so far that I have abstained from alcohol. Go ahead, ask "Why?!?!" with a very frantic, disturbed look on your face. This is the typical reaction. It's funny (ironic, not haha); I've had clients who struggle with addiction and/or are in recovery who have told me negative experiences they have had in regard to not feeling supported in their recovery as far as others not respecting their sobriety or even sabotaging their sobriety by offering them alcohol,or ridiculing their sober efforts, etc. A part of me wondered if they were full of it, like they were just making up some excuse as to why they relapsed....but now I'm seeing a different perspective. There's something about alcohol (because it's such a mainstream socialization behavior?) that really provokes a reaction in people. I'm not even bringing the topic of religion into the picture, because that carries its own separate factors that aren't relevant to what I'm discussing here. What I'm talking about is a sociological epidemic. There seems to be a stigma against NOT choosing to imbibe.

You tell someone you're on a diet, so you're not eating cookies or carbs. End of story. People generally understand and respect your efforts to exercise willpower, work on being healthier, etc. That's usually the end of it; there's no Spanish Inquisition around your decision and most people wouldn't judge you as being weird/abnormal for not devouring an Oreo's cookie with them. You tell someone you aren't drinking for awhile (note: I didn't even say completely, just for an unspecified length of time) and there's that strange look, followed by jokes like "What, are you in recovery?" or "Well, what do you do for fun then?" (followed by laughter). And of course there's the peer pressure with justifications attached. "What about if you just have (such and such a drink)? It only has such and such amount of calories..."

A little about me for anyone in cyberworld that might be reading this that doesn't know me personally:
1. I'm not in recovery/an alcoholic (but I'm beginning to empathize with how my clients must feel...that there is some truth to what they have shared with me about relapse issues in social environments)
2. I'm pretty damn fun sober (if I do confidently say so myself!) and don't "need" alcohol to enjoy my own company or the company of others.
3. I'm not doing this for religious or puritanical reasons (here I told myself I was going to stay away from bringing religion into the mix of this blog!), so no...I haven't given up alcohol for Lent or anything like that.
4. I don't need the mask of alcohol to have social relationships. Frankly, as I grow older I'm growing tired of that world/culture. I want meaningfulness with people and when alcohol is involved, many times I question how "real" my interaction is with someone. Is it deep or is it superficial? Is it all an illusion? I'm pretty sure you know what I mean. The conversations you had or the chemistry you felt while drinking with someone. Was it real or just "beer goggles", I or they were too drunk to know/care/remember? Would I have had these same interactions sober? Would they with me?

If alcohol represents the primary cultural mechanism in which we express our identity and carry ourselves in social situations, what does this really reflect about ourselves as a society? And as separate individuals that comprise that collective whole?

I'm not sure how long I will continue my non-drinking stint, but it has been an eye-opening experience. Responses from people have been more challenging to face than the actual substance itself. It's just that powerful. An addicted nation?

Exploring Trauma

Back in January, I attended a phenomenal workshop led by John Briere (a brilliant, renowned professor and researcher in the field of PTSD/trauma therapy work). I highly recommend him to clinicians in the counseling field who are interested in learning very relevant and postmodern information on the difficult arena of trauma work, one of the hardest and most complex clinical issues to treat besides addiction (in my opinion). His presentation was by far the best workshop I've attended in my quest for practical and yet interesting, helpful continuing education seminars.

I was first introduced to trauma work when I first started working at my current job (back in July 2008), as many of my clients are survivors of physical, emotional, sexual, and psychological abuse. To make matters more complicated, most of my clients suffered through multiple traumas. Imagine what it would be like to endure one specific, isolated traumatic event. Compound that by years of chronic abuse at the words or actions of various people in your life (usually beginning from the toddler or early school age years and continuing throughout adulthood), and you acquire what has become known as Complex PTSD. It is more challenging to treat and heal because it is so ingrained in the formation of one's personality/identity. In fact, Briere believes that there is no such thing as Borderline Personality Disorder, only unresolved trauma (ie, personality disorders are strongly correlated to childhood abuse and neglect).

According to Briere, trauma has two parts: 1. any kind of painful experience that 2. overwhelms your capacity to handle it. This can be either non-interpersonal (such as experiencing a natural disaster, like an earthquake) or interpersonal (which tends to affect people more strongly because someone is intentionally trying to hurt us). One of the most fascinating things Briere mentions is implicit memories vs. explicit memories.

Implicit memories are those that are formed on a sensory, pre-verbal level (ie, birth to age 2-3) in the brain. When someone has an implicit memory, they are more likely to be triggered by something visual like a photograph or a flashback/nightmare...yet not have the words to describe how or what trauma is being triggered within them in that moment (because they could not put the experience into words if they were younger than age 2-3 when it happened). This is why it can be difficult for a therapist working with a pre-verbal trauma client to talk about/describe the trauma(s). How can they put into words something that occurred before there WERE words? See the Catch-22 of treatment and recovery? Explicit memories are formed on the verbal level (age 3 to adulthood), so naturally it is "easier" to treat trauma from an explicit memory standpoint.

In addition, Briere talks about the avoidance triad: substance abuse, dissociation, and tension-reduction. As it turns out, there is a meaningfulness to avoidance behaviors with the trauma survivor. I don't know about other clinicians, but it has been my experience that avoidance behaviors seem like mere forms of escapism from pain.....which they are to a degree, but it's more complex than that. Briere goes a step further to suggest that engaging in such behaviors is the only way the trauma survivor knows how to "soothe" or "take care" of oneself, however misguided and unhealthy it may seem to others. This is what he calls "tension reducation behaviors" or "TRBs." They are intentional, external activities the trauma survivor engages in (ie, gambling, excessive exercise, self-mutilation, binging/purging, compulsive sexual activities, and drinking/doing drugs) for the purpose of reducing painful, internal states. While the trauma survivor may feel that these behaviors "help"quell the emotional pain, it only serves to perpetuate a cycle of shame and often, degradation.

While pain may be inevitable, Briere makes a distinction that suffering is optional. What does this mean? Pain may be a given, but what you do with it is optional. The pain paradox theorizes that cultivating a focused awareness can lead to relief/resolution, whereas avoidance contributes to constant suffering and emotional intrusion. This is where mindfulness as a clinical intervention with the trauma survivor comes into play. When someone has been through horrific, painful experiences, the last thing you want to do is pour salt into the proverbial wound and make them hurt even more by delving into it....but this is exactly what MUST be done...just with a gentle, mindful and timely (ie, not too fast/too soon) approach via the 'therapeutic window.'

Briere mentions the therapeutic relationship to be one of the key elements (the therapist as a caring, nurturing, and safe agent for facilitating change/healing within the trauma survivor client) and being able to teach mindfulness skills to the client.

The workshop delves into various clinical interventions/tools the clinician can utilize with the trauma client, which I won't explain in detail here. You'll have to attend the workshop yourself if you want that information.... :)

For more information, visit http://www.johnbriere.com/.