Finding a Place to Put It All

It is a beautiful day here in New England and after going to the doctor to get my ankle checked (my diagnosis is arthritis) and taking advantage of Borders “going out of business sale”, I am home for the rest of the day in order to try and straighten out my brain and my house. The mess in the house is usually a reflection of what is going on in my head so I am going to try and find places to put things, both literally and figuratively.

I am dealing with stories. Other people’s stories. Years ago, when I decided to become a counselor I consciously made the decision to dedicate myself to work with women who had experienced great difficulties in their lives and were working to try and mend. This has meant that, at times, I become the receptacle in which other people put some of their pain by telling their stories. This is my choice. I can’t take away the pain, but I can help ease the effect on them by hearing their tales and helping them find the strength they have inside to be able to move on.

If I don’t take care of myself, though, these stories tend to accumulate in my brain and I need to find my own place to put them. This week I have heard some horrendous stories; stories of childhood abuse that were unconscionable and graphic. I looked into the eyes of these women and saw pain and heartache along with tremendous spirit and strength. I was glad to hear their stories because I knew they needed to be heard.

I understand at times why survivors of childhood abuse are not believed. I think it has to do with our desire to believe more of humanity, that it is not possible for people to do the things that they do. Some people want to hold onto the hope that these stories cannot possibly be true, because if it were true, then they would have to admit that it could happen to them, their children or grandchildren, to the child next door, the sweet baby boy in the shopping cart next to you in the grocery store. We don’t want this to be in our world. It is, though, and it is so important to believe someone when they need to tell their story. People perpetuate the abuse through unbelief.

I have people tell me that they can’t understand how I do the work I do. The thing is that I don’t understand not doing the work I do. If I think of becoming a florist or a truck driver or any other of the myriad career paths I have considered on my bad days, I realize that I would not be true to who I am by doing something else. I can’t not do it. So, when it starts to get a little tough I have to take a break and find someplace to put it all and get my psychic and physical house in order so that I can be ready for the next story. I do a little retail therapy, get a massage, play my cello, sit on the side of a mountain, or take my bike out for a nice long ride along the river. In order to do what I do I have to take care of myself, because the thought of not being able to do what I do scares me more than doing it.