Why I Choose Clothes That Make Me Look as If I'm Not in Pain, The Mighty
From my February 4, 2016 blog post, "The Colorful Side of Pain"
From my February 4, 2016 blog post, "The Colorful Side of Pain"
6 Ways to Discover Our Value Beyond the World of Work, Huffington Post
Another perspective based on an article I wrote, for those who have lost work, retired, or are no longer able to work for various reasons. Also helpful for those who want to achieve more work-life balance. April 2016
Another perspective based on an article I wrote, for those who have lost work, retired, or are no longer able to work for various reasons. Also helpful for those who want to achieve more work-life balance. April 2016
A CEO with CRPS Reclaims His Life, RSDSA Spring 2016 Newsletter
An interview with CEO and chairman of Aetna, Mark Bertolini. Please scroll to the feature story on page 14.
An interview with CEO and chairman of Aetna, Mark Bertolini. Please scroll to the feature story on page 14.
When CRPS Severs the Nerves of our Work Lives, RSDSA Fall 2015 Newsletter
This personal essay is about grief, loss and strategies for coping. I share about my experience as a psychotherapist and the events that lead me to look at work in a new light. Please scroll down to the feature story on page 6.
This personal essay is about grief, loss and strategies for coping. I share about my experience as a psychotherapist and the events that lead me to look at work in a new light. Please scroll down to the feature story on page 6.
This article I wrote (below) was originally published in the Reflections on Wellness column of the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists (CAMFT) / Santa Clara Valley (SCV) chapter newsletter, July 2010
(Online access to this article requires membership fee, hence the full post.)
Facilitating Healing Through the Lens of PTSD: Post-Traumatic Spiritual Deepening
Therapist in Crisis
Sitting in the emergency room following the dog attack, trying not to feel, it occurred to me how convenient it was for this to happen on a Thursday evening. I had no clients to reschedule the following day. I was grappling with excruciating knee and genital pain amidst the horror of what had just transpired. The physical injuries and trauma were compounded by the dog owner, a psychiatrist, leaving the scene of the incident.
I knew that soon I would have to provide clients with quality care while navigating through my own nightmare. How? Even when life is relatively in sync, at times I wake up and say, “No, not today… I don’t want to be a therapist today.” Typically, naming my truth, such as momentary resistance to my work, provides enough release to bring me back into focus. In crisis, I found the process to be far more complex.
Presence
I engage in intimate relationships for a living. To honor this gift, my full presence is required throughout the day. I function as a model for interpersonal communication in each unique non-mutual relationship. This job calls for a Wellness column!
During my crisis, the thought of relating on this level was sometimes daunting. I valued my therapeutic presence and intended to maintain that. There was no time or energy for this life disruption. PTSD, however, spoke to me through the language of nightmares, flashbacks, and startle responses...the works. I got it: This is happening, make the space for it in order to remain present.
(Online access to this article requires membership fee, hence the full post.)
Facilitating Healing Through the Lens of PTSD: Post-Traumatic Spiritual Deepening
Therapist in Crisis
Sitting in the emergency room following the dog attack, trying not to feel, it occurred to me how convenient it was for this to happen on a Thursday evening. I had no clients to reschedule the following day. I was grappling with excruciating knee and genital pain amidst the horror of what had just transpired. The physical injuries and trauma were compounded by the dog owner, a psychiatrist, leaving the scene of the incident.
I knew that soon I would have to provide clients with quality care while navigating through my own nightmare. How? Even when life is relatively in sync, at times I wake up and say, “No, not today… I don’t want to be a therapist today.” Typically, naming my truth, such as momentary resistance to my work, provides enough release to bring me back into focus. In crisis, I found the process to be far more complex.
Presence
I engage in intimate relationships for a living. To honor this gift, my full presence is required throughout the day. I function as a model for interpersonal communication in each unique non-mutual relationship. This job calls for a Wellness column!
During my crisis, the thought of relating on this level was sometimes daunting. I valued my therapeutic presence and intended to maintain that. There was no time or energy for this life disruption. PTSD, however, spoke to me through the language of nightmares, flashbacks, and startle responses...the works. I got it: This is happening, make the space for it in order to remain present.
With my scrumptious rescue dog, Zakai, several years after the incident
Crisis as Opportunity
I was introduced to the Chinese symbol for crisis decades ago when I worked as a crisis counselor. A picture I have from that time hangs in my office today. The background has shifted from dark to faded pink, but the two black characters remain bold, reminding me of its impact. One symbolizes danger and the other opportunity.
Looking at this symbol did not send me into a flurry anticipating opportunity. My experience and hard-wiring, however, comforted me on a cognitive level. I knew that eventually I would transcend the various aspects of pain I felt. I already walked through the world perceiving experiences as opportunity for spiritual growth; that ought to help. Still, it was a daily nightmare. I encouraged the thinking and feeling centers of my brain to communicate with each other. That went well. It was like a futile “Hello? Hello?” between cell phone users who know they have lost connection. Opportunities mostly crystallized for me toward the latter part of my healing. I am certain I will discover others over time.
Reasonable Expectations
During the crisis, my “To Do” lists spiraled out of control as rapidly as my hair in humid weather. Semi-manageable lists morphed into scarcely legible scribbles pleading “Elisa, really, today.” Feelings of vulnerability extended to my professional life. I questioned how my practice would be impacted if I could not do enough, but my priority was physical and emotional healing.
So, I stepped up my pre-existing self-care routine and set limits. I went to doctor and physical therapy appointments, and Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) (which I found to be difficult yet transformative). I consulted about cases to address potential counter-transference and went to therapy. When necessary, I cancelled appointments. I put not-priority items into perspective. I informed colleagues to temporarily stop referring trauma and high-anxiety cases. I lost income and risked losing potential future referrals.
I continued to move my body, play, laugh, write and connect with my Jewish spiritual community. Nature remained necessary and so did friendships. My partner had her own crisis and we proactively attended to that, and to our relationship.
Despite my losses, I was determined to keep these and other sustaining forces in my life present, even if they could not be uncomplicated. Through the disruption and challenge, I gained clarity and became further grounded in self-care. I believe I transmitted this healing to clients. Keeping my own expectations under scrutiny enabled me to be present for clients to explore their own.
Healthy Surroundings and Clean Air
In order for me to provide a space for clients to heal, I attend to what I breathe in and what I emit, physiologically and energetically. When I encounter judgment or negativity, I metaphorically head for the hills. I conceptualize this as running toward, not away from something, like Maria in the Sound of Music. I like to think that the Castro Movie Theatre sing-along audience, who year after year faithfully shout “Run Maria, Run!” at Julie Andrews, is right there with me - with a Jewish spin.
When I began sharing my story, I was reminded that transference is not limited to the therapy room. Projections from others felt as though I was inhaling carbon monoxide. I was given unsolicited advice, void of authentic connection. Some responded with inappropriate jokes, “What did you do to make that dog attack you?” Others minimized my trauma through the power of language, changing my words “vicious attack” to “bite.” The dog may not have been vicious, but the attack was. The language mattered.
Fortunately my lungs and heart expanded to also receive oxygen. I inhaled supportive words, “That sounds horrible - let me know if you need anything,” and gentle guidance. I breathed in the solid presence of those who sat with me while I sobbed. I opened to receive protection. In some moments I held compassion for those whose own vulnerabilities blocked them from giving it to me.
I feared I would have less to give my clients, but worked hard to create space for availability. I sat more aware of the gifts of breath, language and presence.
What a Laugh
For me, surviving in this serious field necessitates humor. I cherish my ability to laugh at this work, myself and life in general. Sometimes my partner or I will exclaim, “I’m having Family-of-Origin issues,” which always invokes laughter. I revel in my trusted relationships with friends, family and colleagues and our comfortable walks along the continuum of gravity and levity. With clients I use humor when appropriate and witness its connective healing power.
I’ll Take It
Life was impacted more than this article will contain. Considering the CEU opportunities of life, I would have opted for a different course. Although I did not need this particular experience to deepen my psycho-spiritual process or enhance my clinical insights, I am grateful it did both. I ingest the language and meaning of the bold Chinese symbols. Crisis as opportunity? That, I’ll bite.