Little Poem for a Little Girl

I've been co-leading a women's process group at work. By co-leading, I mean that I sit there and either smile or frown, depending on what's appropriate, while my co-worker does all the actual talking and leading and engaging of clients. I am obviously the most valuable coworker ever.

Anyway. My co-worker feels that it is appropriate for her and I to participate in all the conversations and activities that we lead our clients through. The last few weeks have been spent working on our inner child. Don't worry, when she first started talking about healing the child within, I thought she was more than a little full of it myself. It sounds so Freudian, so analytical, so contrived and ridiculous. Now that I've done some work with it, I have to say there is some value in trying to remember an untainted time in your life and seeing how you can connect that to healing and change.

Today she had us think of our "pure child", and describe her with 5 words, and then take 5 verbs to match and write a poem. I participated in this activity begrudgingly, not knowing where she was going with it, and still thinking mostly that it was silliness. But when I read my poem to the group, I found to my total surprise that it made me tear up a little. I can't quite say what emotion caused the tears, but I do feel like I want to hold on to this little poem. Somehow it seemed like the next step was to throw it up on the blog.

"Abadibble"
She runs, uninhibited, like a gust of wind.
She laughs, feeding energy with energy.
She explores her world, and feels excitement and anticipation for what is around each corner.
She imagines, and creates games and play that are purely for fun and joy.
She builds, and finds delight in her forts and castles, unweighed down by responsibility.

And the 8th Dwarf Was Named Doubt

I'm a therapist now.

Its been a long time coming. There's a lot of feelings and thoughts that go along with it. Joy. (I'm doing something that matters!) Pride. (I worked my ass off for this!) Relief. (Thank god I'm out of that paralegal job.) Fascination. (Trauma is so interesting).

But mostly I wonder if I'm up to the task.

How on earth can I be effective in another person's life?

Grad school supposedly taught me that, at least on paper, but we had an "unconventional" program and they really glossed over the clinical side of things. I spend so much time in my sessions wondering what the fuck I should say to my client. My client tells me she went swimming yesterday with her aunt. I focus intently on not yawning. My client tells me she gets panic attacks frequently, and starts having one in the room. I try not to have a response panic attack of my own and all I can do is tell her to breathe in and out. My client tells me in graphic detail how her father used to beat her. I try to make sure my mouth stays shut while in my mind there's a picture of myself gaping at her, open-mouthed, in shock and horror.

A hundred times a day, a thousand times a week, I wonder if my clients feel let down by my presence. Mental health can be a terrifyingly dark and lonely road. At the very least, a therapist should shine a flashlight on the path to healing. I spend nearly all my time banging the flashlight against my forehead.

Sometimes I want to go up to my supervisors and shake them. "What were you THINKING hiring me?" Is it not so painfully clear to everyone around me that I don't know what I'm doing?

And how long before someone notices my incompetence and exposes me for the total fraud that I am?