My Gift

The pulp of life is not the stuff you earn, the house you have, the car you drive. Lately I've wondered if the pulp is even attached to the size tag in the back of your favorite fuzzy sweater.

I've had another loss today. A client of mine lost her son. He was 20; it is a tragedy. In the process of letting this sink in, I've heard from at least two people very dear to me the following things:

• "You have more important things to worry about beyond the death of your client's son."
• "It's just work. It's an occupational hazard of what we do."

And while that may be true for the ho-hum therapist who requests payment for services before your session has even begun, it's not me. I'm not that person who can check out and go into robot-mode when she gets news that someone she's working with is gone or devastated. I feel things, dammit!! I worry about every one of the calls I get from panicked parents when they find their child has attempted to harm him/herself. I go to the ER sometimes and the hospital. I show up when I'm needed -- at a death, the birth of a baby, the sickness of a family member.

I don't have more important things to do right now. I chose not to have children because of the importance of this work. I could be drinking all my sadness away but instead, I was on the phone, listening to my client wail, thrash, and scream at the unfairness of it all. And it's not just work for me. Jesus, if it was that simple, I'd be seeing 40 people a week, making an azzload of money, and sleeping like a baby.

Unless you've been in a therapeutic relationship before or you provide true psychotherapy yourself, I don't know that you can connect with some of the things I blog about. I cannot tell you about the intimacy and vulnerability that is shared with me daily. I wish I could paint you a picture of the triumphs, heartaches, and awesomeness of what I do. The truth is, these clients...my clients touch me and paint my life. They become a part of me and what I do and while there are some nights that I toss and turn, I wouldn't trade my job for anything in the world.

It wasn't my choice to be a wounded healer, a secret keeper, a container for pain, a ray of silver light in the mire. It is not my work; it is my gift.