Thursday, June 2, 2011

Small Town Therapist on Tips from Clients

Mean what you say,
say what you mean,
but don't say it mean.

 Anon. kindergartner

Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.
T.S. Elliot

I have stolen. Some of my best lines I have swiped from other people. There, the sad truth is out. I feel imminently better for it but I intend to do the same thing again and again. I have been in the counseling business for over thirty years and have to admit that some of the greatest insights have not come from my brain or from the founding fathers and mothers of Psychotherapy but from my clients. Here is a few jewels that I  remember and frequently use to help others and, oh yes, myself. I always ask permission and also give credit where credit is due.

The above quotation "Say what you mean..." was brought to me by a client who was in the office about her marriage. They are delightful people but very different in their outlook on life. She is introverted and he is an extrovert. She could stay home all of the time and he wants to be on the go. Getting this couple to compromise wasn't that difficult because they have a passel of kids and so their motivation was very high. One of the kids brought this wise sentence home with him from kindergarten and it struck both of them as a good way to behave toward each other. Nice.

Years ago I saw a darling woman who had gone the equivalent of Niagara falls in a barrel while making pb and j sandwiches for her brood.  One of the verbal balms she came up with was a mantra to soothe herself : "be open to goodness". She had a bad habit after the Niagara experience of being a sieve for every philosophy, religion or guru who came down the pike. She realized that she couldn't be open to everything and by giving herself the mantra of goodness she gained an internal barometer. If it felt too frosty, turn away, if it felt calm and easy, it was probably something for her to listen to. Goodness. To this day she remains a cheerful, sweet and an interesting friend to all who love her. She avoids extremists like the plague.

Several years ago I was working with a young woman who had been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend of  five years. She was devastated but she was a natural optimist and soldiered on. One day she came into counseling and she was ebullient. "What's brought about this change?" I said. "My old lover asked me out and I knew that his new sweetie was out of town and for a little awhile I was conflicted," she said. "How did you resolve this dilemma?" "Well, I imagined he had offered me a coat and I tried to put it on," she said. "And?" "And it just didn't fit or feel right, too tight, so I said no," she said with a smile. This was a wise choice for her even though in her grief she believed she wanted nothing more than to have him back. But it didn't fit. So, I  use this coat trick with numerous clients in worthy dilemmas.  Try the coat trick in your mind when you are in a muddle, see if it fits. It works well.

A very gracious and graceful widow came to me for counseling, not about her deceased spouse but about the row that her children were having concerning certain possessions that he left them. She was a quick study and soon I was asking her about her seemingly serene recovery from the huge loss of her husband. "Of course I miss him, but each night I set the table and set a place for him, I honor him at my table." It felt like an art form, picturing her lighting the candles and honoring him in such a loving manner. Gone but not forgotten.

Another time a mother of an out of control teen came to me in despair. Her ex husband took the boy was about to have him either arrested or thrown into drug and alcohol treatment. I puzzled about the best approach, me thinking, "he probably does need treatment if he is this out of control." She was wiser and at the next meeting she had put together a "baby book" of all the highlights of their life together as Mother and son. It was incredibly moving and when, after our session, she gave the album to her son he broke down and pleaded with her to take him back promising to steer clear of the nasty crowd and the drugs and alcohol. Did it work? He graduated with honors and went to college after that. Sometimes the emotional and artistic approach is the best.

This last technique was given to me by my partner in therapy crime and one of my mentors, Laurie. I was wailing about confronting my Dad's drinking yet I tended to portray him as near canonization. Laurie said, "why are you hesitating to talk with him?" I said, "I am afraid it might wreck our relationship and hurt his feelings." She smiled and said, "Susan, let go of other people's feelings, he's a grown up and he needs to hear what you have to say." Buffo. Never heard those words before. I was always the one who tip toed around, not willing to disturb the waters in a relationship, a typical peace maker. It never occurred to me to 'tell the truth and run' and allow someone to come back with a conversation that might heal. At the time, I also knew that gentleness is more effective than rage in tense conversations and if you have been reading my blog you will know that the conversation turned out very well. Mind you it was not effective, but it opened a door so I could let go of worrying about my Dad and he joked, about it in the most affectionate manner, about that conversation until the day he died.

A great line that I stole from Scott Peck is "loving is doing". The failure to confront a loved one [respectfully] is turning away from love. In all of the above cases someone had to take an action, even if it was just a reflective moment. It changed the outcome that was beneficial to them and sometimes to both parties.

As a joke when I was doing workshops back in the late 80's I used to say most solemnly, "spring forth with love". Now that I am thinking about it, I didn't steal it but it seems less funny than true. Get out there and love, if it comes back to you, fine, but be the love machine. And if you need, to steal these methods. Do give credit where credit is due.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

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