Feelings are Happening
I’ve borrowed the title of this post from Ian. It’s something he would say to me or my daughter, Taliesin, when we first started therapy with him after my husband’s death. Keep in mind, we spent the entire first year with our feelings happening all over the place, anywhere and everywhere, 24/7. But later, when Taliesin and I had regained some control, feelings would bubble up during our sessions with Ian, and “feelings are happening” is what he would say in response. First, to acknowledge all the bubbling going on across from him on the couch, and second, to coax me to talk about the feelings that caused my watery eyes, trembling lip, pained expression, or whatever tipped him off. Taliesin, who was thirteen at the time, had no trouble talking about her feelings—or my feelings for that matter—in rich and sometimes embarrassing and incriminating detail. However, I tend to clam up and still do, which Ian says, “isn’t conducive to a healing therapeutic experience.”
“Talk to me,” he’d say, and I did. Still, as we moved into areas beyond my immediate grief, I found it hard to open up and be vulnerable. The challenge wasn’t about trust for me, even though it can be for others. I trusted Ian from the start. Like a good therapist should, he provided a safe, non-judgmental space. I felt heard, and the feelings I had shared were validated. Sobbing uncontrollably in his presence for months had built that trust for me.
So, if it wasn’t about trust, what was it about? Mainly my reluctance to crack the carefully curated story I’d told myself and the world, i.e., denial, and a hesitation to go where I suspected close examination might lead—namely, to the truth, which I wanted to avoid at all costs. Throw in some maladaptive coping mechanisms I’d perfected since childhood, and success at being vulnerable was elusive at best. Yet, all of this, like most things that hold us back, boiled down to one thing for me: I was afraid—that’s fear with a capital F.
Fear can take many forms. Maybe you’re afraid because you don’t know exactly what’s hiding below the scar tissue, or, on the other hand, you do know. You’re scared of uncorking something you might not be able to put back into the bottle, something that, in your mind, could shatter the bottle altogether.
But it can be even simpler than that. Ian suggests it can be about having little or no experience talking about emotions. How many of us grew up in homes where expressing ourselves, at best, wasn’t done, and at worst, we were shamed for it? Shame is a powerful deterrent. How many of us also have little or no experience with deep emotional relationships, either in or out of childhood? As a result, we often lack the tools to express ourselves. These are barriers to vulnerability in all our relationships. In therapy, you might as well give up if you can’t open up. But a good therapist can help you do just that. Ian had his work cut out for him with me.
“Ultimately, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable in therapy is about having the courage to heal,” Ian tells me. This means developing a willingness to pull the scab off the wound, to look into the abyss, to grant access to your deepest feelings and beliefs about yourself. To be afraid but do it anyway.
Tips on finding a therapist: Ask for referrals from family, friends, and co-workers and do your homework. Don’t be afraid to switch to another therapist if it isn’t a good fit, just give the relationship a shot before making a change. Don’t be afraid to speak up if there’s something bothering you about the therapy itself. As with most issues, concerns can be fixed with communication. Therapists are bound by a code of ethics. If something seems untoward, run fast and far in the other direction. Check out the resources page for more information.