Holding Steady

On this journey of becoming a therapist, I go into the world, but I also continue to go deeper into myself, and continue to understand how we all hold together. I started a new supervision group for therapists, a place where we meet with a trusted, wiser therapist to share cases or struggles with the profession, and to share our joys, and insights also. Of the three women who were being supervised, we found something in common that we’d not been able to share before, the experience of being shamed for what we knew or know. I don’t know if this is a phenomena more likely to happen to women, or if it is universal, but when we were able to share about this, it was cathartic. 

Our supervisor, wise man that he is, was able to attune to this, and affirm that we are often wise as children, and have innate gifts as children that often aren’t recognized. That way that children have of seeing truth, just as it is, without judgment or, in the case of hypocrisy, which children often recognize, with right judgement. So, what happens to children when they continually hear, “How dare you know,” or “You did not see that,” or “Oh no, this didn’t happen, and don’t tell.” And I’m not just talking about blatant cases of abuse, but of that subtle knowing that children have that can scare and unnerve adults. So, the adults in their lives deny this, and let children know, this is not something to talk about.  

As we shared our stories of knowing and hiding what we knew and know, we grew to understand ourselves and each other better, to create a place where the gifts that we’ve carried and hidden for so long could come out into the light and be celebrated. The gifts of discernment, of knowing, of seeing, of clarity, of empathy, of compassion, the gifts that somehow brought us into the profession, that we could unwrap and wonder over, safely together. See, and be seen, hold and be held. 

I Will Be Shamed for What I Know No More 

no more she cried

as if to endure

any longer

the being small

the being afraid

would implode

into a million sparkling fragments

of knowing

what the stars held

that made up her being

that she continued to try

to conceal

with every breath

finally she knew

what she had known all along

no shame could contain her

or the vastness of her knowing

So she traveled on, 

To find a home 

a language that 

held enough words

to describe the many worlds

To talk freely of the places she had traveled

Magical things she had seen

The star dust that made up the lives 

of those she encountered

“I see the sparkles she cried,” 

but those around her had told her

“There are no sparkles, only the dust of flesh.”

“I am sure we are all holy,” she knew, but was 

admonished, “No, that cannot be, only some are holy.”

This is the lie that I call out. 

And so with this, it made me realize, that I have carried and protected my child knowing for all these years, a wise child who guides me, who holds me steady, fearless, still seeing the sparkles, still knowing that we are made up of the dust of stars, the rush of the ocean, the freshness of the wind on a spring day, and that we are all holy.