Walking Ink-Blot Test

Last night in my Interpersonal Foundations class, we discussed the concepts of transference and counter-transference.  The easiest explanation can be seen in a therapeutic setting.  When a client sits with the therapist, the client brings with them emotions and issues that can be felt by the therapist.  Many times the emotions regarding a different person can be “transferred” to their feelings about the therapist and create a challenge in the relationship.  The reverse can sometimes be true as well, the therapist can react to something the client is transferring, thus creating counter-transference.  It can be a bit difficult to understand if the concept is new to you. 

During class, we were asked to sit knee-to-knee in silence with someone we don’t know.  What a telling experience that was.  It is so uncomfortable to look a stranger in the eye for 5 minutes.  So, while it feels awkward to not look at them, it seems easier than looking directly in their eyes.  The discussion Roy, my professor, led afterward helped us to understand the concepts of transference.  Different couples were asked to explain what each of them were feeling in those moments.  For example, one person was very anxious and the other person sensed that without knowing how the other person felt.  It was amazing what can be transmitted without words with someone you don’t even know.

Now, for those in our class that are Master of Divinity students, not headed to the field of counseling but rather church leadership, there was a challenge in making this idea of transference something they should care about.  Ahhh… but it is.  Roy explained how pastors and those in ministry leadership are basically a walking ink-blot test.  Each person in the congregation looks at them and transfers all their pain and opinions on them.  Unlike the structure of a counseling setting, pastors receive the transference of the entire congregation.  And for many of those in ministry, it becomes their undoing, not knowing how to recognize transference and how to handle it.  All I had to say was “AMEN”!  Raised as a preacher’s kid and having been in some church leadership as well, I see this as a definite need for pastors to understand and know how to handle.

Made me laugh at the idea of walking ink-blots, but also empassioned to help pastors understand their place and how they can short circuit the transference and adjust their natural tendency toward counter-transference that could damage their ministry.

I love/hate control!

Control… it’s a funny thing.  Even Janet Jackson has a song about it.  But, if you think about it, life could not be effectively lived without control.  We’d never get out of bed, eat all the wrong stuff, say all the wrong things… it would be bedlam.  Then there’s the other side of control, the “over the top” side of control where every single thing is pulled apart and analyzed for control.  The need to not only control ourselves but others as well.  It can definitely get out of hand. 

Me?  I like being in control, I’ll admit it.  And unfortunately for me and my desire to be in control, my life has been COMPLETELY out of control for the past couple years.  I’ve been stripped of any hold on my life.  I’m in a new city, with new surroundings, new friends, new functioning, new everything.  So, yeah, I’ve been trying to hold it all together.  To adjust and accommodate this new life of mine. 

On top of the normal adjusting, I continue to wrestle with panic attacks.  At times they are on and off all day.  Some days there are none.  When they do come, I try to control them so they don’t overwhelm me as they threaten to do so often.  It’s exhausting to not only feel the weight of all the changes in my life but to also manage these attacks. 

Each task that comes my way, I take it and manage it to the best of my ability.  Then I soon realize just how many tasks I’m carrying.  At a point of exhaustion, I turn around to see my life’s backpack full to overflowing of things I’m carrying and managing and controlling.  How did THAT happen?  One at a time, I suppose.

As strange as the analogy sounds, it’s happened… is happening… to me right now.  I saw my therapist this week and she reminds me (cause I obviously need to be reminded) of the load I’m carrying not only physically, emotionally, spiritually, relationally, financially, etc.  And in typical “Sharon” fashion, I look at her as if to say “what’s wrong with expecting myself to function at 1000%?”  I do this to myself.  And I hate it.  I try to control so much.  Not just the typical things that are necessary for a well-lived life.  I ambitiously expect myself not only to do so much more than I can but to do it with a level of adeptness that is not human. 

My body has been telling me for some time that I need to give myself some grace and I haven’t been able to figure out how to do that.  I still don’t really know.  I’m still neck-deep in grad school… wrestling with my emotions in relationships, fighting the deconstruction of my faith, piecing together myself one day at a time.  But, it seems one way I can show myself some grace is in seeking a doctor’s help regarding the panic attacks, possibly utilizing drugs again to get the attacks under control.  I don’t want to be on drugs again, but the intensity of my emotions are telling me that I’m in danger if I don’t listen to myself.  This feeling of helplessness and hopelessness can be a slippery slope and needs to be treated with respect.  And so, I realize that I cannot control… not everything, not even my own body at times. 

I’m not certain how I feel about it all.  Ambivalent.  That’s how I feel.  I love and hate control.  I want to be able to control and yet I don’t like the need for control to be so strong.  I wish I could let go more often than I do.

Crazy night at work

My job requires me to monitor the comings and goings of residents and visitors at the apartment building I work in.  The building is actually two buildings on the same block, divided by an alley.  Most of my work is done in the tower building, not the courtyard building.  I do more than watch the front door… such as, collect/distribute packages, coordinate move-in/move-outs that require the freight elevator, answer questions for visitors, receive complaints/requests from residents… your average property management part-time job.  It’s not a bad gig, it allows me to go to school and work on the weekends.  Most of the time it’s pretty quiet, sometimes painfully so.  Except tonight.

Tonight I experienced my first major confrontation that made me fear for my safety.  The building is a secure property so everyone is supposed to use their key.  If they are visitors, they can either use the call box and be buzzed in or call the resident and wait for them to come to the door to get them.  Those are the rules.  Sometimes, of course, people going out let people come in without much of a care.  But, my job, while I’m on duty, is to monitor the people coming and going to be sure the property is as safe as possible.  I’m not a security officer, just a door person.

Tonight, I had a guy come to the door and motion for me to answer.  I asked if I could help him.  He said he was visiting someone in 808.  I asked if he was a resident.  No.  I informed him he must either use the call box or call him to come to the door.  He was frustrated but seemed to make an attempt to call.  A few moments later, I was summoned to the door again.  This time he decided to convince me that he used to live in the building and intimidate me by pointing out that I must be new cause otherwise I’d recognize him.  I apologized for the inconvenience but reinforced the fact that he must either use the call box or wait for his friend.  He pushed his point, I pushed mine.  He got angry, I threatened to call the police, he ever so impolitely told me to do so.  As I left the locked door to find a phone, I heard him yelling just about every profanity I’ve ever heard… at me.  I was shaking and not quite sure what to do (mental note: ask the boss what procedure is on something like this).  While most of my shift is spent in conjunction with leasing staff, by this time at night I was alone. 

Before I could get to a phone, I saw a resident leave and inadvertently let the guy in.  He was on his cell phone and I tried to get his attention as he headed for the elevator.  I told him he was not allowed in the building without being escorted by a resident.  He called me a few words and told me to go away.  I told him again and again he needed to leave.  He began yelling at me as the elevator door opened and I finally let him go.

I went back to the office and called a coworker who lives in the building.  She came down to the lobby and got the details.  She headed off to the apartment where the guy was headed and as the door of the elevator opened, he walked off the elevator.  She turned to ask me if that was him and I confirmed it.  He let into both of us.  She tried to help him understand the rules, he called us very bad things.  We told him to leave, he kept yelling.  I picked up the phone to call 911 and he kept yelling.  Just as the 911 operator answered, he left. 

I informed the operator that there had been a situation at hand that made me fear for my safety but that the man had left and all seemed to be ok.  She thanked me for calling and asked me to call again if he returned.  My coworker and I contacted the resident where the guy had been headed.  Come to find out, the guy doesn’t even know him except in passing.  Had received a call that was just him screaming profanities (that was him screaming at me) and had hung up.  The resident came down to the office to apologize and offer whatever assistance he could in making sure the guy doesn’t return. 

It made for an interesting night.  It reminded me of how unaccustomed I am at being verbally assaulted by a stranger.  It made me fear for a moment that he would wait for me after work and follow me home.  I’m glad I live only a block away.  I feel safe in the area, except for situations like that. 

There are things I’d do differently next time.  I’d stand at the door, call 911 and keep him from entering the building.  I’d wait there as long as he did until the police showed up.  I’d take his picture with my camera phone for identification purposes.  And I’d get any witnesses to give me their apt number  and phone number for follow-up. 

That’s next time.  As for this time, I’m still recovering.  It shook me up.  But, I’m ok.  I guess going into the field of counseling, I should get used to people taking their anger out on me.  Hopefully I never get used to this type of behavior though.

Falling leaves, bonfires and Reading Week

Today ushers in the beginning of our trimester break called “Reading Week.”  It’s intended to be a break in class to give students a chance to get caught up on reading for upcoming projects.  Some use it as a vacation break.  Either way, it’s a nice opportunity to come up for air after a very intense beginning to the year.  It’s been overwhelming thus far, for all of us.  So, when class ended yesterday, we all headed to the beach to build a bonfire… in the rain… and celebrate the fact we’ve made it this far and are still alive to talk about it.

I love fall… I’d forgotten just how much I love fall.  Having not lived in a colder climate for over 10 years, I’d forgotten the beautiful atmosphere of fall.  The smell of autumn, falling leaves, changing colors, brisk mornings… amazing.  I’m enjoying every minute of it.  Though, it’s obvious I need to work on my collection of scarves, gloves and hats.  Currently I have one pair of gloves and one scarf.  I think I need a few more. 

Today I was walking down the street admiring the beauty of the golden leaves collecting at the base of the trees.  A few highlighting a more crimson version of the same.  All beautiful.  Once in awhile the wind would catch a few swirling them in the air.  It made me smile.  Did I mention I love fall?

For a few pictures of my life and friends at MHGS, check out: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=59664&l=09d42&id=668843227

Learning to Listen

Amidst the million or so pages of reading I have to do each week, I’m learning some amazing things. The one that I find myself returning to recently is the ability to listen to myself. Seems a silly skill to acquire, I mean, don’t we all listen to ourselves more than anyone else? But, this listening is a skill that requires the ability to connect with what I’m feeling in my gut and what I’m sensing in my mind. To divide the two and name what it is I feel. To listen to myself and speak what I feel.

My previous experiences with this have not always been good. I remember being told as a girl that my feelings were always too sensitive, that I carried my heart on my sleeve and was easily offended. I stopped listening to my heart or at least I choked it in many ways. My heart or my gut was where I felt my pain and I learned that I couldn’t trust my own instinct and needed others to tell me when something was painful or wrong. Cause if I allowed myself to listen to my own heart, I’d be hurt or offended 24/7. So, I figured my gauge was broken and I needed others to validate my thoughts and my feelings. I couldn’t trust them.

There was a boy I liked in 8th grade. He was the biggest crush of my life, my first love. His name was Mark. We attended a small, private, Christian school and so we knew each other pretty well. We were friends and yet I wanted something more. In time he figured out that I liked him and though he never discouraged my interest, he never expressed a similar interest. He did, however, tease me mercilessly about everything under the sun. It seemed to be his way of showing attention. Inevitably, I would get hurt. Or, the guys in his group that joined the “tease sharon” bandwagon would say something overly stupid and I would be offended. The answer was never “I’m sorry for being a rude jackass, please forgive me.” It was “oh Sharon, you’re too sensitive. We didn’t mean anything by it. Just let it go.” Again and again and again. And because I wanted Mark to like me and think I was cool, I tried to let it go. I tried telling myself that there was something wrong with my ability to know what was good and what was harmful. I stopped listening to my gut or at least challenged my mind to rationalize and minimalize the pain.

That was 20 years ago. What’s the point in bringing that up now? Remember me telling you about those stories that Dan asks us to invite to the surface? This is an example. This story, welcomed to the surface from the deep recesses of my mind, brings with it pieces of me. Pieces of my story that show “death.” But, also, helps me to understand why it is tough for me today to name what I feel. Despite my struggle to shut out my feelings, the need for me to feel has always won and often not in a pretty way. I’ve never really given myself permission to feel, without excuse or justification, and then to name what it is that I feel.

That’s what I’m learning. Learning to listen to a voice I’ve choked back and hated at times. The voice I’ve considered to be my weakness, my achilles heel, my down fall. It is being given an opportunity to be heard. I’m interested to hear what it has to say.

I’m Not Gonna Lie

I’m not gonna lie… this is TOUGH! I was thinking today why I’ve waited to post a new entry here. I think it’s because I haven’t had many happy and uplifting things to share and I fear an entry filled with moans and groans may not encourage you to return.

Oh well… I guess I’ll take that chance.

I’m finishing my 4th week of school and I’m exhausted. I kid you not. This undertaking has proven to be much bigger than I anticipated. It’s tough to find the words to explain something I’ve never experienced before. At times it reminds me of summer camp or 8th grade as I try to find which group of people I fit in with, or as I watch groups of girls clamoring after the same guys. These memories of my childhood are not necessarily the ones I’d like to repeat. But it seems I’m not the only one experiencing the same nostalgia in this new place. We joke about it at times and just laugh at the silliness of it all. Most of the married students probably don’t even see the jr high moments but the rest of us do. And all those crazy fears about being the last one chosen for the “team” come rushing back. I thought I left those back in the 80s.

At times being here reminds me of my undergrad studies, only in the similarities of classes and reading and papers. Not much is the same beyond that. Being a non-denominational seminary brings with it a host of strange experiences. My previous schooling was in a Grace Brethren school and while they were open to many other church denominations, most, if not all, were conservative protestants. Not at Mars Hill. And, to be honest, this is the reason I chose the school. I wanted the opportunity to study alongside people with an amazing heart and desire to delve deeper into life, despite their church affiliation. Sounds good in theory, reality is showing that to be much more convicting that expected. I find myself in discussions about the literalness of heaven and hell… about universal salvation… about the authority of Scripture. At times in my class, I’m challenged to pull apart the structure of my faith in an effort to understand it and rebuild it. In those moments I think, “Lord, who ARE you? WHERE are you in all this?” I have many more questions than answers.

At times this feels like the hardest place I’ve ever visited. Much of this first year, if not the remaining years as well, is about deconstructing, in an effort to reconstruct with greater strength. But, the deconstruction process is brutal. I’m not asked to run 10 miles carrying a heavy backpack like in bootcamp, but I am asked to enter a level of emotional and theological disruption that brings with it a pain as great as that physical task.

On Monday, it was my turn to share part of my story with my practicum group. I’ve shared pieces of my story many times. I have no problem sharing my heart and the struggles I’ve faced. It’s not a big deal. The challenge was not in the telling but in the responses I received from my group. They were so encouraging and supportive, challenging me to allow them to sit with me in the pain. I was prepared for questions and criticism not for people to ache with me and show me my own pain. Part of me wanted to run and yet I knew this was what my heart longed for. It was so painful and I literally ached after it was over, yet I had two more hours of class plus a couple meetings with friends in order to “decompress” from it all.

That is just a very small snapshot of my life. It’s tough. Tougher than my words can really explain. Do I want to leave? Nope. Do I ever consider it? Ironically, no. Maybe I’m just a sadist. But I believe there is hope amidst the tears. There is purpose beneath the pain.

I am thankful for a growing group of friends that have become dear to me. Having people I can call or do coffee/wine with or “hang” with has made all the difference for me in feeling like I have a place where I belong. At times I still do feel like an outsider but most of us still feel that way. I guess it’s par for the course.

I can’t promise I’m going to be very good at this blog thing. I definitely cannot promise they’re going to be happy posts. But I’ll try to post more often, just so you know I’m still alive and how I’m doing.

Shalom!

Holding my story

Last night was my first class with Dan Allender. I’ve been looking forward to this class for months, ever since I knew I was coming to Mars Hill Graduate School. No pressure, Dan. I knew from reading a few of his books, especially To Be Told, that he would put a great emphasis on our individual stories. Mars Hill is big on stories. So is Dan.

As Dan invited us in to look at the story of the Gospel, the incarnation, life, death and resurrection of Jesus, he asked us to look at our own lives. Within each of our stories is a piece of the Gospel. We each have stories of incarnation, of life, of death and of resurrection. Dan told us a story of a painful time in his childhood which showed death and yet an unexpected friend that came into his life to make a huge impact became an element of his resurrection. It was such a beautiful story.

I’m sitting in class thinking, I need to reassess my stories. There are so many of them that seem like the wallpaper of my life, have always been there. I don’t see them as others would and consequently don’t give them the honor they deserve. I believe there will be stories that need to be held by another. To be heard and reflected to me. It will be a scary time. Not something for the faint of heart. But, I sense there is life and freedom in the telling.

Let’s see what stories come to the surface.

First Week Done

I’m a week late in reporting that my first week at Mars Hill Graduate School is complete. It has been an intense week filled with MANY hours of orientation plus two classes, vespers service, community dinner night and convocation. I’ve been very busy.

Having been here in Seattle for over a month now, it was nice to finally be formally ushered into school life. Seems like I’ve been waiting for this moment for quite awhile. The flipside is that I still have a difficult time believing it’s really real. I’m really in Seattle and I’m really going to graduate school. Seems a bit like a dream still.

Little by little I’m making some good friendships. It’s a bit difficult though. Much unlike my undergrad friendship experience. I remember being at Grace College, living in the dorm. There were people everywhere. If I wanted to order a pizza or get together with people, all I had to do was ask. Making friendships was a bit more natural and available. In grad school, we see each other for class and then we all go to our homes all over the city and beyond. I’m realizing it takes a bit of work to stay in contact and have opportunities to connect with one another. That’s scary when you still don’t know the people completely and run the risk of others saying “nah, I’m not interested”. But, so far so good.

“Reading” is a common answer to “what are you doing?” these days. I understand we will be ingesting about 6,000 pages of reading this trimester. That seems not only insane but impossible. Safe to say, each week there is MUCH reading to be done, as well as a good amount of writing too.

I got a job… and other news.

I’ve hesitated to officially post that I got a job because I’ve been waiting for all the paperwork to be finished. The process has been taking forever. And, in fashion with all the drama that is my life of recent, I had a potential problem with the drug test that was giving me serious anxiety. No, I don’t do drugs, in case you wondered. But I do, on occasion, eat a poppy seed muffin which can sometimes show up on a drug test as opium (not something I normally think about).

During my interview process, I was two bites into such a muffin when it occured to me that I probably shouldn’t be eating one in case the company asks me to take a drug test. I threw the rest of the muffin away and two days later the company did indeed offer me the job and ask me to take the test. ARGH! The anxious agony of it all. I made note to the nurse and to my boss but still I had to wait. Six days I’ve had to wait. But I learned today that the drug test was ok and my background check went ok as well. (Luckily the crimes I committed in Australia didn’t show up…JUST KIDDING!).

So, I start my job tomorrow. Now to catch everyone up on what it is I’ll be doing. The official title is door greeter. Something I never dreamed I’d be doing and up until living in the inner city, never saw a need for one. Many of the apartment buildings in Seattle (as well as many other large cities, I’m sure) have a concierge and a door person. These individuals help answer questions from people looking for apartments, collect packages for residents, make note of issues in the apartments, coordinate people moving in and moving out… a variety of functions. Since all the residents and visitors come and go primarily through one entrance/exit, the door greeter can be a pretty valuable person to have.

The position I accepted is at a building a block away (perfect location!) and I’ll be working primarily Sat and Sun with an additional few hours during the week, off and on, for a total of 15-20 hours a week. The pay is decent and will allow me to save a little and hopefully get some health insurance in the next month or so. I’m relieved, to tell you the truth. It’s been intense looking for a job and (ironically? fortuitously?) the only people that responded to my many applications and resumes is this one. And it’s the best fit and the best location and the best hours. God is good and I’m very thankful.

As for other news… I just finished a two week course on writing. It was a good refresher and prep course for starting my graduate level writing. I won’t lie, it’s still pretty scary. And at times I feel like I’m back in 7th grade learning how to put a sentence together and ending up with waaaaay too many commas than necessary. I enjoy crafting sentences with impactful words. But you get me in the middle of a 4-page paper and I’m drowning. It’s not pretty. But the class helped me gain a few new tools and helped me exercise some of my writing skills. Socially, it was great. There were about 30 of us in the class so I feel like I got a 2-week jump on getting to know my fellow classmates. There will be about 90 of us in the incoming class so there’s many more I’ll be meeting next week.

Speaking of next week, that’s when school officially starts. And what a week it will be!
Here’s my schedule:
Monday (9/1) – Labor Day, day off – my last one for awhile
Tuesday (9/2) – Orientation (10am – 3pm), Hermeneutics Class (7pm – 9pm)
Wednesday (9/3) – Orientation (11am – 3pm), Interpersonal Foundations (4pm – 6pm)
Thursday (9/4) – Orientation (11am – 3pm), Vespers (6pm – 8pm)
Friday (9/5) – All day student-led tours of Seattle; Student-hosted dinners in neighborhoods around Seattle.
Saturday (9/6) – Convocation (10:30am – 12:30pm), School Picnic (1:30pm – 3:30pm)
Sunday (9/7) – Work at my new job
Monday starts my regular schedule which will be classes Monday – Wednesday, Thursday and Friday will be used for study and reading with the possible few extra hours for work. Saturday and Sunday I work.

As for my general adjustment to Seattle, it seems to be coming along. I feel more and more comfortable with my surroundings. Going to the grocery store is still a strategic challenge and getting to a Target or such store requires coordinating with someone who has a car. But all in all, I’m enjoying Seattle. Oh yeah, an I expect to have calves of steel by Christmas what with the near vertical climbs I’m doing on a near daily basis walking two and from school. That whole 6-block transit distance is deceiving when you don’t see a 3-dimensional map. Oh well. It’s good for me so I’m not complaining… or at least not complaining too loudly.

I miss you all. There is a chance I may be coming home for Christmas but it’s still in the dreaming stage right now. I’ll let you know if it becomes more a plan and less of a dream. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers. I need each one of them.

I Hate Panic Attacks

For the record, I hate panic attacks. Not sure I know of anyone who loves them. But, I just wanted to make it clear my feelings on the topic. I hate ‘em.

About 7 years ago I had them quite often. Very intense and soon became dibilitating. I ended up admitting myself to a hospital for help. At the time the attacks were just the tip of the iceberg in regards to what was going on inside me. Soon with meds and therapy they were under control and I found balance in my life.

I have been off my anxiety meds for about 3-4 years now. All has been good. Then about a month or so ago they started coming on. Luckily I know enough about my body and the experience of an attack that I can feel it coming on and am able to take actions to avoid a full attack. It’s been tough though and many times I feel they threaten my ability to live a full life. In actuality, they really can. Since they come from nowhere most of the time, I am caught off guard and have to do what I can to handle them. Sometimes the after-affect (lingering panic under the surface) can stick around for hours. It’s frustrating.

I know much of what I’m going through right now is related to the immense amount of life-altering changes I’ve been through in the last couple months, as well as the last couple years. It makes sense that someone with a history of panic attacks might suffer from them again at this pinnacle life-shift. I understand it. I also understand that there might be some stuff churning beneath the surface during this time that I need to deal with. My body is telling me there is stress and I need to deal with it. I get it.

I still hate em though.