COVID and the therapy boss
This morning, I put on a playlist that I made during COVID which I accurately titled, “Fix my melted brain”, and I realized that I don’t think I have ever written about what it was like to be a therapist at this time.
Not sure where you were in the world, but I was on a tiny island- small like 70K, not small like the island from Widow’s Bay. (Side note, I hope you are watching this show, if not, what are you even doing?) I had a new-ish private practice that was going pretty well and office space that I rented out from my dear friend Smith. When COVID hit, our Mayor shut our island down. It was pretty amazing actually, to be in a space that heavily relied on tourism for it’s livelihood, but had a leader that prioritized its’ occupants, locals, and the vulnerable; a sweet fuck you to capitalism. All us in-person therapists had to go online, hesitant to let go of what was certain and steady and made sense to us for so long- our brick and mortar, our physical office space. I think I held onto mine for 3 months? But, as I reflect now, the weirdest part for me was that we, THE ROYAL WE, were all going through the same shit- a global pandemic, and we were the ones folks turned to for safe harbor. Us. The ones going through it too. What a time for imposter syndrome. I mean, if there ever were an imposter syndrome stock for mental health professionals, THIS was the time to get rich as fuck- fat ass fucking rich.
What I had to keep my sanity was art- in all the forms, (always), my colleagues, and online groups for all of us in this field to scream into the digital void- What the fuck do we do? What are you saying to people? What therapeutic modality best fits this situation? How are you responding to them without saying, “Yeah, me too, babe”, a million times over? What are you doing to keep your own sanity? Let your shit out? No gate keeping here- share your secrets so the rest of us can suffer less!
In my inquiries, one thing I realized that we all were doing was seeking out our own therapy, if we weren’t already in it. (I was) And I know that my therapist was also seeing a therapist of her own. And my therapist was a freaking boss- older than me, (read = rich with life wisdom), and very skilled in her practice. I reckon her therapist also had a therapist, so this is level upon level, like the layers of a dream within a dream from Inception. Who was this ultimate boss that sat at the top like the fucking queen I am sure she was?
What was she like? Did she share in our imposter syndrome we-ness? Or, for the interesting smallness and microcosm that is our state, was she aware that she was at the top- confident in her knowing that she indeed was the final boss? Who knows and what does it matter, really? No one and not much, I guess. But, what a time, my friend. What a time. To my therapist friends, I saw you then, and I see you now.
