by Rebekah Tinker, ASW

LEARNING TO LEAN IN

In grad school a professor told me I talked too much. I sat in the corner chair of her little office, scattered papers and boxes half full on the floor. I felt shocked, and honestly, judgmental. I remember thinking that her mind needed to slow down, that the state of her office was a clear reflection of that. I had walked into the meeting feeling confident about the client session we were discussing.

“Bekah, I want you to practice being silent.” Sure, sure, okay, I can do that. I already had a strong meditation practice, I knew about silence, so I wasn’t sure what she hoped to have happen.

“This isn’t meditation, I want you to be silent in an introspective way, in an intentional way, just listen, see what comes up.” I really didn’t like this assignment. I felt a bit nauseated/irritable about it. I felt frustrated with her for not considering the depth of inquiry and reflection I had brought into the session, frustrated because I didn’t feel like my intellect was being respected or heard.

I tugged my coat on and walked back through the sideways snowfall of New England across the parking lot and into my office. I sat in my chair, the heater on full blast, wind whistling past the window. I looked at the empty couch and just sat there. But I didn’t really just sit there. I twisted side to side on the wheels of my chair, then shifted my seat, then shifted it again, then looked out the window, then thought about going down to the cafeteria to get tea, then twisted in my chair again, and then I cried.

At first I cried because I felt unseen. Then it shifted to feeling ashamed and embarrassed, and then I just felt sad and I didn’t know why. What was it really about her criticism that triggered me? I felt exposed, as though her words ripped my clothes off. I realized I had been hiding in my intellect, outside of my body. The metaphors, creative narratives, overly complex reflections, it didn’t let my client into the feeling, it just guided them to understand it from the outside. I did this with my own feelings too. I curled my legs up onto the chair and wondered, “What is the rush? What am I afraid of?”

I was afraid of the suffering.

I wanted to validate and explain the circumstances before they were ready to be let go of.

Pain is a part of the human experience, and sometimes, we just need to lean in. The invitation to feel can birth further depth and knowing. Our society impresses the need to fix what is broken; I believe we have misunderstood “broken” to be “all that feels hard.” Hardness, particularly internal hardness, asks for inquiry and compassion, not bandaids or casts.