Dad
Therapists tend to look at too much sleep as a definite bad sign. To be sure, it can be a red flag for depression and other maladies. But someone recently threw this back at me when I inquired about his prodigious sleep habits. "Well, how about you," he said, "don't you like to sleep?" Of course, I had to admit that yes, I do love to sleep.
And I've been doing a lot of it lately. When the weather gets cold and the holidays allow for it, I sleep like a bandit. It gives me time to dream, to think, to reflect.
So I was just lying in bed, and the image of my father came up suddenly. He passed away 17 years ago, and I often reflect on the lessons that he taught me and that he is still teaching me to this day.
I was a wild child, the kid from hell. Early on my friends and I were into skateboarding and motocross biking. We'd build huge skate ramps and fly our bikes off of them. But that was just innocent fun. Later, I'd roam the streets finding things to drink and smoke, hanging out with some not-so-nice people. I was an angry person, and I made a lot of bad decisions. My dad sat quietly through all of it. Once I shrugged off a speeding ticket, until they hauled my butt into court. My dad and I drove out together, him not saying more than two words, but the non-verbal message was clear: you better start thinking about some of these things you're doing, because I won't always be around to help you. I know you can figure things out on your own. Get it together!
Therapists go into the therapy room with all of their life experiences firmly in tow. So when I work with patients, I often think about my father. He taught me that compassionate but tough-minded silence can be a great tool for growth. In therapy, it is an approach that lends a great deal of respect to the patient by acknowledging and encouraging right from the start that he or she has the inner capacity to figure things out on their own. (Sounds downright subversive, doesn't it? Not a hairs' breadth of difference between teacher and student!) The therapist's job is not to judge, and not to give advice, but to always be there for them through the initially frightening and uncertain steps to self-awareness and self-responsibility.
I just wish my father were still here so I could thank him for what he taught me.
And I've been doing a lot of it lately. When the weather gets cold and the holidays allow for it, I sleep like a bandit. It gives me time to dream, to think, to reflect.
So I was just lying in bed, and the image of my father came up suddenly. He passed away 17 years ago, and I often reflect on the lessons that he taught me and that he is still teaching me to this day.
I was a wild child, the kid from hell. Early on my friends and I were into skateboarding and motocross biking. We'd build huge skate ramps and fly our bikes off of them. But that was just innocent fun. Later, I'd roam the streets finding things to drink and smoke, hanging out with some not-so-nice people. I was an angry person, and I made a lot of bad decisions. My dad sat quietly through all of it. Once I shrugged off a speeding ticket, until they hauled my butt into court. My dad and I drove out together, him not saying more than two words, but the non-verbal message was clear: you better start thinking about some of these things you're doing, because I won't always be around to help you. I know you can figure things out on your own. Get it together!
Therapists go into the therapy room with all of their life experiences firmly in tow. So when I work with patients, I often think about my father. He taught me that compassionate but tough-minded silence can be a great tool for growth. In therapy, it is an approach that lends a great deal of respect to the patient by acknowledging and encouraging right from the start that he or she has the inner capacity to figure things out on their own. (Sounds downright subversive, doesn't it? Not a hairs' breadth of difference between teacher and student!) The therapist's job is not to judge, and not to give advice, but to always be there for them through the initially frightening and uncertain steps to self-awareness and self-responsibility.
I just wish my father were still here so I could thank him for what he taught me.
posted by David H at 4:49 PM
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