Fret Not, I'm Just Having An Episode Here.

Sometimes I really, really, hate being a Psych major. Today, for example, I really, really hate being a Psych major. It is not a typical major. The Global Studies department doesn't ask you about your early childhood and your Mathematics professor doesn't want to know about the emotional scarring your parents inflicted on you. They just don't.

My professors do. Normally, not a very big deal for me. Normally. Today, for example, it was a big deal for me.

One of my professors is my personal hero. I could not adore her more. She is incredibly gifted in her work and has been through traumas I can't even describe. She's inspiring.

As I said, she is gifted. Incredibly gifted. She can peg you in two seconds. She pegged me in two seconds.

(Whimper)

My apologies, I was just reliving it.

Anyways, in my class with this professor we have separated into groups and we meet with our groups and play counselor. Over the semester we meet in 24 sessions in different roles, counselor, client and witness. Then we have a supervision meeting. Naturally you are all aware that all good therapists have supervisors and speak to them regularly.

The supervision meeting is with my professor and we talk about how things are going. Obviously I cannot discuss the gritty details here because as you all know, all good therapists practice the strictest rules of confidentiality and I have heard that the Internet isn't actually all that private.

But, I can tell you about my experience.

As the client, I find myself holding back. I hear my group members speak every week so I know what makes them tick and what things they like and as a result of this knowledge, I hold back.

I don't talk about anything confrontational or oppositional to their views, I don't discuss anything real.

As I am eloquently stumbling my way through this explanation, my professor looks at me sitting there wiggling, uncomfortable, messy and says:

"I can see you holding back now...what's that about?"

Ugh, I thought. Suddenly feeling like I was pinned exactly where I sat. "Iono" I mumbled. Very intelligent response, I know.

Normal people let people go when they are sitting there squirming. Psychologists, the good ones, don't. So she kept staring, and I kept squirming and then she says:

"So, what is it that makes them more important then you."

Oh crap, I thought. And just in case my psyche didn't fully process it the first time, the sentence went echoing through my brain, screaming at me.

"So, what is it that makes them more important then you."
"So, what is it that makes them more important then you."
"So, what is it..."

So there I sat, can open...worms everywhere. Completely stuck. My brilliant response was: "Yeeaa."

She let me off the hook then and of course, as a Psych major I couldn't do what most of Small Town America would do with this uncomfortable realization and tuck it away to repress for a lifetime. I had to let it marinate. Through eight hours of class. And as it marinated, I thought, well, she's right, of course.

I do put other people first. I put an incredible amount of time and energy into making sure other people aren't upset. We call it "the tendency to co". A therapist who...well I was going to say "A therapist who co's sucks" but then I realized there are no co therapists because they all burned out in grad school.

The future looks bright.

Ugh. Anyways, the point is that learning about yourself isn't easy but it does present an opportunity for change.

So now I am going to be a hard-ass. Look out world!

That sounded weak to me too....

So now I am going to be a HARD-ASS! DAGNABIT!

Okay...so I am going to work on it. Or something.

This sucks.

Now, off to declare my Underwater Basket Weaving major. Wish me luck!