10 thoughts about music therapy advocacy- Part 2

I'm thinking that it might be helpful to know where I'm coming from in terms of music therapy advocacy as I share this list of thoughts with you. After all, you may be wondering what the heck qualifies me to preach at you about becoming an advocate? Here are some of the things I've done over the past twenty-three or so years:


During my time as a music therapist I have spent a lot of years as an active member of my state organization, the New Jersey Association for  Music Therapy (NJAMT). I was originally asked to join the board because I was a member of the former American Association for Music Therapy (yes, back then there used to be two associations, and they merged in 1998). I continued to serve, becoming Secretary, Treasurer, President, Newsletter Editor and ending as Public Relations co-chair. I am no longer active as a board/committee member, but I maintain my connection to NJAMT as the listserv coordinator. 


While I was President of NJAMT I also served on the NJCATA board (that would be the New Jersey Coalition of Arts Therapies Associations) as the music therapy representative for a period of time. I've helped to organize Music Therapy Day in New Jersey (which we have been holding in Trenton in the State House), and we organized a celebration of  30 years of music therapy at the facility where I work. 


As a performing singer/songwriter, I've talked about music therapy when I've had gigs, and I regularly find myself engaged in conversations about "what is music therapy" when I meet new people. These days I share stories about my work with you, kind readers. 


So. Yes. I've spent a good portion of my music therapy life advocating. I feel strongly about the work I do, and I care a great deal about the people I work for, namely my clients. With that in mind, here are my thoughts about what is helpful as we learn to become advocates:


1. Connect with other music therapists. Join a peer supervision group, connect through various social media outlets on the internet, or simply get to know the music therapists in your geographic area. I'm lucky. New Jersey has a lot of music therapists, and we have a fairly strong community, but we work at it, because it's important to us. Doing this type of work with a group of like-minded people standing next to you is a lot easier.


2. Know who you are and what it means to you to be a music therapist. It's very hard to advocate for yourself and for your clients if you don't know who you are professionally and why what you're doing is important. Really work at developing an identity for yourself as a music therapist. And I don't mean branding (although at some point that's important as well). What I mean is figure out your beliefs: about music, therapy, about what works for you and what doesn't, your approach, and hone your skills.


3. Be really good at what you do. By this I mean, find yourself a clinical supervisor. Yes, I know I sound like a broken record, but it's that important and that helpful. If you decide to get peer supervision instead, challenge yourself to go deeper- even if it means getting your own therapy- music therapy if you can. Look at your own issues. Figure out what issues and blocks come up for you when you're providing music therapy services, and work on them. This makes you accountable. 


4. Learn everything you can about the population with whom you're working.  Try to get as deep an understanding of the group of people you work with every day, and, as much as possible, try to learn from the people who experience the condition/illness/life experience. Learn what the issues are from their perspective, and then make a point of figuring out why music therapy is important for this particular group of people. When you have an idea of what someone's actual lived experience is like, you will be a more respectful and effective music therapist. And, by extension, you'll be a more effective advocate for your services (to people who may want to use your services, to facilities that may hire you, and, eventually, to legislators). 


5. Chat with people about music therapy. If you're a performing musician, you have a perfect forum for talking about music therapy (and sometimes a captive audience). Talk about what you do to high school students who are musicians. Tell people what you do when you're getting your hair cut. I mean, really. The possibilities are endless.


6. Answer questions about music therapy. Because I have a website or two, I get a lot of emails from high school and college students who are writing papers about music therapy. Do your best to be helpful. Sometimes people I've met (or relatives of people I've met) are considering the possibility of becoming music therapists. If they live nearby, invite them to come and observe you in your work (get permission from your clients/facility first, of course). 


7. If your state has a music therapy organization, join/volunteer. If not, start one. True, it's been a while since I was a very active member of NJAMT, but it was, and continues to be, one of the best decisions I made as a music therapist. It helped me to develop my skills as a leader, as a public speaker, as an organizer. It connected me with a lot of really great people, and it gave me a sense of being a part of something (which can be important, especially if you happen to be the only music therapist at your facility). It gave me the opportunity to do a lot of things I didn't think I could ever do. Your state organization keeps you up-to-date on what's happening with regard to legislation and can provide you with training so you know how to go and talk to your elected officials about music therapy.  They can be a resource for jobs in your state (or in a state in which you might want to relocate). 


8. Don't burn yourself out on advocacy. This may sound like kind of a strange thing to say after a big long pep talk, but it can happen. You can be all gung-ho for a long time, and it's great when you can do that! But you can just as easily burn yourself out without noticing it. And that's no good for anyone. So make sure that you have a life outside of music therapy as well. One of the best pieces of advice I got was when I observed my first music therapist ever. She said to make sure you always have somewhere to play your own music. Cultivate the many other things you love to do- cooking, hiking, reading, kayaking, sky diving...whatever excites you and lets you have your own personal identity as well. 


9. Sometimes in spite of your best advocacy efforts, things don't go as you hoped. It's the truth. Being a music therapist can sometimes be very frustrating. One of the most devastating experiences for me was spending twenty years at my job talking about music therapy, doing presentations for administrators, making sure people had information about what a qualified music therapist is, what skills we have, what training we have, and on and on. And one day, one of the other departments decided to hire a person who is not trained as a music therapist to work in a music therapy title and to "do music" with our clients. And there wasn't a blessed thing I could do about it. (Mercifully, the guy is really cool and never calls what he does music therapy, but that doesn't mean that the rest of the staff understands that he's not a music therapist.) It's important for you to know: it happens. It happens a lot. And when it does (because it will), you go back to the support system you've developed. You re-connect with the community of fellow music therapists and allies. Because you will need them. 


10. In spite of it all, love what you do. Celebrate when your clients take little and big steps. Theirs are the faces you'll see in your mind as you tell people what it is you do. Feel a passion for getting to be someone who gets to connect with people and who uses and plays music for a living. Because that is living. 


And, ultimately, that's what it's all about!

Eating a slice of humble pie

Image by shandopics via FlickrI knew if I waited a while, calmed myself down and thought about it in a peaceful state, I'd have a better idea of how to proceed with C. 


You may (or may not) recall that I wrote about the dreadful session I had with her a couple of weeks ago. I was feeling terrifically annoyed with myself (among other sources of annoyance) because I had allowed my anxiety about staff being upset with my "letting" C strip in music therapy (I mean, really?) cloud my therapeutic judgment. 


Ugh!


So, as I was driving back from Michigan (which is quite a long drive when you're headed to New Jersey) to visit my friend (a music therapist turned music librarian, as it happens), I was thinking about the coming week. Naturally, my thoughts turned to Monday morning, C's scheduled time for music therapy. 


I had (yet) another twinge of guilt as I remembered our last session before I went on vacation (just for the record, it's not unusual to have a horrible session right before a vacation- in fact, it's one of the, er, perks of being a therapist). 


And let me just say, it was not one of my shining moments as a music therapist. 


As I was trundling along the Ohio Turnpike (where they have very nice rest areas, I must say), I wondered what I was supposed to do about the stripping. I didn't want to stop working with her, because, in spite of the exposure episodes, there were moments of actual connection in the music. 


I tried to perceive the situation from C's point of view (something I've tried to do before), considering the idea (again) that she may, in fact, feel exposed. 


Then it suddenly hit me! 


A forty-five minute session is way too intense for her! Sure she may appreciate parts of the experience, and she may even find herself engaged meaningfully with the music (maybe even with me), but she's not even close to being ready to deal with that kind of constant attentive interaction for that long of a period of time!


Of course!


I need to start out with very short sessions (five to ten minutes at most) and gradually learn when C is letting me know she's ready for more time. 


Honestly, sometimes I think I've been at this a bit too long that I could manage to forget something as basic as that. As basic as: can this client tolerate a 45-minute session, or should we start small and work our way up? 


So, today I showed up in the cottage feeling a little more confident (with regard to the staff), and I explained my plan. I'm not sure they were as enthusiastic about my plan as I was, but they were agreeable enough (which I appreciated).


The supervisor (for some reason) decided to get C, and we sat outside of the room where her group was meeting.


The first thing I felt I needed to do was to apologize to C for misdirecting my frustration in the previous session and aiming it at her. Then I acknowledged that I had not remembered that when someone is paying very close, unwavering attention to you for a sustained period of time it can be uncomfortable as hell. 


I told C my plan. "We'll start with a ten minute session. I'll practically be singing 'hello' and then 'goodbye' and then we'll stop, and I'll plan to be here next Monday again."


C, tucked under her blanket, tapped her hand against her leg. I sang "hello", she listened quietly, then I heard her giggle and vocalize with me a little bit. Then I asked if she needed anything else from the music before we ended for today. She vocalized a bit more. I sang "goodbye," put away my guitar, and I escorted her back to her group. 


She was smiling.

Well *that's* good to know

http://blogs.psychcentral.com/unplugged/2009/04/ten-things-a-good-therapist-should-be-aware-of/


As a music therapist working with people who mostly don't use speech as their main communication mode, I thought this was a particularly helpful blog post (written by Sonia Neale).


I particularly appreciated her last comment: "Even after thirteen years, therapy can be an inherently exhausting process." 

When sessions go to hell (yes, Virginia, in a hand basket!)

Image by jamelah via Flickr

Damn! I was all set to wax lyrical about what a wonderful first session I had had with two new clients, C and J, two Saturdays ago. 


I'd even started the blog already. I had a nice little picture all picked out and everything. There was a little singing bird. It was downright idyllic, if I do say so myself.


Well. 


That little gloat-fest sure didn't last too long. 


When I showed up this past Saturday, it all went to hell. (Please observe said hand basket above and to the right.)


First, the room we'd used the previous week was completely unavailable. Apparently, it had just been painted and they didn't want anyone in there until the paint was dry.  It was a nice, relatively quiet room with space, with a big water-bed looking thing (that looked like a cross between this, this, and this), where last week C, who seems to experience a lot of sensory discomfort, tucked herself in under her blanket and her giant beanbag and sang along with her series of sweet little "bee bah" sounds. 


Okay. "So the room isn't available," I thought. I can work around that. I think.


Then, while I was checking out other room possibilities, I noticed that the other person in our small music therapy group, J (who became "the other person in our small music therapy group" simply because she kept walking in to the room last week, and I finally said, "why don't you just join us on a regular basis?"), was unavailable, because she was having some behavioral issue that required a lot of people to stand around her and look concerned. And not too happy. 


Hunh.


No problem, I'll just work with C in the vestibule where she's sitting (tucked under her blanket with her giant beanbag) (is anyone else noticing a theme here?). I'm flexible. I can do this. 


Two seconds into singing "hello" to her (after her staff kindly unplugged the radio that had been playing), C got up and left. 


And that was that.


After that we moved into a whole following around (me following C), pulling (C pulling me, because I guess my following her wasn't going the way she'd expected), stripping (C's, not mine, thank God), bathroom going (again, not me for a change), insisting I put the radio back on (you guessed it, C wanted the radio), irritated "BEE-BAH" sounding...thing. 


There were two (maybe two) blissful (okay, maybe it wasn't blissful, but we're talking comparatively here) minutes in which C sat and smiled as I played and sang with her. 


Then we were back off and running.


Heavy sigh.


A few years back (in 2006, I believe) my friend, Judy and I did a presentation at the Mid-Atlantic music therapy conference which we called "The Myth of the Perfect Music Therapist, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Mistakes". 


I think this would definitely qualify as one of those bummer sessions that are more "part of the process" or "grist for the mill" (as the sayings go) than shining examples of moments in therapeutic gloriosity.


I suppose, if there's anything for me to have learned from this, it's that if we music therapists can't own and acknowledge our lousy sessions/days and accept them as part of life, then our clients won't be able to do that either. 


Not that it's any kind of easy.


Well. There's always next week.

"Truly there is a healing force in meaning." (Viktor Frankl)

When I saw the title of the book in the library, I knew I had to borrow it:

"The Unheard Cry for Meaning: Psychotherapy and Humanism"

Not surprisingly, it's by Viktor E. Frankl, the man who famously wrote "Man's Search for Meaning".

I haven't gotten very far into it, and now I have to dash off to get to a gig in Massachusetts, but here are some quotes I wrote down so far:

"The patient had not been taken as a human being, that is to say, a being in steady search of meaning; and this search for meaning, which is so distinctive of man had not been taken seriously at its face value, but was seen as a mere rationalization of underlying unconscious psychodynamics. It had been overlooked or forgotten that if a person has found the meaning sought for, he is prepared to suffer, to offer sacrifice, even, if need be, to give his life for the sake of it. Contrariwise, if there is no meaning he is inclined to take his life, and he is prepared to do so even if all his needs, to all appearances, have been satisfied." (p. 20)

And...

"...I think that, rather than exhibiting mental illness, someone worrying about the meaning of life is proving his humanness. One need not be a neurotic to be concerned with the quest for a meaning to life, but one does need to be a truly human being." (pp. 28-29)

And...

"If we are to bring out the human potential at its best, we must first believe in its existence and presence." (p. 30)

One more...

"...while food is certainly a necessary condition for survival, it is not sufficient condition to endow one's life with meaning and thus relieve the sense of meaninglessness and emptiness." (p. 33)

I absolutely must dash out of here, but I wanted to send along these thought-provoking comments. I'm sure you can see how music therapy fits into this nicely. And, having worked in an institution for so many years, you can, I'm sure, see how I might recognize how directly Frankl's comments speak to the experiences of my clients.

I'd be interested to hear how other folks relate to these quotes as well. It certainly follows appropriately on the tails of my thoughts with regard to whether or not my clients feel they're getting something out of being in music therapy.