Reflecting on a quiet summer

I'm finally back to work.  Only problem?  I got a cold the day before I started. Sigh. So I've been coughing and sniveling through the last three days. Nice.

I've done a lot of thinking about whether my decision to take a leave of absence from being a music therapist for two and half months has been helpful.  A lot of people have asked me, and here's what I have to say about it:

1)  I am absolutely shocked that I didn't spend the entire summer feeling guilt-ridden about having "abandoned" my clients.  After all, I am responsible for their happiness and their very lives, am I not? (Now... you see why I needed to take a break?)  This fact alone indicates to me that I was correct in my recognition that "it was time."  

2)  Toward the middle of August I realized that I couldn't quite remember my schedule.  I know this sounds like kind of a weird thing, but when you work in an institution (heck, when you live in an institution) your whole life revolves around your schedule.  There are a lot of people who need services, there are a lot of people who provide services, and somehow or another we all need to show up, be available and have space to do our thing in some orderly way. Hence, schedules.  

Even though my schedule has changed many times over the last 20 years, I have always been fairly certain I'd be thinking through my schedule daily for the rest of my life (well on into retirement).  It felt that indelibly emblazoned in my mind.  I actually had to go in to work this past Wednesday (my first day back) and ask our secretary if she had a copy of my most recent schedule.  Woah.  That was unexpected.

3)  And, speaking of retirement (well, sort of), I actually have gotten to the point where the idea of retiring, eventually, from the institution sounds good to me.  In fact, I'm even eager to get there.  Can we say, "enmeshment problems"?   Who knows? Maybe I'd even consider moving on and doing different work before I retire (as in, I'd still be a music therapist but with a different group of people).  It would never occur to normal people (I am not one of them) that this would not be an option (leaving one job and going to another, I mean).  For me, it took an actual leave of absence.  Hm. 

4)  This realization happened after my return:  The first three days of work have been exhausting!  Okay, yes, I've got a cold, and that isn't helping at all, but... I'm saying... exhausting!  Walking around from building to building with a guitar on my back and a bag of instruments slung over a shoulder, doing session after session, chasing after clients who head off to parts unknown, dodging clients who suddenly decide to freak out while I'm walking through their day area, trying to cram in paperwork time, preparing for a whole bunch of memorial services and monthly religious services, and figuring out what I've missed in the two and a half months since I last showed up for work... I just get home at the end of the day, check my email, brush my teeth, and dump myself into bed!  

Until you take time off from the perpetual motion that comes to be your daily life, and then go back to it, you don't know how hard you work!  I guess I just got to be so used to doing my usual routine (and what I described above wasn't even usually my whole day, because I've had private clients as well) to the point where I didn't even notice how much constant effort I was putting in to just getting through a day.  Wow.  Just... wow.  Definitely eye-opening.

5)  I'm noticing that I feel calmer in my interactions with my clients.  I'm always going to be neurotic about safety issues, but I feel less compelled to do something when it seems as if nothing is happening in a session.  Before my leave I knew that I didn't have to do anything, but I felt the need to do something.  Now that I've given myself the time I've needed (boy, have I needed) to listen to my own thoughts, face a lot of feelings, slog through so many issues around how I relate to people and such, I'm more willing to simply be with and wait for my clients to get where they need to go when they're ready. 

So, was it worth taking time for myself?  Absolutely.  Am I glad to be back at work.  You bet I am.

 

A thought-provoking film

I am visiting with my aunt, uncle and cousin in Massachusetts, and last night, after much deliberation, we decided to watch the film "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly". It is a beautiful and moving film, based on a true story (more about that later) about a well-known French journalist who, at 42 years of age, has a massive stroke and is left completely paralyzed, experiencing a rare condition called Locked-In Syndrome. The only part of his body over which he has any control is his left eye, and in the film we see the world as he must see it, through a very small frame.

Eventually, a speech therapist helps him to learn to communicate through eye blinks, and he writes about his experiences. Sadly, shortly after his book is published, he dies of an infection.

The reason I'm blogging about this is that I think it's an excellent teaching tool for those of us who support individuals who are unable to speak and/or who require physical assistance in all aspects of their lives. First, it reminds us that we are all one moment away from severe disability. Second, it invites us to be mindful of our interactions with people who we presume to be lacking in intellect because of their inability to communicate in conventional ways. Third, we are reminded of the power of the human mind.

The film does not present an entirely accurate portrayal of the relational facts- as in, some of the people who are shown as being part of his life in the film were not involved in the way they were depicted. However, for the purposes I'm suggesting- paying attention to his experiences and how people interact with him once he is disabled- I don't think the factual inaccuracies interfere.

On temporarily not being a music therapist

Somewhere around about June I realized it was time.  I needed to take a leave from work.  

The thing is this:  I've been at the same job for twenty years.  Yeah. Twenty years.  I don't regret it.  And, frankly, after this many years, I finally have the job I wanted when I first started working there.  Obviously then, for a long time now, I've been immersed in being a music therapist.  I've gone back to school and gotten a master's degree in music therapy, I've had supervision for years and years, I've written (and co-written) two book chapters and an article, and I've truly loved the work.  I still do.  And now I get to work with music therapy students and carry on and on about this work to them as well.  This is cool to me.

As I've thought about it though, I've come to the conclusion that now, after all these many years, what I need to do is begin to dis-identify myself for a period of time from my role as a music therapist.  I have been so connected to my clients for such a long time (I work in an institution with people who have severe labels- all under the giant heading of developmental and intellectual disabilities- and I've been with some of the same folks for almost 20 years) that it's gotten to be difficult for me to perceive of myself as being anything but their music therapist.  

So, now I'm on this leave of absence and trying to experience what it's like to not be a music therapist for a while.  I am so identified with this role that it's still practically the first thing that pops out of my mouth when people meet me.  But now that I've been away from the center for a solid month I feel as if I'm finally ready to do the heavy emotional work of this leave.  I've been doing a lot of journaling, and I'm spending a lot of time playing music.  I'm looking forward to a couple of gigs next week up in New England, and I'll be taking a class on Mindful Therapy at the Cape Cod Institute.  I have another month and a half to go.  We'll see what it brings...