The Human in the Helper: I don't blame him

Rose is no stranger to grief. She’s experienced several losses in her lifetime and even specializes in death as a counselor. Helping others navigate loss fuels her professional purpose, and yet she recognizes it’s a whole different experience to go through a significant loss yourself. “My daughter Layla was killed on her skateboard in the crosswalk.” This tragedy catapulted Rose into a shock response. “Everything comes to a halt, until you come out of it or ask for help.”

Rose began her quest for receiving help by reaching out to other therapists. “I knew I needed to process what happened.” She reflected on how others had problematic, and oftentimes hurtful responses to grief. Messages of grief being messy and an urge to get through it as fast as possible. An alarming message of hurry up and get over it. Rose understands grief differently. “Pushing grief down or attempting to get over it leads to it expressing in other ways, most often as flare ups.” She spoke to how buying something at the grocery store can leave a person in tears when they realize their loved one enjoyed that food. Or seeing someone spiral out when hearing food ordered at a restaurant in the exact same way as the person who’s died. 

Rose recognizes that her grief is hers to process in ways that feel right to her. “I couldn’t find a therapist who wanted to help me with this. Several of them said it was too heavy.” So she pivoted into doing her own work individually, and with the help of a close friend willing to be her witness. “Find yourself a friend who can hear it. They don’t need to understand your experience or give advice, they just have to acknowledge they received it.” For Rose, this meant sharing what was coming up for her in text messages to her friend to prevent a flare up. It helped her stay grounded in the most difficult moments after Layla’s death.

Another piece of Rose’s healing process was giving herself a break from her grief. “I told myself that I was going to set it aside to work from 10-2 every day. Then I’d fall apart at 215.” This allowed Rose the opportunity to rest her brain, embrace meaning with her clients, and take a break from the grief of losing Layla. It gave her a sense of power and control in a powerless situation. Rose encourages others to find a counselor who doesn’t take on their symptoms as the client. She explained how it allows the professional to hold space for the work without taking on the emotions associated with the loss. “It’s mine to handle,” she shared, “I’ve got to find hope in the hurt.”

Rose also emphasized how she wants to think of Layla and talk about her every day. “I want to live in the love of her, not the loss. Just because she’s gone, doesn’t mean our love is gone.” Rose embodies this by seeing different perspectives of loss with tons of compassion. “Things happen to everyone involved. I just had to change my glasses to see things from their perspective.” Rose shared how the person who hit Layla in the crosswalk was a peer at school. “I don’t blame him, I could see that it was an accident. Layla wouldn’t have wanted him to stop his life because this happened.” Rose recounts how she took this young man’s hand and walked with him into the crosswalk, so he could truly understand how he couldn’t have seen Layla crossing that day. It’s the gift she gave him in a situation that was awful for so many. “A whole school was affected,” Rose reflected.

Now Rose is even more determined to help others with their grief. She wants clients and community members to feel empowered to take their time and try things until they find what’s right for them. She named that not everyone is going to go through the five stages of grief, and not in any particular order if they do. Rose wants to normalize the grief journey and feels called to  create support since her own journey of seeking support had been so challenging. She’s channeling her experience into her client work, wanting others to feel free of the clutches of grief. “I want to help others find hope in the hurt. Layla’s love fuels everything I do.”

Things happen to us as humans, even as we support our clients as professional helpers. Do you have a story you want to share the mental health community? Email us at croswaitecounselingpllc@gmail.com to learn more about the Human in the Helper Series!

Holding Space for Horror, Hurt, and Healing

Have you ever felt the sensation of déjà vu? The gut feeling that you’ve been here before and thus can’t escape this surreal feeling, like you’re floating, your stomach is full of rocks, and there’s a ringing in your ears? For many of us, February 14, 2018 was a day of déjà vu in its worst form, reliving the trauma and horror of another mass shooting.

For me personally, the sudden anger, sadness, grief, and avoidance that came to the surface were the very same that I experienced after the Aurora Theater Shooting on July 20, 2012.  For others, it felt like Columbine on April 20, 1999.  Many people around the world are affected by the loss and violence surrounding a mass shooting and so many of us want answers. As therapists, we hold space for the questions and the grief, providing a safe environment for processing of loss, fear, and desire to understand. As trauma therapists in particular, we encourage clients to explore fears and needs in order to feel heard, and possibly, to begin the healing process again. And yet there are days we struggle with balance, the effort of holding space for others as well as holding space for ourselves.  If we are completely honest, it may even feel easier to hold space for others rather than think and feel our own emotions.

Professionally, it didn’t occur to me that Aurora would stay with me in my practice, year after year. July 2012 was supposed to be a month of celebration as our cohort had graduated and were seeking our first jobs as therapists. We had bonded in role plays, through projects, on adventures, and with humor. Survived internships, passed exams, and grew as individuals. Aurora would prove to impact the cohort quite rapidly when we found out four of our own peers were present and involved in the violence that took place. It took all day to get answers about their safety, and when we finally did receive word, we came together to grieve the loss of one of our own and trauma to three others. You may know him as the hero who took a bullet for the woman he loved, shielding her from the chaos in the theater. His actions show his character and the person he was in this world. There is so much I could say, but know that he was loved by many and brought humor and lively spirit to otherwise heavy work. We grieved together over the weeks that followed, knowing the impact would go beyond our cohort and be felt around the world.  Before we could blink, the cohort was scattering rapidly, almost like a driving force was pushing us away from one another, and away from the reminders of what we’d lost. It became easier to avoid and attend to others, to embrace their pain and needs for healing by throwing ourselves into the therapeutic work, perhaps hoping to heal ourselves in the process.

And yet with each new tragedy, full of images, horror, and tears, we are transported back to our own dark times. Perhaps triggered to the point of needing breaks, tracking our own emotions, and holding boundaries with our clients to stay present in their grief. Grappling with whether to share our pain with clients out of connection and compassion or decide to lock it away for another, more private time.

Whatever direction you decide in your own grief, know that your efforts to help others through connection and compassion go a long way in recovering from these tragedies. Let us be gentle with ourselves as we are with our clients. Let us acknowledge the hurt and remain open to the healing. Let us recognize the avoidance of pain and the safety needed to face it. And let us hold space when words cannot capture what is felt rather than said.  Only when being true to ourselves and embracing vulnerability can we truly support healing.

In loving memory of Alexander C. Teves