I felt like a therapist today.
I saw one of my clients recently whose primary diagnosis is autism. The client has been experiencing elevated anxiety and is spending much of their time on the floor or ground (which is unusual for this person). I spent a lot of my time with the person on the floor myself (which is not unusual for me), next to but not in front of the client. I spent a lot of time concentrating on grounding sound; low, slow, rhythmic pitching; half-time singing songs the person requested; making an effort to bring attention to my inhales and exhales; simple, nearly-monotonous melody (during improvisation); and simple accompaniment. I absolutely noticed a change in the person between the beginning and the ending of the session. Absolutely. I noticed quiet and length toward the end of the session. Mostly, the client sounded (to me) staccato, even pizzicato. Not percussive, in as much as percussive sounds happen as something is hitting against something else. This client definitely sounds, generally speaking, pizzicato to me; like the client is being plucked up and out — the opposite of percussive. So, maybe this person wanted grounding today (the client was, after all, on the very ground). Something solid. Instead of flipping about around the room like the sounds from fingers on strings, the client needed, to my ears, sounds to catch them and help them to the ground.
Well now I wish I’d had my violin with me.
Is it me?
When I was studying music therapy at Marylhurst University, we discussed transference and counter transference quite a bit in one of my courses. I remember thinking, “Wait, which one is which?” I admit I still have trouble with the distinction, but I understand, more and more each day, how transference affects the environment.
I see a group on Tuesday mornings. This group is almost always very high energy, and I typically spend a lot of time at the end of the session trying to bring everyone together in breath work (which is to say I want everyone to relax a little before they go out screaming down the halls to lunch). A lot of the people in the group use speech, and some of them sing along or contribute words or phrases to improvisations. Many of the people in the group stand and move in the music or play instruments. Almost always, I leave these sessions feeling nearly jubilant, refreshed even; this group infuses excitement in me that I can say I don’t regularly feel in other sessions.
I walked in this morning and was very plainly sad. I set up my instruments and gear on the table as I always do and I wanted very much to be home. I felt homesick and down. I immediately wondered: Is this me, or is this them? If it’s not me, is it the whole group? What have I noticed walking in today? Is there anything unusual happening today? Has someone died? Is someone ill? Why am I so sad?
This heaviness stayed with me for the whole session, even though the group did not reflect this sadness. I did not hear anything that evoked sadness. No one played anything particularly somber during the check-in. But, one group member had re-joined after having been away for several weeks. This person, though they presented cheerful enough, has always had an irregular and erratic home life and has been in group so infrequently that I wondered whether they would ever come back. I know that they don’t have a lot of support.
I wonder, now as I’m writing, whether the sadness was mine today, or whether is was the group’s, or even that individual’s. Maybe it was both. Maybe it wasn’t. What is endlessly fascinating as well as frustrating about group work is that I won’t ever know.
Regional conference coming up
Though I am a part of the Great Lakes Region of the American Music Therapy Association, I’m going to be going to the Western Region and Midwestern Region’s joint conference in Broomfield, CO that starts in just a couple of weeks. I have family in Colorado whom we were planning to see at some point this month, anyway, and as they live close enough to Broomfield to make the trip work, we decided to visit family and go to conference in one shot. I went to school in Portland, OR (Marylhurst University) and will likely know a few therapists out there. One of my good friends will be receiving an award at the conference, so all will be well.
I’ll have to write up a little something about the sessions I attend.
In the mean time, I’ll keep working.