Young Therapist, Hearing Voices
Young Therapist, Hearing Voices psychology stories
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ramandabrockett
ramandabrockett Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
This spoken-word poem was my New Year's reflection for 2019 about the experiences of counter-transference and burnout in a psychology internship.

Young Therapist, Hearing Voices

I'm not a spoken word artist by any means, and barely a broke-in poet but if I was to pretend being one for about a minute

I might tell you about my career because even though I'm here

with you, I'm still there

most of the time...

in fact, I have about 5 channels of attention playing in my head

so excuse my attention span

when I'm with you because

I'm still with them.

I'm with my clients most of the time,

and as much as I'm paid, it's till not enough

to rent all the space

they take up in my mind.

I'm a young therapist, hearing voices. I'll admit it. I hear voices

that don't tip an audiology scale

but nevertheless are still real

they're there and very present with me

all the stories that are trusted to me...

I hear...Don't you hear that?

I hear voices...the VOICES, and voices; and NOISES

the echoes of trauma and the ghosts of pain

I'm a haunted woman with a hopeful theme

because if the cost is too much, then the cause isn't great

so this must be the cause of my life because it costs everything

I'm in pain, I got pains of my own and collect others to spare.

I pick them up in-office and everywhere

because I"m in the soma - the body/mind/soul plane

I hear what's NOT said by words or face

because those things can lie

but the body tells things

that I never forget, while I help them forgive.

I have ghost pains. Pan that's not there.

Not pain that's not real; but pain from things that

never hurt me...personally...

but are hurting me now

I have the ghosts of pains borne by kids with no parents

who were trained not to trust by abuse in the system

Memories not mine. Fears that aren't fair.

the 90-year ache of loneliness past my years.

Yeah, I come to tears, about hourly most weekdays

because my heart is open, my calendar's full

and I'm here to change things.

I have ghost pain. I have pain form the only Ghost who's Holy,

driving me on to see my dreams

manifest this healing that I daily affirm my belief in.

I'm a dealer in hope who's hopelessly lost herself in a sea of need

against a cliff of lack - but I'll fill the gap...I'll fill it with me.

That's the intercessor's creed. Cause if someone has to step on my heart to get free,

then so be it.

Ghost pains and feelings, wake up in this body daily and toss what's not yours;

and sort out the horrors. Who's shit is this? Courntertransference?

Bitch, please! how about counteracting hope

at this point, that's all I know to keep doing what I'm doing and

do it well, with love despite the exhaustion of compassion

or burnout that hovers,

on my 6 - on the weekly, I can't move these covers.

Two mornings a month - I call in. I can't be there for others.

Some days, so full of ache from the others before.

A young therapist, hearing voices,

when the 'experts' afield say that I dream too big.

"You're burning to fast, calm down with it kid.

You can't fight the system."

Are you hearing this shit?!

because I hear the voice of the critic, and ignore it. Everytime.

Young therapist, hearing voices, having ghost pains, seeing noises.

Yeah, I see noises, because alarms go off when I analyze movements and body postures

that tell terrible stories that I can't shut off.

Cause I've been dancing with the chidlren,

I've been dancing with the elders,

I've danced with refugees who are more than ailing homeless.

And all those stories hurt because commitment in my word

and partnering with you means you're in charge of change

and if you don't want to dance, that's perfectly okay.

I'll just tell you a story about some one some day.

"Once upon a time there was a young prince who slept through the night..."

read you a prophecy wrapped in a fairy-tale.

I see you in the future when you're looking/doing well.

I hear voices and feel the echoes of all the stories I'm told.

It hurts and disperses, but I don't forget.

All the pain and neglect hurts down to my stomach chakra.

All the horrors of war hurting my shoulders

and the terrors of valored efforts put ice picks through my heart.

As a young therapist who feels like this, just starting out - I get it now.

Just a little but, I think I get it.

Why clients dissociate, disconnect body/mind/soul, cause all three are in pain.

Why clinicians burn out hard; some stay crackle-charred, cause they're hope had to wait.

My hope deferred, but I'll keep the faith. Pay off my loans while I cash in my dreams.

Take my bi-monthly days to call in and just breathe.

I hear all the voices...but I'll keep listening.

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