I have a recurring dream about trying to reach a destination and struggling to get there. Sometimes this dream happens in a massive, fun-house-like hotel with levels that don’t connect, moving staircases, and elevators that shoot off into other places. Other times it happens in a vacation area. I’m on the beach or in the mountains or a city trying to connect with a loved one, and my journey becomes a maze as elements shift and change and I can’t quite get there.

I wake up from these dreams sweaty and agitated. They don’t exactly feel like nightmares, but they’re definitely unpleasant. They leave me with a lingering sense of frustration and longing and a little scared. (I have a huge fear of getting trapped in an elevator.)

I’ve been reflecting on change a lot lately. Sometimes I actually like change. I get bored if things stay the same too long. I have enough high sensation-seeking in me that I crave novelty. I love trying a new restaurant, watching a movie I’ve been wanting to see, traveling and soaking in the sights/sounds/people/places. Even rearranging some furniture gives me that tingle of freshness. 

I realize - these are all changes I can control. They are novelties I get to pick and decide when and where and how to explore them. 

I adore this kind of newness.

Then, there’s another kind of change. The kind that happens when you’re looking the other way. 

You wake up and realize you don’t feel right. There’s a tickle in your throat and some achiness in your muscles. Nothing’s terribly wrong, but you feel . . . off. It’s not awful, but you don’t feel great either.

Ughhhh, you groan. You’ve got a full day of clients scheduled. How bad is it? Should you suck it up and get through the day? Switch your sessions to telehealth? Stay home sick?  

If you’re anything like me, you can go round and round with these questions and then overthink it some more.

We live in a world filled with pain. Tragedies, mistreatment, and suffering are all around us. And, in the face of such difficulty, gratitude can feel trite. However, as highly sensitive therapists, we are very experienced with the concept of both/and.

We live with a mantra of:

My peace does not diminish another’s war.

My joy does not diminish another’s sadness. 

My love does not diminish another’s loss.

Our caring, deeply thoughtful brains and souls can allow both.

Some days I struggle to get out of bed. Whether it’s because I don’t want to face something, I didn’t sleep well the night before, or my bed is just exerting its natural gravitational pull, it reminds me of the importance of rest. As a highly sensitive person (HSP), I’m used to feeling quickly depleted by the goings-on of an average day. As a highly sensitive therapist, I’m even more aware of the mental and emotional load I carry at any given time and how important it is to let go and just be with myself. As highly sensitive therapists, how do we soothe ourselves, not just when we’re stressed or tired, but every day?

Are you a mental health therapist who has opened your laptop to start a telehealth session only to find that your computer has decided to require an update at-this-exact-inopportune-moment? Or, who has logged in to a platform to do something you've done 100 times before only to find that it's changed, and now you're confused? Who has seen a message from a client pop up and then forgotten to respond as you got pulled into the demands of your day? Not to mention, who has done the dreaded - double-booking of clients?? <shudder, shudder>