When the sequel doesn’t live up to your expectations

When the world feels bleaker than usual, I get into reading dystopian novels. There’s something about escaping into an even more difficult world that’s appealing. I can wholeheartedly focus on how these other people are trying to survive and adapt in incredibly difficult circumstances. At least it’s not that bad here, I tell myself as I lean into perspective-taking and distraction. 

So, I was very excited when my Book Club picked Octavia Butler’s The Parable of the Sower to read. I couldn’t put it down. It’s part thriller, part horror, part story of resilience. This was my first venture into reading Butler, and I was hooked. The language of the novel is succinct but descriptive, and the narrative has a driving beat while still developing the characters and their relationships with visceral imagery. Plus, I loved that the story is set in California and includes themes of climate change, water scarcity, wildfires, and areas I know well.

(By the way, if you haven’t read it and decide to check it out, please be warned that some scenes are very violent and graphic. I prefer a written format, over an audiobook, for a story like this because I find it easier to skim and skip passages when I need to. But, it’s totally understandable if a story like this doesn’t work for your sensitive nervous system!)

I enjoyed The Sower so much, and some of its themes were so resonant to the time we’re living in that I couldn’t wait to start the second book, The Parable of the Talents. (Sadly, Butler died before she was able to write the final book in the series.) Butler wrote the sequel in 1998, and it uncannily references a president who is elected using the refrain, “Make America great again,” which chilled me to my core, even before I started reading.

I was surprised upon starting The Talents that the pacing was very different. While the first book had an almost frantic energy that made it hard for me to put down, the second book bobbed along. It’s written from 2 different character perspectives, and it takes its time.

Although I still enjoyed the sequel, I didn’t feel as compelled to read it. It’s in the same world, but the focus is quite different. 

As a reader, it made me pause. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I thought it would be more familiar. But it wasn’t.

This made me think of clinical work. How sometimes a new client comes in, and as therapists, we go, Ah ha! I’ve seen this before and feel relieved. Then, another new client comes in with the same presenting issue, and again, we think, I know how to do this! 

Of course, we meet each client where they are, and we know therapy is unique to each person, so we’re careful to stay curious. 

The work with the first client is off to the races. They’re ready to dig in, they implement what we talk about outside of session. They’re ready for change, and the process and progress move quickly. 

But the work with the other client ebbs and flows. Mostly, it ebbs. Maybe the client has some ambivalence about change. We know it’s normal, but it frustrates us. Maybe the client has some defense mechanisms at play. We explore further and understand where the defenses originated. But, as sensitive therapists, it’s really tough to maintain the therapeutic environment when those defenses come flying right at us. 

When we sit with people who are struggling, our mirror neurons are firing intensely as highly sensitive therapists. We’re sponges as our empathy absorbs so much emotion and energy from our client. 

It’s really easy to pick up on our client’s ambivalence, uncertainty, and doubt. We start doubting ourselves and questioning whether we’re helping. We might even start questioning our abilities as a therapist. 

It’s a painful place to be.

But, the truth is that the pacing and the content for each client is different. Their personality, life experiences, culture, community, background, and identities all contribute to their story. While both clients’ narratives have been placed in the same section, their unfolding stories couldn’t be more different.

It’s not about you. 

It’s about who they are and where they are. 

I know you know this. 

But, I wanted to offer this reminder today, in case you needed to hear it: 

It’s not about you. 

Your job is just to keep showing up and bringing your compassion, your strengths, your invitations for change. 

The rest is up to them.  

Warmly,

Ivy Griffin, LMFT # 51714, Clinical Supervisor, Founder