Speed Is My Therapy Quotes

Magic. I want magic. I want magic that works. THere is no doctor that can make the creature back into my daddy. No therapy that can make him into what he should have been. No going back to the beginning and rewriting. He is what he is and if I have to write what I know, I'm doomed, because I can never write about this, never.

To not be cut off, however, we need to be moving in a rhythm that is syncopated with that of the oaks and willows, heartbeats and touch. We must recall the original cadence of the soul. One of my most memorable teachings about slowing down came from my mentor, Clarke Berry, a Jungian analyst with whom I apprenticed, following licensure. I was young, and I knew I was in need of a mentor, someone who could teach me the art of sitting with others in therapy. The Jung Institute in San Francisco referred me to Clarke along with other analysts, but when I met him, I knew I was in the right place. Our first meeting, over thirty years ago, was unforgettable. When we sat down, Clarke reached to his left, placed his hand on a large rock lying on a table, and said, “This is my clock. I operate at geologic speed. And if you are going to work with the soul, you need to learn this rhythm, because this is how the soul moves.” Then he pointed to a small clock also sitting there and added, “It hates this.” What an amazing thing to tell this young therapist. It is the single most important thing I ever learned about therapy, about working with the soul. I share this story with every person I work with; I use it as a means of calming the urgency to change and helping patients return to a rhythm that enables them to listen once again to their own soul.

One of my most memorable teachings about slowing down came from my mentor, Clarke Berry, a Jungian analyst with whom I apprenticed, following licensure. I was young, and I knew I was in need of a mentor, someone who could teach me the art of sitting with others in therapy. The Jung Institute in San Francisco referred me to Clarke along with other analysts, but when I met him, I knew I was in the right place. Our first meeting, over thirty years ago, was unforgettable. When we sat down, Clarke reached to his left, placed his hand on a large rock lying on a table, and said, “This is my clock. I operate at geologic speed. And if you are going to work with the soul, you need to learn this rhythm, because this is how the soul moves.

Getting old was a bitch, and my body had no problem reminding me of that after each physical therapy session.

I feel like a kite being jerked around by gusts and occasional hurricane-speed winds. Maureen, my occupational therapist, says that’s part of having Sensory Processing Disorder. It’s hard to explain Sensory Processing Disorder—I guess it means that it’s harder for me to be a person in the world than it is for most people. Like how I hate slimy textures and the taste of eggs makes me gag and I can never wear shirts with tight collars or jeans that squeeze my knees. I hate bright overhead lights, and having my toenails trimmed makes me howl in pain. And don’t even talk to me about perfume. Total chemical overload. But, at the same time, I love being squeezed by a body sock and I can’t get enough of certain tastes, like passion fruit. I could taste passion fruit forever. Beyond touch and taste and smell issues, it’s also hard for me to control my energy level, and I’m kind of clumsy and I’m always losing things. Water bottles are the worst. I lose my water bottle every few weeks. My mom says she first noticed something was different about me when I was a toddler and she took me to a Music Together class. While the other kids danced in a circle and shook their plastic gourds, I hid in a corner of the gym and beat a drum until long after the song was over. And then there were other things. I kept falling onto the sidewalk and chipping my baby teeth. And I couldn’t climb out of the sandbox like all the other kids. And even though I hated my music class, I loved pounding pots and pans and making my own noise. That’s why Sensory Processing Disorder is hard to explain. It’s different in every person. For me, I hate some textures and love others. Like I love nachos and popcorn because they’re awesome to crunch. But I can’t stand the crunch of a baby carrot. I can chew a baby carrot for ten minutes and still have a mouthful of orange gunk. Sometimes I hate crowds and other times I love being surrounded by people. And my shins? Covered in bruises. I’m not chipping teeth anymore but I’m still clumsy. When I was four, I started going to occupational therapy. For a few years, I also saw a physical therapist who taught me how to jump and climb, and I had appointments with a speech therapist who gave me bumpy plastic toys to chew. I even had a special teacher following me around in preschool, telling me not to hug other children so hard they’d topple over. I doubt I ever hugged Avery Tanaka back in preschool, but my mom told me that once at pickup I tried to bite her sweatshirt. Yeah, I was a weird kid.