What I Learned in Therapy

.

Hey.

We'll come back to what I
learned in therapy with me.

Jamie Lang.

Today, I'm going to talk about
an amazing moment that happened

at one of the retreats at my
healing center called the vault.

It's a story about how we
adapt in the face of something.

Through which we have little
tools or have little resources.

And it's a really important story that.

Everybody needs to hear.

Uh, but before we jump in, I want to
remind you to join our Patrion community.

There you can have access to extended
episodes as well as meditations

and access to working with me.

One-on-one so head on over to our
Patrion account and get yourself settled.

And you can also head over to the
website from a healing center.

Launch.

I mentioned.

It's called the vault.

And that website it's a mouthful.

It's www dot the vault yoga community.

love.com.

And as a reminder, I'm a licensed
clinical professional counselor.

I am also a 500 hour
registered yoga teacher.

And I put all of the things I know how
to do together in my healing center.

Therapy.

Somatic therapy.

Meditation.

Yoga yoga therapy, music.

Laughter sadness, grief.

And celebration.

So check out all the yummy stuff
on Patrion and also the website.

It's all available just for you.

So a few weekends ago.

I had a retreat at the vault.

And just for a little bit of background.

I created a curriculum
about two years ago.

That revolve around yoga
philosophy and Buddhism.

And it's a healing curriculum.

And I started out with a group of.

Between five and 10 women.

In various different retreats that I held.

And at the end of that year, A core
group remained and it's a group of

five women and I called them the O G
group because they're the originals.

After that first year, it was
so successful that I, Created

another group of women.

And they are now studying what the
first group studied and the OGs.

Are in an advanced study group.

So a few weekends ago, it
was the new group that met.

And it's amazing because
they start out as strangers.

And then by the second or third
time we meet it's as if they've

been friends for lifetimes.

And today I'm gonna talk to you about what
happened with the new group when we met.

This last may.

So five women come and
then there's me the leader.

So six of us.

And we gather to talk about the curriculum
and that weekend we were talking about.

And Sanskrit it's called santosha
and San Tosha means contentment.

And contentment is one of the hardest
things for any of us to practice,

especially in a world where.

Everywhere.

We look, we're being told
who we are and who we're not.

And.

To keep buying things and.

Consuming things to either or
catapult us toward that ideal of beauty

intelligence, sexy, all those things.

So.

I just want to be clear that I'm not
a Buddhist, I'm not a holy person.

But I love what Buddhism has to offer.

The main tenant of
Buddhism is non-attachment.

And that everything that we
have is in the present moment.

The retreats take place over a weekend.

We meet on Saturday for three hours
and then on Sunday for three hours.

And it's really cool.

In group work, it takes a bit for the, um,
members of the group to get comfortable

with each other and find a synergy.

And I was anticipating that this would
be the weekend where a lot of the walls

would crumble and those walls sure.

Dead.

I really don't know how to
explain the reciprocity.

Of change in this group.

When women share their stories
and are met with unconditional

acceptance of who they are and where
they've been and what they want.

I'm not sure there's are other
spaces like it in the world.

What happens is magical.

The fear.

That you're the only one that
has been wounded disappears.

And then, you know, you're not alone.

Our wounds don't heal in isolation.

They heal by being seen.

And being heard and being honored.

The power of women, willing to reveal
their true selves and share their stories.

That shaped their identities.

Allows them to deconstruct
harmful beliefs.

And to do that collectively is so safe.

And in my retreats.

We do that one thing.

That very rare thing that
doesn't exist out in the wild.

When someone speaks of their
wounds, we do not turn away.

We do not run.

We do not gasp.

We do not hold our breath.

We sit together.

And we hold space.

Together.

And in that space, fear and anxiety.

Begin to dissipate.

We don't try to change each other.

We.

Don't criticize each other.

We don't hand out advice.

We get still.

And we hold space for the truth of each.

Of our experiences spoken from
the depth of an embodied life.

And most importantly, we believe
each other as a woman to be in a

space with other women where we are
not criticized nor commodified nor

exploited for any purpose creates a
transformative environment for us.

We don't have that out in the wild.

It seems to me out in the
wild there isn't time.

For people to practice their patients.

And out in the wild, there's
a lack of compassion.

And so we hold each other's stories
as mirrors and we are vulnerable.

The reciprocity of honest
feedback, reshapes our narratives.

And transforms us yet again.

Every time.

And listen, it's radically
uncomfortable at times.

But radically soothing simultaneously.

And in this group, um, there's a woman.

Her name is Lisa.

And that's not her real name, because
like I said, I'm not going to expose

the names of the folks with whom I work.

So we'll go with Lisa.

Lisa was very recently
diagnosed with breast cancer.

It happened on April 1st, 2024.

And by the weekend of May 11th and 12th.

She had completed her first
chemotherapy treatment.

So barely a month.

Before we all gathered.

She learned she would have a big
journey ahead of her I've chemotherapy.

Of identity shift.

Grief.

It's good that she knows
that about herself.

It's good that she knows when she
walks into the vault, she can take

down her walls and cry for herself
because it's good for us to grieve.

We are conscious human beings.

And we wound each other.

And we wound each other, not because
we're bad or because we aren't nefarious.

We wound each other
because we've been wounded.

And so for all of us to embrace
grief as a way of healing, At the

beginning or the end of every day,
or just right smack in the middle.

You always have vastness ahead of you.

So it's.

It's good for us to grieve
whenever the moment calls,

because we are always changing.

And in change, there
was almost always grief.

When something ends, it creates new life.

We must grieve in order
to experience the newness.

As I mentioned, Lisa had just completed.

Her first chemotherapy treatment.

And.

On the Thursday before.

Our workshop.

And so if you are a
person who still has hair.

I wonder if you can take your hands
to your hair and just feel it.

And what would it be like if you
had to make the harrowing decision

to shave it all off because you
knew it was going to fall out.

It's quite an identity shift.

And so.

Lisa was there.

With a wrap around her head.

And as we all sat down the immediate
joy of catching up as exhilarating.

And then we settled down and get to work.

And we started talking about contentment.

And Lisa had a story to tell about
how she's struggling with contentment.

And of course we were like,
yeah, I imagine you just.

Received a cancer diagnosis.

And.

She began to speak of the profound
grief of her losing her hair.

Her hair was long.

Beautiful.

Silky.

And now it's gone.

And she spoke of the profound grief of
losing her identity as a woman in the

workforce, as an active woman, as a
healthy woman, as a partner, as a mother.

As a human.

And she spoke of her profound grief of her
losing her sense of place in the world.

She didn't know where to fit in.

Where does cancer fit
into the conversations?

Where does it fit in at a dinner party?

Where does it fit in a Christmas?

And then the Kuda Gras, her daughter.

Her daughter is 17 and has been
struggling to spend time with Lisa.

Since the diagnosis, her daughter
has been spending the nights.

At our friend's houses.

Even during the week nights
when school was still in, she

was sleeping away from Lisa.

And she told her explicitly.

I can't watch this happen.

I can't watch you call bald.

You can imagine how gut
wrenching that might've been.

To feel that deep in your bones.

Because of your shift,
your daughter is shifting.

Shifting away.

Lisa told us how deeply worried she
is about her daughter, how deeply

responsible she feels for the emotional
distance growing between them.

Lisa was in pain.

Her , cancer, her identity shifts
her loss of her place in the world.

And now her daughter is
saying, I can't do it, mom.

We did not speak.

We did not move and we did not fix.

In doing so we allowed the healing
power of collective compassion

to take root inside of her.

And we waited and she
cried in front of us.

We all need community when we grieve.

We sat with her as she mourned
for both herself, her hair,

her body, and her daughter.

And after a bit.

When the Kleenex.

Had been passed around.

Everyone came up for air.

And Afton do this when someone
is expressing their suffering.

To the rest of the group.

I ask everyone to sit up straight.

And to close their eyes.

And to take a deep inhale.

And hold it up at the top.

And then exhale, love.

To the particular person.

Gracing us with her suffering.

And so I asked everyone.

Set up.

And take a big inhale for
Lisa and her daughter.

And the love that they share and
, hold that inhale at the very top.

And then hold it even more and
taken a little bit more breath.

And then a little more.

And then as they XL.

I say, share your love
with Lisa and her daughter.

And after the breath work.

Lisa turned to me as the leader of
the group, her big brown eyes filled

with uncertainty and she asked.

Is she going to come back to me?

And I replied.

Maybe.

My clients often ask
me questions like this.

Will it be okay?

What should I do?

Is there any hope?

And my natural inclination as
a human is to reassure them.

To offer them comfort
in their uncertainty.

But as a clinician, I know it's
important to help guide them

toward their own understanding.

Helping them navigate their questions.

Not my answers.

So I try to be.

As honest as they can be.

And I answered maybe because the
truth is, I can't know for sure.

And this honesty, honors Lisa's journey.

And empowers her to find her own answers.

This is how we foster resilience and self
discovery in the face of uncertainty.

We don't need to fix anything.

We don't need to jump
in and give solutions.

We need to hold space and remember.

Who the fuck we are.

And so we did, we held up a mirror to her.

My experience tells me that Lisa's
daughter will return to her.

She will need to return to
the secure attachment she has

had with her for 17 years.

But Lisa's daughter is
facing a huge question.

A question that none of us want to face.

It's hers to face.

Is my mom going to die.

Children for the most part,
do not know how to relate to

death beyond a conceptual level.

And culturally speaking, when
anyone hears breast cancer.

The thought of death is often attached.

Now place yourself in the
shoes of a 17 year old.

Cancer is most likely
going to equate to death.

Because they have limited understanding
about how these things evolve.

Lisa's daughter is grappling with
this fear and uncertainty just as

Lisa is navigating her own journey.

Lisa has lost a part of her identity.

And I don't think it's that
different for Lisa's daughter.

Her identity has shifted also.

Her security in the world feels as
if it has taken a monumental shift.

By allowing her daughter the
space to process these spheres.

Lisa is giving her the opportunity
to come to terms with her emotions

and ultimately find her way back
to the secure bond they share.

And so as we were sitting
here in the vault, And Lisa's

brown eyes imploring mine.

I pondered out loud.

Hey, Lisa.

I wonder if we can consider how truly
amazing it is that you have raised a

daughter who understands her own limits.

That you have raised a daughter
who advocates for herself.

Because maybe she is saying, mom,
I don't know how to handle this.

I'm not equipped for this.

I cannot face this change
without security in place.

Perhaps she is creating time and space.

For her to approach this
safely and gradually.

Perhaps she is so wise,
she is pre grieving.

Probably not consciously.

I believe she is preparing
herself emotionally so that she

can ultimately be there for you
in a strong and supportive way.

But in the way that a 17 year old knows
how to do, and we ought not force her

to become an adult in this situation.

Let us give her the space and
time a 17 year old needs to ponder

these existential questions.

I asked Lisa what she thought.

And she.

It was quiet for a moment.

And the sides of her mouth
started to raise and.

She said, I never thought
about it like that.

And so we talked.

And eventually we were celebrating Lisa.

And we were celebrating Lisa's daughter.

Honestly, I think we
were celebrating grief.

Both of them have to walk through this.

And that is a celebration they're
preparing to walk through.

And naturally the focus evolved to
another woman and her incredible

journey of self discovery.

And that's one of the
other beautiful things.

There's no competition.

No trauma dump.

Not I've been more wounded than you.

And the retreats at the vault, we
treat each other with radical equity.

We treat each wound within ourselves.

And within each other
with radical dignity.

Each story is treated.

With the most tender of care as
if we are surgically repairing the

wounds of the past in the present.

And driving home that afternoon.

I was thinking about
Lisa and her daughter.

And I almost ran a red light.

I was deeply entrenched in
the philosophical ideas and

existential questions posed by
this incredible group of women.

And suddenly I had a memory pop up.

And I found myself.

Empathizing more with Lisa's
daughter, then with Lisa.

And this makes sense.

I've never had breast cancer.

I've never had to walk
my child through it.

But I have been the child.

Exposed.

To the concept of death away too soon.

Losses are so frightening for children.

And many are only able to endure a strong
emotions for very brief amounts of time.

They avoid their feelings
to avoid being overwhelmed.

And these emotions may be expressed.

As strong boundaries or behavior
that can feel hurtful for

the adults trying to help.

Children have intense and immediate
needs for Karen connection.

Unlike adults who may sustain grieving
for a year or more children are likely

to exhibit grief related emotions and
behaviors intermittently over many years.

As they grow and develop various
powerful reactions to the

loss will naturally resurface.

And of course.

We need to grieve and
grieve and grieve again.

And again.

Therefore, when we were working with
children who have experienced a loss,

it is crucial to understand the unique
nature of their grieving process.

We should not expect them to express their
emotions like adults, nor assume that

their overt behaviors will necessarily
reveal their internal distress.

It's not linear.

You can't just draw a line from their
behavior to their internal distress.

And so it's really important.

To recognize that children's grief
manifests differently than adults.

We cannot underestimate the amount of
patients and observation necessary to

keep children healthy as they grieve.

We must be patient.

And then.

We must continue to be patient.

And so there I am at the
stoplight counting my blessings

that I didn't run through it.

And I had this memory.

Of I was about nine years old.

And my dad was always home.

After school, even when I didn't
want him to be, as you might

remember from an earlier pod.

My dad was and very
unhealthy man, especially.

When I was seven years
old to about 15 years old.

And I'd come home from school.

It was about three 30.

And no one was there.

Which is very, very out of the ordinary.

And it was then that my body began to
tingle a bit, something was a foot.

And then four 30 came.

And five 30 came.

My mom was out of town.

And we didn't have cell
phones, then it was the.

Late eighties.

And so I went down the
street to my friend's house.

Her name was Kate.

And she and I ran in and
out of each other's houses.

So often that me showing up on their
doorstep at dinner time was not.

Something to be barked at.

They invited me to sit
down to dinner with them.

And shortly thereafter, the phone
rang and Kate's mom, Sue jumped up.

And joyfully answered.

Hello.

And then very quickly.

Said.

Oh, okay.

And I know it must be my mom.

And I looked up at Sue and she
quickly looked away eyes down.

To the kitchen floor.

And that tingling inside of my body.

I started to grow.

I knew something was wrong.

And I knew it had to be about my dad.

I don't remember talking to my mom.

I.

I want to think that I
did, but I don't remember.

But I remember Sue.

Hanging up the phone and
saying, you're going to stay

with us for a couple of days.

Your dad is in the hospital.

He's going to be.

Okay.

And what I remember
from that is the energy.

It felt like it took for Sue to put
a period at the end of that sentence.

The tingling in my body.

Started to grow and grow.

Into what felt like terror.

And I would have this
feeling for a very long time.

When my mom came home, we
cruised over to the hospital

to see my dad and I was scared.

We walked into the room and
there he was a very large man.

With lots of tubes coming out
of his nose and mouth and.

IVs in his arms.

And machines helping him breathe.

And my stomach dropped.

My mom's gentle hand behind my back.

Nudging me forward.

To felt.

In comprehensible.

I couldn't walk toward him.

I could barely look at him.

And so.

I turned around.

And I walked out.

He walked down the hall.

To a bench as far away from
that room as I could get.

And I just stared at the wall.

I wasn't ready to handle that.

I wasn't ready to see.

The man that brought me into this world.

Starting to leave this world.

And I think what I was doing
was setting a boundary.

Boundaries exist so that I can love me.

And I can love you at the same
time, but with safety and dignity,

And I didn't know how to do that.

I did not know how to sit in a room.

And talk about the weather.

And talk about the food.

All I could see was the
potential of my dad's death.

It's not because I was trying to hurt him.

It was because I wasn't ready.

And my body knew it.

And so sitting there at the stoplight,
I thought of Lisa's daughter and.

I had never given me.

That recognition that.

I was being brave.

my mom and dad had raised
a daughter that knew.

Her limits.

And so at that red light, Crocodile
tears were just pouring out of my eyes.

And I realized I am like Lisa's
daughter and Lisa's daughter is like me.

What I learned in therapy is
both Lisa's daughter and myself.

We're creating space.

To walk through.

An incredible journey with dignity.

To hold our chins high and be
able to look at our parents and

say, I'm willing to walk with you.

Even if you're going to die.

Because I have resourced
the terror in my body.

Lisa's daughter is going to her friends so
she can resource the terror in her body.

That her mother might die.

And I walked out of that hospital room
and down the hall and sat on the bench.

To resource the terror out of my body.

And when I got home.

I journaled.

For hours resourcing the
terror out of my body.

I believe that Lisa's
daughter is going to be okay.

As long as she gives her space.

To be okay.

On Sunday, when we all
reconvened at the vault.

We gathered on our mats and I had a
special gift for each one of them.

And so they were checking those out.

And the special gift was.

A t-shirt for each one of them.

And on the t-shirt in big letters
are the, or in big block letters.

I know, happy mother's day

I know happy Mothers day