Home: Refuge

This November, MHT is participating in the Miry’s List Friendsgiving Fundraising Drive. The money goes to programs that support refugee families that have been resettled in the United States. In tandem with these efforts, our clinicians are writing posts reflecting on what home means to them.

“...home...is any place where I feel safe to experience all the different human emotions with other safe humans present - a refuge amidst change and uncertainty.”

Eleven years ago, my childhood home burned down in a wildfire. I no longer lived there, but many of my memories did. There were the obvious losses like family photos that were irreplaceable--most of which were not digitized. However, other things that I missed took me by surprise: light blue bed sheets, a brown and red afghan, my doll house that I'd had since childhood, blue rimmed plates my parents received at their wedding, old yearbooks with signatures, and my collection of notes and cards. I miss all of our family's eclectic Christmas ornaments that had been gathered over many years and included a popcorn chain for the tree my parents made in the 80s (maybe we saved that one a little too long, but it held so many memories).

The year of the fire, I came back to my hometown for Christmas with some feelings of dread. Could my parents’ replacement rental feel like home? I needn’t have worried. I quickly realized it was the people who gathered there that made it home. My family, my friends, my neighbors, and my extended community all rallied round. Miraculously, no one lost their life in this particular wildfire, and being back, and seeing the damage made the danger of the fire more real to me. It also made me think about how much more we could have lost. It was people that mattered. And it was the kindness of people that helped my family get some of the basic material things they needed to get back on track in the short term.

It was with these people, my family and friends, that I took refuge. Refuge is the word I chose to describe my sense of home because it means being safe or sheltered, and home is a safe place for me - a place that can hold me during the many storms of life. There are familiar and sentimental material things in my home now that make it feel special, comfortable, and welcoming to me, and the actual structural component of a physical home is important for survival. However, I know the feeling of home is more than the material things. It is any place where I feel safe to experience all the different human emotions with other safe humans present - a refuge amidst change and uncertainty.

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HERE'S HOW YOU CAN PARTICIPATE IN FRIENDSGIVING WITH US:

Give! Visit our Miry’s List campaign page and make a donation. It's that simple and no sum is too small. Truly.

Follow! Be sure to follow us on Instagram and our blog throughout the month of November. We will be reflecting on what it means to be welcomed, received, and known.

Share!  Help us spread the word. You can do this by sharing our social media posts or links to our Miry’s List Friendsgiving Fundraiser page.

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A little about Miry’s List:
Refugee families come to the United States seeking a safe haven from violence and persecution in their home countries. They leave behind family and friends, as well as virtually everything they own. Many Americans, seeing these families in their communities, wonder: What can I do to help? Miry's List provides a mechanism for people to directly help new arrival refugee families with the things that they need to get started in their new lives – from diapers to beds to cleaning supplies and toiletries. To learn more, visit miryslist.org.

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Sarah Butcher, LMFT, specializes in treating children, teens, new and postpartum parents, and young adults. Her work with children in developmental play therapy led to her certification as a DIR Intermediate Floortime provider.

Imperfect Parenting Group - New Members Welcome

When my son was two years old I joined a playgroup through a community outreach organization. The goal of this organization was to bring mothers and children of the same age, living in the same community, together for a weekly play date. Although the mothers and toddlers had community in common, we were diverse in many ways. Reflecting back, our ability to embrace and honor each others' differences created a safe space to parent with authenticity.  Feelings of overwhelm, confusion and frustration as a parent were met with understanding - there was no pressure to be “perfect.” As our children played, we shared parenting tips and explored how are own emotional process challenged or supported our parenting. We utilized each other’s knowledge and strengths and leaned on each other for support.

“...our ability to embrace and honor each others’ differences created a safe space to parent with authenticity. Feelings of overwhelm, confusion and frustration as a parent were met with understanding - there was no pressure to be ‘perfect.’”

Through the preschool years, we build memories together at local parks, children’s museums and backyard visits. We delivered meals when siblings were born and celebrated our children’s milestones together. We had successfully created a village.

Several years later, members have moved, children have gone to different schools and a couple of friendships remain a valuable part of my present life. Looking back, that special group of women reinforced that we are all imperfect parents seeking community, connection and acceptance.

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Laura MacRae-Serpa, MFTI, CCLS has special interests in supporting children and families navigating adoption and the challenges of chronic illness.

We Are Worth Knowing

A few weeks ago, I interviewed Kim Neer, a doula, about the power of recognition. Kim, who has witnessed many births, intrigued me with her description of the first moment that a mother and her baby share: babies almost always grow deeply calm and alert when first looking into their mother’s eyes.

“...I don’t think we can come fully alive or be fully at peace without the knowledge that we are worth knowing. That’s what recognition reminds us of. ”

An image from Kim Neer (The Yogi Doula)'s Instagram account.

That struck me as simple, but incredible. Incredible that a child who has only been part of this world for a few minutes is wired to be so captured by the chance to know and be known. That knowing and recognition brings them to life in the most peaceful of ways.

This all makes me think about the power that recognition has in my own life. Recognition is nice in general, of course, but I am especially hungry for it when I feel I’ve revealed something valuable or vulnerable about myself. When I don’t receive recognition in those moments, I can be described by anything but the words “calm and alert.” The words anxious, down, or angry would fit much better.

The interesting thing is, I think I’ve only been able to find my way out of that icky place through some other form of recognition.

Sometimes, I find that through another comforter – a friend, a therapist, a trusted leader, perhaps. Sometimes through the original person I wanted it from, after a risk to explain my need and ask for it again. Sometimes, I simply receive it from a nurturing place inside of me. Wherever it comes from, I don’t think we can come fully alive or be fully at peace without the knowledge that we are worth knowing. That’s what recognition reminds us of. Yes, we’re worth knowing, even in this moment.

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Alison (Allie) Ramsey is a Marriage and Family Therapist Intern, IMF #94391, working under the professional supervision of Michelle Harwell, MFT 50732. Allie works with individuals on a broad range of issues, including anxiety, depression, relational challenges, faith integration, divorce, and aging. 

The Rhythm of Candor

Candor is synonymous with truthfulness, honesty, frankness and bluntness. I tend to surf candor as oppose to always deep diving. Why is that? I value candor in specific contexts such as, health care and academics. When the stakes are high then candor feels caring. When the conversation turns to my friend’s new haircut, candor feels narcissistic. I am willing to soften my opinion in order to spare another’s feelings so, I guess that makes me an advocate of the little white lie. Some might argue that I am narcissistic for thinking my opinion holds that much weight. Others may argue that anything but radical candor does not allow for growth or authentic relationship. I think it is a balance – a relational dance that we all engage in. If we are attuned then we may discover our rhythm is different from our partners, friends and co-workers.

“...it is a balance – a relational dance that we all engage in. If we are attuned then we may discover our rhythm is different from our partners, friends and co-workers.”

Consider candor versus the little white lie and children’s sports teams. For preschool age children, most team activities are not competitive. No one keeps score and “everyone’s a winner.” This team philosophy carries on until the early school age years where children begin to compare themselves to their peers. The preschool bubble bursts as, children figure out they may not be, for example, the fastest. As children age, coaches and parents provide more feedback about the game. The most developmentally appropriate coaches will speak to where the team worked hard and where they could have worked harder. Children need to experience a sense of mastery before being able to process where they might improve.

As a mother, I carefully choose my words. This does not mean that my children do not hear my truth. I simply aim to deliver my truth in a manner they can developmentally digest. Words hold power. What I say as a mother can propel my children forward or cripple their sense of self. In order to be an agent of change, candor needs to be delivered with preparation and caring. Telling a child “the truth” will only help them grow if they are prepared to receive it. I am also careful to consider their truth might be different from my own. Helping my children connect to their own voice is often more powerful then looping and repeating my own truth.

So, when do we utilize a white lie and when do we speak with candor? Words become weapons when fueled by distressing emotions. Candor, even radical candor has a time and place but it is important to remember that, delivery, relationship and self-regulation all matter. If those are not in play then maybe a little white lie is developmentally appropriate.

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-Laura MacRae-Serpa, MFTI, CCLS has special interests in supporting children and families navigating adoption and the challenges of chronic illness.

Sitting in the Muck

“Fermentation that leads to cheese is this process that begins with sitting in muck allowing for some ugliness to rise to the surface, all for the purpose of the beautiful, emotional experience that is a great cheese.”

It may not be comforting to hear, but when I think about the process of fermentation…I think about my work with couples.  Fermentation that leads to cheese is this process that begins with sitting in muck allowing for some ugliness to rise to the surface, all for the purpose of the beautiful, emotional experience that is a great cheese. I often tell couples at the beginning of our work together that at times they may feel worse before they feel better.  This is because a part of couples therapy is coming to weekly (or more) sessions and talking about the parts of each individual and of their “us” that have long gone ignored or have felt too vulnerable or scary to bring up.  The times that have been shoved down further and further so that the couple can function and pretend like life is going on as planned.  However, as we continue to work together, those ugly pieces that rise to the surface and make themselves known are also the pieces that help us to allow for positive growth. Growth that comes from the good kind of fermentation- where we sit in the muck so that we may reach the beautiful, emotional experience that is an authentic connection. So here’s to cheese, here’s to couples therapy, and here’s to growing some weird stuff before we make it to the beauty. 

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Janie McGlasson, MS, LMFT works extensively with adolescents, adults, and couples and specializes in the areas of attachment, trauma, and grief. 

The Girl in the Arena

For years, my father kept this quote from Theodore Roosevelt hanging in his office. I have read it countless times and it always inspires me to be gritty.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

— Theordore Roosevelt "The Man In The Arena" Excerpt from “Citizenship In A Republic” Speech delivered at the Sorbonne, in Paris, France April 23, 1910

I was struck by my Father’s model of grit from an early age. He taught by example that there is always a reason to show up and enter “the arena.” He embraced possibilities, risks and all, because he understood the value of experience. As a mother, I hope to share my father’s message that success is the process of learning and that winning is simply a byproduct of that over time. I am mindful to validate my children’s processes more then their products. I strive to model compassion for my own errors and shortfalls with the hopes they will learn to be gentle with themselves and others. For although, grit requires moving forward in life with fortitude, it is equally important to recognize when to pause and attend to our wounds.

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-Laura “Wayne Gritzky” MacRae-Serpa, MFTI, CCLS has special interests in supporting children and families navigating adoption and the challenges of chronic illness.

Poetic Play

     There is something poetic about children’s play. Like a poems’ meter and line breaks, play also has rhythmic measures and choice pauses.  Both can be emotionally charged and offer the opportunity to peer through another’s lens. They require few words to make us think, and often help us learn and reflect on everyday things. In poetry as in play, words may be symbols and contain hidden messages. Both require mindful engagement to read between the lines. Poetry like play can be enjoyed alone or with a group and be short and humorous, flowing and long lasting, or anything in between.       

“In the same way that poetry allows us to share and be touched by the human experience, play allows children to imagine, create, connect and rise about their daily selves. ”

Poetry offers the opportunity to switch off automatic pilot and be jolted by something profound, meaningful and beautiful. In the same way that poetry allows us to share and be touched by the human experience, play allows children to imagine, create, connect and rise above their daily selves.

-Laura MacRae-Serpa, MFTI, CCLS has special interests in supporting children and families navigating adoption and the challenges of chronic illness.

All Imagery from this post are by the author and illustrator Shel Silverstein.