May Your Cup Runneth Over
I’m gonna pick on my partner here for a minute.
Every weekday morning, seemingly without fail, he will be the first awake and the one to summon the caffeine gods by setting the kettle to boil, making fresh pressed coffee for us both. This simple act is one that I cherish and am grateful for. And, each time that he graciously pours me a cup, he manages to fill it to the ab-so-lute BRIM. This inevitably means that he either burns himself or me in the transporting of the overflowing mug, a trail of coffee is left from the kitchen to wherever I may be in the house at the time it’s received, or both.
Now, I know what you’re thinking- the guy must really like his coffee! Yes, and it doesn’t matter how large the cup itself is. It just means that the largest cup/ mug/ glass will be SO FULL, you’ll be reminded of that day in 7th-grade science when you learned about surface tension. This being a phenomenon that I’ve clearly tried to wrap my head around, I’ve come up with two other possibilities: The first is that he simply has faith that the cup will hold the entire amount of coffee he’s trying to pour into it. The second is that he initially tries to pour as much as possible into the cup because he doesn’t trust that there will be enough coffee for him to drink later.
For the sake of not inappropriately scrutinizing or psychoanalyzing my partner, and for the purposes of this blog, let me simply touch on the first possibility- As much as I don’t understand the repeated behavior, despite the mild burns and spills, I also find it endearing. His blind faith that the coffee cups will hold the exact amount of liquid he’s trying to enjoy for himself, as well as share, carries a childlike sweetness. So, again, here I have a few options: I can continue to have him pour me a cup of coffee and keep complaining about the mess that follows. I can have him pour me my morning cup and say “thank you” without sweating the small stuff, or I can just pour my own damn cup.
Most of my life experiences have caused me to take methods into my own hands. Why? Well, it isn’t exactly pleasurable to feel as if life is happening to me rather than with me, and, like everyone else on the planet, I know what disappointment feels like. So, to grapple with this possibility, I try, in most cases, to be an active participant in the classroom of life. However, just as I alluded to earlier, everything has two, sometimes even multiple, sides to it. There exists an extreme of wanting too much control. And I’ve found that when I operate from this place, I leave very little room for the miraculous and spontaneous joys of life.
Lately, I have been feeling extremely eager. Although, if I take a moment to truly sit with the physical sensations that accompany my eagerness, I find that it’s actually more accurately described as “compulsive energy”. This obsessive drive, meaning that I am engaging in actions and behaviors without feeling as if the entirety of my consciousness agreed to it, makes me feel restless, uneasy and disconnected from myself. Although, over the years, as I’ve tried to cultivate more self-awareness, I’m grateful for these moments of clarity. I try, best as I can, to not judge myself but thank the part of me (my authentic self/ my spirit/ my consciousness/ my higher self, God, etc.) for the acknowledgment of my feverish, unsettled energy and for offering me a fresh perspective. This awareness serves as a gentle nudge and suggestion that I might be less anxious if I were to surrender to the present moment. Being more fully present would not only help me to be at peace with myself and others but to model what it means to be at peace to those around me, to be able to exist in a space where I can be truly receptive towards and connect with other individuals.
A huge component of my personal work is having faith in myself, believing in my own, inherent worth. I can’t expect to facilitate and guide clients in owning their strength and power if I don’t put in the daily effort to remind myself of my own.
A slippery slope that therapists (or anyone for that matter) can find themselves on is being driven by the need or desire to teach their clients/ another person something. While this might not at first seem harmful, it can become entirely unbeneficial if the therapist is looking for a means of proving themselves, with all their ‘wisdom’, ‘knowledge’, and ‘experience’, to their clients. At that point, the therapy becomes less about the client, who is paying to receive services, and instead becomes about the clinician. They’re essentially saying, “I need you, the client, to validate me, to make me feel important.”. This brings me to another point—
You, me, us- We can be so well-intentioned and still cause harm.
So, why do I bring up all of this? Well, to simply say that I am human too. I am not all-knowing. I can’t tell anyone anything that they do not already know (or fear) about themselves, but I can offer a space where clients, hopefully, are able to reconnect with themselves. I can support them in excavating and nurturing those parts of themselves that, due to one life experience or another, they’ve had to cast aside in order to survive.
I also want to demonstrate that healing is a process. It is never as simple as checking it off the grocery list. There’s always more- more insight, more awareness to gain. Too, there’s a balance between sifting through the heavy, complex emotions that accompany this kind of work (because it is work) and making time for play. Both serve a purpose and both are essential in order to heal.
The importance of play is rooted in our early childhood experiences. It’s one of the first ways we learn about the world we live in. It provides a necessary refuge from all the growing pains. Play also grants us the opportunity for inspiration, new perspective, and vigor to continue on our journeys of self-discovery (in or out of a therapy office).
Below are a few ways in which I like to play. These include:
Getting my hands in the dirt. Gardening is a great way to get physically grounded. Even something simple like planting a tree or weeding can be gratifying.
Finding a new recipe to try. Baking (as shown in the corresponding image) became a love of mine after working in a kitchen for 8 years. Apart from the sincere relationships that were formed over a sweaty stove, I appreciate how cooking/ baking is a craft that you can always learn more about; there’s flexibility and room to explore and make something your own.
Dancing. Dance has not only been a way for me to feel more present in my body but it’s helped me in overcoming insecurities tied to body dysmorphia and issues with my self-esteem.
Doing something without a tangible outcome. In a product-oriented society, I think it is important to engage in activities that remind us to focus on the value of the process. One way I like to do this is by creating images using sidewalk chalk. There’s less pressure to produce something aesthetically pleasing if you know your supplies cost less than $5 (if that) and you have an understanding going into it that whatever you create is temporary.
Watching or listening to something light-hearted. Laughter really is the best medicine.
Engaging with my surroundings in a new way. Strike up a conversation with physical things in your environment. This doesn’t need to be audible. It can be just as effective if your monologue is imagined. (For example, have you ever wondered what a tree in Autumn might say to you? Perhaps it would inspire you to see the beauty of ‘letting things go’.)
Essentially, balance is crucial. (I know— what a concept, right?) Keeping our cups full requires playful diligence— the sweet with the sour and tolerating all the bittersweet in-betweens.
I’m curious— What are some of the ways that you like to reconnect with your childlike self and play? How easy or difficult is this for you to do at all or on a regular basis?
Click here to send me your thoughts! I’d love to hear from you.