"Shit! I missed the deadline!" or "Clean up Your Shit!"

I have hit an impasse, and interestingly, my first thought was to blog about it... sending my thoughts out into the ether to land where they may...seeking the beauty that exists somewhere between work and play - that ephemeral silence between the notes - the sultry slip of dusk into night... waxing poetic about my life makes a jagged pill just a little bit easier to swallow.

I was running an expressive group the other day with a group of 7 men.  One of the guys is clearly overidentified with the role of "the tough guy", and he plays out this role so dutifully that it ends up being terribly entertaining - so much so that he has not yet been able to identify the shadow side of this role.  The side that is a disservice to the self.  For example, he stepped in some dog shit prior to coming to group and didn't realize it until one of the guys sat down next to him.  He thought the other guy smelled bad, and quickly realized that the dog shit was on his shoe.  He quickly got up and spent a good deal of time and energy cleaning off his shoe.  He walked back into the group room wearing one shoe.  He'd left the other outside.  But the shit was still on the floor.  He picked up the shit, flushed it and returned.  But the shit left a stain (and a smell that only a few could detect).  He tried wiping it, spraying it with air spray, etc.  But the shit was still there. 

Clearly this was a metaphor for the shit that we would rather clean up cosmetically - even kick out that which has been compromised by the shit - eventually get rid of the shit itself, but forget that we have to deal with the residue.  There is always residue.

I posted an excerpt from my blog about my Hill visit on my FB page and got some really wonderful feedback.  I went back to read the post and realized that I have my own shit.  My own residue.  The good news is the residue can be cleansed, but it has to be cleaned, not covered up.  And you have to cleanse it thoroughly because if you don't, the stain will go away temporarily, but it will always return.  And sometimes we are so close to the shit (or so used to the shit) that we can't smell it and it takes others to remind us that the shit is still there. 

So what's my shit? The Critic which lives inside of my head is always there to remind me that my shit is feeling inadequate.   No matter how much great work I do, or how many people there are to tell me that my work is great, I still fear that one day I am going to be discovered a fraud.  And then the critic's voice is silenced for some time, and I once again feel good about the work I do, and then something happens to remind me that, yep, I am a fraud, and everyone was wrong about me, and I'm always able to find evidence of this in my environment.  Enter into State's evidence, my shining moment on Capitol Hill.

And now, the deadline has passed for my submission to present for the Expressive Therapies Summit.  The easy justification for letting the deadline pass for the second time is that the National Association for Drama Therapy conference is going on the week before in Connecticut and I will need to come back to work and then fly up again to New York a week later to present for this conference.  I will be taking off two weeks to go to Jordan in June and I will not have accumulated enough PTO (paid time off) to take off several days again.  Not to mention that I would have to cover air fare for one trip and hotel and conference registration for another.  I can't afford it.  The difficult justification for letting the deadline pass for the second time is that I went on line and looked at the presenter bios from last year and... WOW!  Who am I again?  I looked at the workshop descriptions and, again... WOW!  What do I do again? 

Taking a break from self deprecation for the moment, in my own defense, I have been and will be outputting a lot this year, and I think in all fairness it would be wise to fill up from time to time.  I would love to be a participant at one of the conferences.  To simply play and enjoy the process. 

And yes, I know that I have idealized what my life could look like over and over again: travelling all around the world facilitating workshops, getting my PhD, writing books, teaching classes at the graduate level, etc.  And if I submitted to both conferences I would be a full participant in that vision.  But I am already a full participant in that vision.  I am constantly facilitating workshops, I will be going to Jordan soon; ArtReach is gaining more and more recognition and sliding me into conference proposals all of the time. I will be presenting for the Georgia Teachers Association in November and am constanlty running workshops around town.  Choosing to go or not go to one conference or another does not change the dynamic of that vision at all, says the voice of reason emphatically to the critic.  When what she really wants to do is say "F-you!"

The Drama of Music on the Hill

Back from Capitol Hill. 

I was among the fortunate chosen to do a presentation on drama therapy before some members of the House of Representatives.  Admittedly, it was not one of my most shining moments.  I flopped.  I could argue that I was star struck.  Hill Harper walked in just before I was to give my presentation.  I could really romanticize this moment.  And trust me, on many levels I have.  I imagined that he came in just to see me and that he would be so taken with me that he'd whisk me away and refuse to let me get on the plane to come back to Atlanta.  That he would become the national spokesperson for the National Association for Drama Therapy, and owe it all to me - the one who introduced him to the wonders of drama therapy.  But alas, reality struck, and there I was plopped down smack dab in front of a power point presentation.  I have presented on drama therapy dozens of times, but this time was different.

It felt like a conspiracy.  A conspiracy on the part of music therapists everywhere.  Before I even stepped foot on Capitol Hill I met with my cousin, Robert, who shared with me stories of my grandfather, Big Daddy.  He told me stories of how Big Daddy would sing.  He would sing and hum spirituals that seemed to resonate from his soul.  He would sit and hum, "Come to Jesus" on the steps of the Big House.  Robert talked of how much he loved to hear  Big Daddy's deep, baritone voice singing, and how comforting it was to him.  I never knew my Big Daddy that way.  I only knew him as a sick person.  I wished I had known him as one who hummed more than he spoke.

Fast forward two days, and I am sitting with others of my creative arts therapies colleagues waiting for 2:00pm, so that we could share our enthusiasm for each of our respective fields.  Dance Therapy was scheduled to go first.  She had a lovely presentation detailing the specifics of the National Dance Therapy Association's membership - some of the benefits of dance therapy - but mostly about what it takes to become a dance therapist.  Their journals, their licensure, their exam.  Next, Art Therapy.  The big Kahuna!  With thousands of members, two peer reviewed journals, etc., etc.  Then, in walks Hill, along with Ben Folds.  We were actually told that we may have to stop in the middle of our presentation when they walked in.  Thankfully Hill and Ben had more class than to interrupt our presentation.  We stopped after Art Therapy spoke, Hill spoke, then Ben. 

Ben Folds, a talented musician, talked about how wonderful music is as a healing agent.  Hill, an actor, did the same.  I suddenly felt betrayed.  Completely.  After going to the Kennedy Center the night before to hear Alec Baldwin speak at the Nancy Hanks Lecture, I was incredibly disappointed that here we have another actor talking about how great music is.  Alec talked about his love of classical music and Hill talked about how music and creative writing helped him through his bout with Thyroid cancer. 

I was slated to speak next.  I felt this awful tug of war within my spirit. I did not hate music. Hell, I use music in my work all the time. But what about drama? And then I felt like a hypocrite. Wasn't I the one, just one blog ago, talking about "no exclusivity" and how we all work better in tandem? Am I not the one who considers herself to be an Expressive therapist?!  My power point had nothing to do with our membership.  I did not feel the need to legitimize us.  Not to mention that we don't have much that legitimates.  We don't have any peer reviewed journals, no national exam - we don't even have a thousand members.   I felt the need to share my enthusiasm for the profession.  Since my colleagues had done such a great job "professionalizing" dance and art therapy.  I wanted to show them what it looked like - what it felt like. So, I took the advice of my Government Affairs Chair, who suggested that I engage them in a theatre game: "I want it.  You can't have it".   After the invitation, Hill's face LIT UP!  He smiled wide and put his hands on his face and immediately grabbed a partner and began the dialogue.  I felt like it was my sole responsibility to make him fall in love with drama therapy, but it was all down hill (no pun intended) from there.  My need to convince him of how great drama therapy is seemed to overshadow how great drama therapy is.

I talked about my work with ArtReach using drama therapy with veterans.  I showed pictures of sculpts and improvisations, talked about the men and women coming home from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the number who have already returned with PTSD diagnoses, or undiagnosed mood disorders; about the rising suicide rates.  And then, at some point, I felt small standing next to my colleagues who did not feel like colleagues at all.  They were Executive Directors and PhD's.  I was just a practitioner.  A member of the Government Affairs Committee, so I quickly fumbled through the rest of the slides and sat down.

And in walked Music Therapy.  And they talked about Gabrielle Gifford's story of how she was healed from her trauma through none other than Music Therapy.  And they talked about their peer reviewed journal and their national exam and their licensed clinicians.  And I thought to myself, " And the Oscar goes to... Music Therapy! and the crowd goes wild!"  Hill and Ben exit stage left as they raced to the White House (literally) for yet another presentation.

I could not get out of there fast enough.  Someone asked me for my card in the elevator and my hands were shaking so hard, I could barely retrieve it.  I jumped on the Metro as I rushed back to the hotel to get my things so that I could head to the airport.  Sitting on the train I did the presentation a thousand different ways.  I was so obsessed with what a horrible job I'd done that I was literally struck by the sound of guitar as I made my way up the escalator.  And then I could not help but smile as I recognized the tune.  It was Anita Baker's "Angel". 

"Sing it for me.  You know it.  You know it.  Go on and sing it."

As much as I wanted to sing the song for this lovely man, I knew that if I opened my mouth I would have burst into tears. I thought of my grandfather, Big Daddy, and wondered if this could have been him reincarnated.  Showing up right at that moment to remind me that I am still okay.  I didn't want to make music therapy out to be the enemy of drama therapy, but couldn't help but feel jealous.

I simply thanked him.  I fished for some cash, but couldn't find any.  I never carry it anymore. 

On the airplane, a baby started to whimper, then cry, then scream.  Reluctantly I reached for my ipod which is not an ipod at all, but a Microsoft Zune.  Before I would commit to using music in that moment to save my eardrums, I pledged to use more drama in my expressive therapy and continue to share it with the world.  Once agreed, I slipped in my earbuds and listened to classical music as I read about Honor Killings in modern day Jordan in preparation for my upcoming trip! 

Constantly evolving definitions

 I remember coming home to Atlanta from NYU, and wondering what to call myself.  I felt instinctively that Drama Therapist was too limiting, but I did not have another word for it.  So, I felt resigned to calling myself that, and then educating the public on what a drama therapist was and was not.  I spent a good deal of time defining myself against the other creative arts therapies such as art and music, so that people would at least have a frame of reference - which also did not seem fair to drama therapy as it is, distinctively, its own, wonderful modality.  Over the years I began to hear more about Expressive Therapy and instantly felt a kinship with that community.  It is almost like knowing I am black and feeling a certain love and affinity for my group, and also defining as a human being and knowing that those two parts of myself must and do co-exist.  Defining myself as an expressive therapist rather than drama therapist is a definitive choice I made in going forward with my website, blog, business cards, etc.  It is the way I brand myself.  Of course I am a drama therapist and feel nestled by my community of drama therapists, but I am also a part of the Expressive Therapy community and feel it necessary to nurture that bond as well.

I was talking with a drama therapy colleague of mine today, as we prepare for Arts Advocacy Day on Capitol Hill next week.  I was asked to be a member of a panel discussing the arts in healthcare for some members of the House of Representatives as a part of AAD.  They have asked for power point presentations from each of the creative arts therapies that will be represented   So, I looked on YouTube to see what was already out there in the realm of drama therapy.  I was happy to see that there was a lot, but sad to see that if you were not a part of the drama therapy community, you would think it was at most, interesting, and at worse pure idiocy.  So, I called up my colleagues from ArtReach to see what we had that was specific to work with Veterans since I know it is a hot button issue in Congress right now.  They immediately got to work on putting a CD together for me.  When I informed my drama therapy colleague of this I was reminded that I needed to focus on drama therapy exclusively because "it's just better, and we don't want to talk about how great somebody else's organization is and drama therapy really is the only one that consists of everything.  we do masks and poetry and music..." 

 I reminded my illustrious colleague that "in the coming days we should probably get used to there being an integrated arts approach rather than focusing exclusively on one or the other because I think they work just as well, if not better, in tandem".   What I really wanted to say is,"if drama therapy incorporates masks and poetry and music, then why not call it expressive therapy?"  All of this exclusivity seems a bit ridiculous to me when we are all fighting over crumbs!!! All of us - art therapists, music therapists, drama therapists, movement therapists, dance therapists, poetry therapists, drama therapists and the like - are all fighting over the same piece of pie.  Why don't we fight together?   The reality is that some people may think drama therapy is "better" and others may think art or music is "better" And believe it or not, I am biased.  I am happily biased.  I do the work of a drama therapist.  I was trained as a drama therapist, but one things for certain, the public has been exposed to more feature stories touting the efficacy of art and music therapy than they have of drama therapy.So, I definitely want to expose drama therapy to more people, but I want to do it as a part of the creative arts therapies, not as a rogue method out there on its own. 

We are fighting so hard in so many different places for reciprocity that we cannot afford to exist in a vacuum.   And I guess it really seems a bit ludicrous when I hear that after creative arts therapists in New York have worked so hard to get licensure, now agencies are starting to hire non -licensed clinicians - even non clinicianed artists - to do the same work.   It sometimes makes me ask, what the hell are we fighting for?!  And then I remember how lives have been transformed by drama therapy.  My own life has been transformed by drama therapy.  And so I keep on truckin'. 

I do think it is ironic that I got a specific request from Barry Cohen to do a workshop for the Expressive Arts Summit in New York this November, while I am waiting to hear back about a proposal I submitted for the National Association of Drama Therapy conference - also in November.  Things that make ya go hmmm...