The Container

I create a container for my clients. A safe place to bring their full self. A place to sob and wail, a place to giggle and blush, a place to organize their life story. I hold that space with genuine care, connecting to others as deeply as I can. I try to be steady as their storms rock and roil. I offer them the tools that I have. I help them untangle the messy knots of nuanced dynamics. I smile at their achievements with wonder and delight, a front row view of a person’s evolution. 

And then. 

They leave my office. Emails from their demanding manager flood their inbox and nervous system. Family dinner ends in tears, again, after their mom comments on their body. The new partner they were so excited about stops responding. Another work email pings. Their rent is raised, their grocery bill goes up, their tire pops. They scroll endlessly on apps designed to keep them engaged without a care for the impact on their health. They see the beautiful vistas of others’ vacations, they see their ex’s wedding, they see a poem they relate to, they see another, they see a post about depression, they see another. They see something about a noose. They see that another politician disparaged people for their identity. They see a dog eating ice cream. 

Their manager emails them again. Their company is canceling the employee assistance program that allows them to meet with me for free. And limiting PTO. And freezing raises for the foreseeable future. 

They come back to me a week later. Deflated, defeated, depressed. 

And I’m supposed to diagnose them with a disorder. And I’m supposed to give them a worksheet about breathing exercises. And I’m supposed to send them to a psychiatrist.

But all I can do is show them that my tears are their tears. I hold the container. I hold the pain. I hold the truth that the systems aren’t broken, but doing to us what they were always meant to. I remind them about trees, their little niece, and all the wins they’ve shared with me. I remind them how much they’ve grown into themselves. My words pleading with them, pleading with the universe, to believe there is hope of more.

I hold the container, even while our societal structures beat down on it again and again.