Some time ago a woman asked me:”Why should I pay for counseling. In Manitoba we have stress lines I can call and there are social workers I can contact for any problems.” I asked back “What are those people doing when you’re asking for help.” and the person told me “They’re listening and giving some advice…” I said “Well, I’m listening too, but I won’t give advice. I’ll let you find your way to deal with an issue, but at the same time I CARE AND I BELIEVE IN YOU!” She looked at me pretty amazedly “What does that mean?” she asked and like always I was telling her a story.
My mom died very fast. Her kidneys failed and when I came to the hospital she was already in a coma because she had signed a piece of paper saying she wouldn’t like to have dialysis. I gave her Reiki and was told that I would be phoned when she would die during the night. Early in the morning the phone rang… My husband prepared to drive me to the hospital and found me sitting at the table exhausted, sad and anxious. He knew that I wasn’t able to see my father again after his death and I told him that I was not sure if I can go there to see the dead body of my mother and cried. “I’m not sure if I can handle that.” I said to him. He took me in his arms and hugged me for a long time, then he looked into my eyes and said “I know that you can handle it.” We drove to the hospital and I petted and kissed my death mother, sending her the healing light of Reiki for her journey into the unknown realm. On our drive home I thought: He believed in me and I was able to do things although I have felt so weak and had no faith into myself.” In the days before the funeral I suddenly felt like writing a poem to honour my mother’s life and I did. My husband praised my creativity and supported me a lot with preparing everything for that sad day approaching fast. We followed the priest who carried the urn. He put it into the grave and said some nice superficial words abouth death and paradise. I didn’t listen, I thought about my mother and my childhood and started crying. I held firm to my poem, looked up to my husband and said “I don’t know if I can read this poem, when I have to cry all time. I think, I can’t handle that.” He squeezed my hand, looked into my eyes and said “I know, that you can handle it.” I started reading and my voice got stronger and stronger and the people who knew my mom thanked me for my words and even wanted a copy of my poem. Again I could have come out of an overwhelming situation that made me feel very weak with the faith my husband had into me.
“That’s my kind of therapy,” I said to her “I’m hugging my clients, I’m challenging and sometimes provoking them to find their own way, but at the same time I have that unshakable faith into them that they can handle IT.” I don’t know if she understood but I’m thinking that I can make a difference as a therapist.