They say a picture is worth a thousand words. A therapeutic metaphor is worth way more than that.
Metaphors are lamps for the soul. They help us better illuminate the view: seeing the object of self as a whole. It is when ensconced in this enlightened glow that therapeutic metaphors can help change stories that exist within us, as we can examine sides of ourselves we’ve never realized before. As a therapist, I have noticed within myself and my clients symptom-driven narratives that pack a real wallop. These are often revealed via devastating messages born from trauma and other relational impacts, which in turn promote self-disparaging stories as well as themes. Common examples include us feeling like we are always coming up short, that we are less than, or that we will never be able to trust others or feel safe in the world (let alone feel at ease in our own company).
Assessing for Shame
When I was an intake clinician in community mental health (where my job was to write diagnostic summaries and refer individuals to the best level of care to meet their needs) I recall a specific part of the assessment: It was a closed question segment, where I would list symptoms and an individual would either confirm the presence or absence of a given challenge. Then (before everything was done via computer) I would (with an actual pen) check the box next to a given symptom if I received an answer in the affirmative. When I asked a prospective client if they experienced feelings of shame, the answer was almost exclusively “yes.” It did not matter the age, race, background, gender, sexual orientation, etc. of the adult. In a year and a half, each day of meeting countless people and listening to countless narratives, one thing was made immediately clear: Shame is one of the clingiest substances there is.
I find shame fascinating in that when logic is applied, its function is debunked. It’s like putting leeches on the skin to help heal us. It may feel purposeful and action-oriented, but the underpinning beliefs are woefully misinformed. Such beliefs often result in cognitive distortions (that sadly end up feeling foundational to who we are and our understanding of self). But there is always a difference between the soul of who we are and our symptoms. We are, in fact, never our symptoms.
“Who do you want to be when you grow up?”
No first grader ever answers this question with “I want to develop a dependence on opioids,” “I want to be so depressed that I don’t leave my house,” “I want to have crippling anxiety so bad that the idea of sitting in stillness and quietude feels like a threat that could swallow me whole.”
Imagine this:
All of humanity walks into The Diner of the World’s Maladies. It is here that we can order any mental as well as physical challenge off the menu. And as such, it would be prepared and served to us. When the robot waiters wheeled themselves over to take our orders, we would all order nothing. We would collectively declare “All set!” and skip out of that place holding hands like kids who haven’t learned to negatively judge ourselves and each other yet. We do not choose our rightful challenges. They choose us.
Nothing about the above makes you or me unique. It makes us human. The font size may vary, and the word combinations will be different, but each of us is informed by different languages of hurt. Think about it as a metaphorical equivalent of a cattle prod to the ankle, for we all carry a traumatic sear. When we get triggered (emotionally activated) it glows, as if it comes back to life, as if something was happening again. Meanwhile, if an outside observer looked upon us they might see you or me in a room alone, just staring out the window. There is no threat to be found.
This speaks to the importance of therapeutic metaphors and the valid narratives they can help us access (as well as create). After all, it is the art of life not the math of life. And perhaps learning how to cope with, as well as heal, the emotional wounds we carry is the most important art of all. It takes time to develop mastery in any craft, especially one as complex as healing the psyche. And yet, there is a deeper message in us, like a river buried under rock, waiting to be discovered.
Our authentic selves often get shrouded in trauma narratives.
We may find ourselves being tasked with having to walk bravely through a thick fog of psychological suffering, not able to determine whether it is miles to go, or just a few steps until we can see clearly again. For it is commonplace that there will be times in life when we need to reorient, to access emotional grounding, and most importantly, know that we are safe.
One of the most common tragedies in this world is when someone stops walking right before they are about to exit the fog.
Know this – I see you. I believe in you. I sometimes still find myself in the fog, too. Isolation is the ultimate amplifier of suffering. So whether it is online, in person – or both – reach out. Remember, mold only grows in environments that are damp, dark, and shielded from the sun. Take yourself out into the light. It is time to heal.
Coloring Book
Awake to this moment as in a new day’s bed.
Your coloring book opens.
Paint your story with new hues of understandings
and it will pop off the pages of your life.
Your light is unmistakable. Unstoppable.
Turn your vulnerabilities from prison to prism
and watch the caterpillar of your light inch forward
to one day burst into butterflies of color.
Set your soul alight. Be free. Unburdened.
A field of wildflowers always knows
“We are supposed to be right here,
sharing our beauty with all of the world.”
Written by Samual Sobel, LICSW
