Doing Our Own Work: A Parallel Process

Posted by Sabrina Marie Hadeed, MA, LPC, NCC, Therapist and Assistant Clinical Director, Evoke at Cascades on June 04, 2015

As a female therapist working with adolescent girls, there are many personal experiences and challenges that inform the way I relate to and with the girls in my group. Like many therapists, I draw from my own life experiences to understand and connect with clients. Many of those experiences are joyful or transformative and many are painful or challenging. No matter the context, all of them help me to better relate with a spectrum of human problems and strengths.

In the counseling field, the parallel process used to be known as the “reflection process” and was understood to be therapeutically supportive and useful (Searles, 1955). It is the notion that you are working along side and experiencing a similar process to that of your client. I believe that this reflective process can be intentional and is part of our responsibility as a therapist. It is a commitment to doing my own work, which basically means going through some kind of therapeutic process of my own to cope with and learn from my life challenges.

Recently, I experienced a painful loss in my life when my grandmother passed away after a long battle with cancer. We were extremely close and the loss was and still is tremendously painful. A few months after her death, I started planning a trip to Kauai for my birthday. I knew that it would be my first birthday without her. I knew that I would be thinking about my last birthday with her… the one where we baked a cake together for the last time… the one where we went fishing together for the last time… the one where I heard her sing me happy birthday for the last time.

Being an outdoor enthusiast and believing in the importance of doing my own work, I planned to hike the 11-mile Kalalau trail along Kauai’s Na Pali coast. The trail runs along a rugged coastline and although graded, it is almost never level as it crosses above towering sea cliffs and through lush sweeping valleys. Most of the trail climbs in elevation, making carrying a 50lb pack a poor choice. As I planned this trek, I didn’t know that Backpackers Magazine had rated the hike among one of the top ten most dangerous in the nation. But maybe a part of me wanted to go on a journey fit to match my grief.

The girls in my adolescent wilderness therapy group were well aware that I would be gone for a week and I shared with them that I would be in Kauai. Many of them joked that they should be able to come with me or that I should bring them back coconuts and sea breeze. When I told them I would be going on an 11-mile hike, they couldn’t believe I actually wanted to hike instead of lay on the beach. They said things like “You are crazy Sabrina. It's your vacation, you should just relax!” or “OMG, I would never willingly hike in Hawaii. There are so many other things to do that are actually fun.”

After all the planning, the day of the hike had finally come. I woke up early on my birthday to the sound of rooster’s crows echoing in the Kauai jungle. I had no idea that roosters roamed wild throughout Kauai. Roosters were of course one of my grandmother’s favorite birds, that and cardinals. Her house was always filled with rooster and cardinal decorations. Already, the day was painted with memories of my dear grandmother.

I tucked my memories away and lifted my 50 lb. pack to make my way to the trailhead. My best friend since the 7th grade was with me as well. Her pack was also arrogantly heavy.

Fast-forward 7.5 miles and 3000 feet of elevation… apply sweat, laughter, trepidation, and glorious panoramic ocean views. We made it to the part of the hike known as “Crawlers Ledge”. With a 500ft drop straight down the cliffs, to where the ocean waves crashed against the mountain and the barely 1ft-wide trail spread beneath our cautious steps – I thought to myself, “I know now why this section is named Crawlers Ledge. A person either has to crawl due to the dangerously steep and unstable trail conditions or is compelled to crawl because the fear of plunging off the cliff’s edge to a painful death is too overwhelming to remain standing”. Fear is a profoundly powerful force.

We made our way silently along Crawlers Ledge…my trek poles positioned expertly to keep me standing, my steps strong and determined, my mind sharp, my breath intentionally paced to match the rhythm of the waves.

And then…I lost my footing.

The next thing I recall is that I am half sitting, half squatting in an awkward position unable to get up because my feet have no stable ground to stand on and my 50lb pack is keeping me from tumbling off the cliff’s edge. My friend asks me if I am okay and I reply in a shaky voice much smaller than I usually sound, “I think so. But I’m scared. I don’t know if I can get up. I am really scared”. My words hang on what feels like an oddly long silent moment. She then echoes, “I’m scared too but I think I can get to you”. I reply impulsively and protectively, “No, its too dangerous.”

My eyes look down, only once, long enough to fill my body with an almost paralyzing fear. She assures me again, “I really think I can get to you. Let's try it.” I knew there was no other choice…if I unbuckled my pack I could be pulled off the edge or lose the weighted anchor it was providing.

With some miraculous effort, she pulls the top of my pack up, as I hug the ledge and hoist myself back up. My legs are shaking uncontrollably beneath me but I know in an instant that I will live to take another step along the remainder of the ledge. I take a deep breath and fight back tears. The adrenaline pulsing in my wobbly body, gave me strength in an otherwise seemingly powerless moment. Once we are at a “safe enough” spot a few minutes later, we pause standing side-by-side and look out to face the ocean. As we take a few deep breaths to slow our racing hearts, a bright red cardinal lands on the edge of the cliff and just stares at us. My friend says, “Weird, that’s a Hawaiian cardinal”. I stare at the bird through the magnifying pools welling up in my eyes and reply almost in a whisper, “No, that’s my grandmother”.

I could go on to tell you about the end of my 11-mile birthday hike, the part where we barely made it to the beach as the sun set. The part where my friend secretly hiked an iPad in, so that she could play me a birthday wishes video that my family made. I could tell you that in that pre-recorded birthday wishes video, my grandfather recited a poem he wrote called Falling with Angels, about all the times in his life he nearly fell to his death. I could tell you that when I watched the video in the remote isolated jungle of Kauai, after a near death fall and the most physically challenging experience of my life…I sobbed…and laughed…and sobbed…and laughed with a primal force buried deep within me.

But instead, I will tell you about the part where I returned to share my story with the teenage girls in my wilderness therapy group in the Oregon desert. I called what we refer to in our program as a “sitting group”. We gathered sitting in a circle on the dusty ground. I told my story in the context of how sometimes when we push ourselves past our limits physically and emotionally, that’s where healing can begin. It’s where we get to meet a part of ourselves that we might not have met, had the limit not been crossed. We discussed how fear can sometimes be our biggest barrier and how receiving help can be a humbling gesture but also a way to get closer to the ones we love. Each of the girls shared a way that they could relate to some aspect of the story. We ended the discussion with the topic of finding a higher power and symbols that can represent courage or love. I encouraged the girls to think about who or what their Cardinal would be as they prepared for their next hike, which, as fate would have it…happened to be 11-miles long.

Searles, H. F. (1955). The informational value of supervisor's emotional experiences. Psychiatry, 18, 135-146.