Barrett Dorko
05-02-2006, 04:31 PM
It’s been a quiet week in Cuyahoga Falls…
Sometimes I tell my classes about my favorite student from last year. It was a woman in Santa Barbara. About my age, she prowled along the back wall of the room most of the day, in too much pain to sit still. I know this because she made a point of warning me before class that this is what she would do. I told her that her movements wouldn’t bother me in the least, that doing what we felt was best for our own mechanical deformation was in fact the cornerstone of my method. She stared at me silently after I said this, her face perfectly still, and then walked away.
Often as I teach I feel pretty powerful, and I mean that – powerful. After all, I know what’s coming next; I’ve done this for decades; if there’s a mistake to be made while teaching I’ve already made it (hopefully I’ve learned from that) and my unfettered passion for the work is not only unusual, it scares many other therapists – I think this keeps them pretty quiet even if they disagree with me. Put it all together and there’s an inevitable feeling of power. I know however that this is largely an illusion; perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it’s a de-lusion. Yea, that sounds more like it.
About an hour before I was finished in Santa Barbara - and after several hours of heckling – the woman stalking around the back of the room slammed her possessions together and stormed out the door. I smile when I think of this today. Mainly because it makes a pretty good story and truly exemplifies how upsetting some aspects of modern neuroscience can be to traditional notions of practice. I smile also because I managed to get through this without losing my composure or apologizing in any way. I got through it, and I wondered if I’d ever face anything worse.
That was many courses ago, and perhaps that’s why I dropped my guard a bit last Friday. I had completed the demonstrations, asked people to finish filling out the course evals and announced that things would end as soon as I told them a short story. At this point a therapist still standing though everyone else was seated asked if I would go through another exercise with them, something he’d found in the back of the manual I hadn’t done. I explained that it was self-explanatory and that I was finishing up in any case. He was clearly unsatisfied. I told my story and began to pack up. The man approached again and I actually felt compelled to apologize for not doing as he had asked earlier. I explained that I commonly skipped this exercise and rarely used it myself. He said nothing, and then he began questioning me about some detail of my practice that had nothing to do with the course. I explained that this was an issue he needed to explore in his own practice, that only by figuring out how it would work for him would his clinical expertise grow in its own way. Finally he said something; “I disagree with that.” I found myself apologizing again and began to feel I’d failed these students in a number of ways. My packing slowed down and I could sense a vaguely familiar uneasiness at my center that I dislike intensely.
I watched him walk out the door and then began to think about what had just happened. Unlike the woman months before, this guy was far more careful with his approach and timing. If ever there is a moment when I am at my weakest it’s got to be in the final moments of a three day teaching stint. Sensing this, the student waited until then before he made it clear that I hadn’t done enough, in his opinion. He also made sure the rest of the class could see how diligent he was, and how remiss I had been.
Power doesn’t amount to much when it’s carried on a tightrope, and I was reminded on Friday how easily I can be toppled at just the right moment. As I drove down the highway after class it all became clear and I had to smile again – something I found myself unable to do right after class.
I suddenly realized that no matter how good I get at avoiding the sort of thing that happened last week, there will always be somebody much better at making sure they get the reaction they’d prefer.
He was there on Friday, and I never saw him coming.
Sometimes I tell my classes about my favorite student from last year. It was a woman in Santa Barbara. About my age, she prowled along the back wall of the room most of the day, in too much pain to sit still. I know this because she made a point of warning me before class that this is what she would do. I told her that her movements wouldn’t bother me in the least, that doing what we felt was best for our own mechanical deformation was in fact the cornerstone of my method. She stared at me silently after I said this, her face perfectly still, and then walked away.
Often as I teach I feel pretty powerful, and I mean that – powerful. After all, I know what’s coming next; I’ve done this for decades; if there’s a mistake to be made while teaching I’ve already made it (hopefully I’ve learned from that) and my unfettered passion for the work is not only unusual, it scares many other therapists – I think this keeps them pretty quiet even if they disagree with me. Put it all together and there’s an inevitable feeling of power. I know however that this is largely an illusion; perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it’s a de-lusion. Yea, that sounds more like it.
About an hour before I was finished in Santa Barbara - and after several hours of heckling – the woman stalking around the back of the room slammed her possessions together and stormed out the door. I smile when I think of this today. Mainly because it makes a pretty good story and truly exemplifies how upsetting some aspects of modern neuroscience can be to traditional notions of practice. I smile also because I managed to get through this without losing my composure or apologizing in any way. I got through it, and I wondered if I’d ever face anything worse.
That was many courses ago, and perhaps that’s why I dropped my guard a bit last Friday. I had completed the demonstrations, asked people to finish filling out the course evals and announced that things would end as soon as I told them a short story. At this point a therapist still standing though everyone else was seated asked if I would go through another exercise with them, something he’d found in the back of the manual I hadn’t done. I explained that it was self-explanatory and that I was finishing up in any case. He was clearly unsatisfied. I told my story and began to pack up. The man approached again and I actually felt compelled to apologize for not doing as he had asked earlier. I explained that I commonly skipped this exercise and rarely used it myself. He said nothing, and then he began questioning me about some detail of my practice that had nothing to do with the course. I explained that this was an issue he needed to explore in his own practice, that only by figuring out how it would work for him would his clinical expertise grow in its own way. Finally he said something; “I disagree with that.” I found myself apologizing again and began to feel I’d failed these students in a number of ways. My packing slowed down and I could sense a vaguely familiar uneasiness at my center that I dislike intensely.
I watched him walk out the door and then began to think about what had just happened. Unlike the woman months before, this guy was far more careful with his approach and timing. If ever there is a moment when I am at my weakest it’s got to be in the final moments of a three day teaching stint. Sensing this, the student waited until then before he made it clear that I hadn’t done enough, in his opinion. He also made sure the rest of the class could see how diligent he was, and how remiss I had been.
Power doesn’t amount to much when it’s carried on a tightrope, and I was reminded on Friday how easily I can be toppled at just the right moment. As I drove down the highway after class it all became clear and I had to smile again – something I found myself unable to do right after class.
I suddenly realized that no matter how good I get at avoiding the sort of thing that happened last week, there will always be somebody much better at making sure they get the reaction they’d prefer.
He was there on Friday, and I never saw him coming.