On a personal note...

I typically use this space to teach, to explain ideas that I think are important for living a wholehearted life. I use it to bring awareness to mental health issues and share some important insights. And I will continue to do so.

But tonight, I wanted to reflect on these past few years as a graduate student— because I’m done! Yesterday, I left Lipscomb for the last time (as a student). And it doesn’t feel real yet. My body needs some time to catch up with my brain.

Three years ago, I knew that I wasn’t being fulfilled by my work. I knew I was being called to something different and that something different was the field of mental health, trauma and counseling. Often times during my program, over these past two-ish years, it felt like it was going take an eternity to finish this degree, to get to the end so that I could begin again.

And yet, as I reflect, as I approach another new beginning, I am realizing that beginning again started three years ago, when I made the decision to take an unexpected, expensive, and time-consuming detour. When I decided that the traditional path laid out for me (degree, marriage, house, babies) wasn’t actually for me, at least not in that order. When I decided that I was going to listen to my own intuition and allow it to narrate my story.

While I am certainly still the me that started my graduate program 2 years ago, I have also evolved into a more congruent version of myself. What’s on my insides matches more of my outsides. While I am still totally driven by a passion and desire to succeed, I am capable now of slowing down. Being steady and deliberate. Less impulsive. More present, more mindful. As I type these words, I hear the voice of my former professor and now clinical supervisor saying to me, “Rachel, slow. it. down. Consider your pace.” My nervous system has started healing. I am caring for myself, my soul, in a way I never have before. Thank God.

I no longer see the world in black-and-white. I’ve befriended the color gray, and I never knew what a sweet, rich friendship this would be! Stories are nuanced, people are nuanced, mental health is nuanced. To be reductionistic in a deeply complex world is to miss out on the beauty and paradox woven into everything around us and in us.

My marriage is sweeter than it’s ever been. Because so much of me, so much of us— our old patterns, our walls, our defense mechanisms— had to be acknowledged and then burned to the ground so that we could heal. For a while there, it only looked like ash and fume, bleak and dark. Conversations were lifeless, doubtful. I wondered if were we’re going to make it. But then we were born again. Rebirthed. Energized with new life. Connected and united again. Or maybe not again. Maybe actually for the first time. I am beyond grateful for my husband, and I truly wouldn’t have earned this degree without him.

There is a renewed sense of confidence, of boldness, that’s grown in me. It’s always been there, but it’s much bigger now. I’m less afraid of my power and my presence, and I’m no longer willing to shrink my bigness to accommodate others. My left-brain has become more acquainted with his passenger, the part to the right. My imaginative, creative, intuitive, emotional self has been let loose and it’s totally awesome. It balances out some of my already fine-tuned muscles like logic, reason, and analytic thought. I just feel more whole. Integrated. Aligned. I am far more self-compassionate than I’ve ever been. Perhaps because I simply got tired of being so mean and hard on myself all the time. My inner-critic likes to make an appearance now and then, and I’ve accepted that. But she rarely makes decisions for me anymore, and she rarely gets the final word.

There are so many other lessons, so many ways I’ve been changed, sharpened, refined. There are so many stories that have straight up burned to the ground, old ways of being in this world that have been put to death. There is so much new life in me, in my heart. It feels big and expansive. And as I continue to take time in the coming weeks to process, I’m sure more lessons and learnings will be revealed to me. It’s one of the best parts of staying curious about everything.

As I met with my program director last night, Jake, he gifted me with feedback and encouragement. Words are some of the best gifts. Several of the phrases he spoke over me stuck, but two in particular stuck the most.

He said he hoped I’d continue to give myself space and grace to evolve. To not limit myself to one specialty or population of interest, but to dip my toes in it all. It’s a lesson I’ve learned time and time again, but this year especially. I came into this program sure of two things: play therapy + specializing in kids. I’m leaving this program with a passion for working with teens and young adults, and while I will surely integrate play therapy into my work because it’s awesome, it’s certainly not my only “thing.”

Last night, I vowed to myself that I’d stop putting myself into boxes. Because we were never made to fit inside of them. Now and for forever, I am committed to giving myself grace and space to evolve, permission to change my mind a thousand times. And as a therapist with a strong, existential leaning, it is this freedom to choose that stirs up both anxiety and liberation.

Which in many ways leads to his next parting words. Trust in the unknown. When these words rolled off his tongue, I thought to myself, “Oh yes, I know that one. It’s the same lesson I’ve been learning for my whole life.” But truly, I’m really good at latching onto a false sense of control and security, and I will likely spend many, many, many more years unlearning these patterns (also known as coping mechanisms) and practicing surrender.

If you could see into my brain on any given week (okay fine, day…), you’d see zillions of different thought trains choo-chooing around in there (and crashing into each other.) Jake knows this about me too, hence, the parting words. Thoughts related to my career path, my desire to become a mother, anxieties about childcare and whether Nashville is our forever home. Thoughts about applying to doctoral school and becoming a professor in a counseling program (cue, images of me trying to write a dissertation while taking care of babies and seeing clients because #money). The point is this— I (*think*) I am a master of predicting, manipulating, and planning my future. But, not really. I’m just really good about worrying about it. Which doesn’t serve me or the world.   

And this is why these parting words— trust in the unknown— are so important for me to hear again and again (and again and again). They remind me that my worry functions as a way of trying to control what is entirely uncertain and unknown. They remind me to accept my worry without judgement and with compassion and to act according to my values— faith in a loving, compassionate God. Trust in myself and the Spirit. They urge me to root down, to get grounded in my body through mindfulness, meditation, and breathing. Daily. They bring me back to my center, to my truth.

Here’s what’s ironic. These lessons— grace to evolve and trusting in the unknown— in many ways are the very same lessons and guiding truths that propelled me to go to graduate school again, to become a therapist. I am convinced that our intuition (or whatever you want to call it) knows these lessons, these truths. Like deep down, we know we were created to evolve, and we know we were created to trust in something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes we just need to listen to this inner wisdom, like I did three years ago. And sometimes we need to be reminded of them when we forget, like yesterday.

The word gratitude feels like it falls short of actually encompassing this experience, specifically my time in this program. I am not the same person I was, and I’m so glad. I am not a better me, I’m just simply more of me, of who I was always meant to become.

If you’re still reading, you’re likely someone who has been a part of this journey with me. And I need to say thank you. Because without my support people, without you, this journey would have been far lonelier and a lot more grueling. Thank you for championing me.

Maybe I am beginning again or maybe just continuing. It feels most accurate to say that I’m Phoenixing. Rising up and taking flight.

In love,

Rachel