I breathed myself to life, and so can you. My own recovery from the trauma of sexual repression drew me towards the healing medicine of yoga. I am a psychotherapist and a yoga teacher. My passion, obsession, and saving grace is embodiment鈥攖he experience of inhabiting the home of your body. Social forces and generational/personal trauma split the psyche into compartmentalization and dissociation, which inhibit us from fully inhabiting our own skin. I came into this work by following the golden thread of aliveness that vibrated inside of me whenever I stepped towards an act of embodiment.

My journey towards my profession and passion began by confronting my own pain of living in a deadened body.

鈥淢y journey towards my profession and passion began by confronting my own pain of living in a deadened body.鈥�

As a girl I was steeped in an evangelical church that was emotionally and sexually repressed. I was taught to dissociate from my emotion and sexuality. Eager to perform for my community, I was one of the 鈥榞ood鈥� ones. My dissociative abilities grew stronger as they were reinforced and praised. I swallowed my emotions and wore my pledge of virginity until marriage like a badge of honor. I committed to these ideas with resolve, to the point of receiving a purity tattoo鈥攁 dove on my hip that I wouldn鈥檛 allow anyone to see until my wedding night.

As a child I was tirelessly praised for my goodness, my ability to follow all of the rules set before me. The only price I had to pay for this endless stream of praise was my unwavering compliance with the group norms of emotional and sexual repression. As long as I agreed that the impulses of my body were wrong and should be ignored at all costs, I was given power, respect, and trust from a group of people I deeply respected.

As a 3 on the Enneagram, 鈥渢he performer,鈥� my disposition lends me towards being preoccupied with how others see me. 鈥楪ood鈥� became my identity, and my value was centered around how well I could perform to the expectations of those in authority around me. My obsession with blamelessness made me feel afraid to consider my own right to connection and desire.

It is painful to realize I was brainwashed out of connecting to my own sensuality. Over and over again I kissed my college boyfriend (who is now my incredible, gracious husband) while willing myself outside of my body and interrupting our connection if we got 鈥榯oo close.鈥� For years. For five years. That is too many years of not surrendering to the wisdom of our bodies. Our super power, being deeply present with each other, was shadowed by shame and secrecy. By the time we decided we had waited long enough to have sex, I had retreated so far from the felt experience of my body that I didn鈥檛 know how to enjoy it.

Dissociation is the psychological process of blocking out what an individual considers to be harmful. What is defined as 鈥榟armful鈥� within an individual is often the parts of self that may inhibit a sense of belonging to a particular community. I was taught that my body was bad and not to be trusted, so I spent the vast majority of my life ignoring what it was saying to me out of an ethical duty to be 鈥榞ood.鈥� I鈥檓 not the only one. The bodies of countless people growing up within Evangelical communities have been affected by the shameful rhetoric of purity culture.

The trauma of neglecting and shaming my body during vital years of sexual development caused a severe split between my mind and my body. We don鈥檛 learn how to be in our bodies unless we are taught how to follow sensation. In order to keep my purity pledge, I did everything in my power to sever myself from sensation, and in the process inadvertently sent the message to my brain that connection to my body was not to be trusted. My evil body tempted me into sexual sin鈥攁n age-old fable more concerned with power than with sex.

Yoga was the first place I learned how to inhabit my body intimately, in a way that wasn鈥檛 overtly sexual. Yoga was a neutral environment I could enter to learn how to de-thaw my body, without having to hold the emotional complexity of sexual shame that would often come up during sex. It has been through my own yoga practice that I鈥檝e learned that there is ancient medicine in using breath and movement in order to bring bodies back to life. What has historically been my biggest weakness is turning into my biggest strength because my pain forced me to look so closely at my body.

鈥淭here is ancient medicine in using breath and movement in order to bring bodies back to life.鈥�

While I was still dry humping Ben in church parking lots (#wheatonlyfe) in 2006, I attended a 鈥榮tretching and breathing鈥� class (yoga, in disguise) that changed my life. My body, which I had spent so much time trying to separate from and control, was now being gently paid attention to. I learned how to use movement as prayer, and for the first time I began to see how being with my body was a worshipful experience. It made my heart burst wide open to pay attention to myself in this way. Each time I laid in savasana, the final resting pose at the end of a yoga class, I came into direct contact with the weirdness and goodness of my body, the pure delight of feeling my own aliveness. These magical experiences in my body drew me to enroll in a yoga teacher training the summer before I started class at 天美视频. Immersed in the world of body wisdom I began, piece by piece, to land into a body I wasn鈥檛 fully aware I had disowned.

After I graduated, I spent four years working at , a local eating disorder clinic that was my therapeutic boot camp. Working with clients with eating disorders is a minefield of body hatred and dissociation, and I needed to learn quickly how to help my clients tolerate being in bodies that felt deeply unsafe to inhabit. I voraciously read books on embodiment and somatic healing from trauma, and I realized as I read that I needed to heal myself. The deeper I dove into healing my relationship with my body, the more I could teach my students how to find islands of safety within their own skin.

Dissociation is a form of trauma that leaves the body frozen, numb, and unresponsive. When trauma and neglect happen, we need to vacate. It is a sweet gift that the body doesn鈥檛 allow us to come into full contact with the enormity of our pain when we aren鈥檛 safe enough to feel it. I see the body as a manifestation of the unconscious mind, and when we work explicitly with the physical body, we grow awareness to the most hidden parts of our psyche. Yoga is a way to slowly reintroduce ourselves to the disowned parts of ourselves. Using the tools of breath and focused awareness, we can gradually thaw the frozen, clenched parts of our bodies. Now in my private practice, I鈥檓 teaching my clients and yoga students how to reclaim the uncharted waters of their own bodies using meditation, yoga, and breathing practices.

It wasn鈥檛 until I began connecting to my body that I realized how deeply disconnected I had been my entire life. Even now, after spending the last decade working to integrate the experiences of my body, I鈥檓 more aware than ever about how much I still don鈥檛 know about this earth suit of mine. It is endlessly mysterious and mystical to discover the maps of intelligence that are encoded into our bodies. I鈥檒l never arrive at a perfectly embodied or integrated place, but I have breathed myself into a new body. A more fluid, open, welcoming, and grounded body. A body that knows how to lean into care because of all those times she leaned into the earth in savasana and felt held.

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Dr. Roy Barsness, Professor of Counseling Psychology at 天美视频, developed Relationally Focused Psychodynamic Therapy from his qualitative research conducted in the realm of psychoanalytic psychotherapy. The result of that research culminated in his collaborative book, .

鈥淧sychology is once again turning its attention to the understanding that actual change occurs by focusing on the unfolding narrative between therapist and patient,鈥� says Dr. Barsness. 鈥淭he implication of this shift is the need for training in theoretical and practical constructs that attend to motivation, emotions, early attachment/developmental issues, the role of the unconscious, and attention to the research in the neurosciences that notes shifts in affective regulation through genuine encounters with others.鈥�

鈥淧sychology is once again turning its attention to the understanding that actual change occurs by focusing on the unfolding narrative between therapist and patient.鈥�

Decades of research indicate that the provision of therapy is an interpersonal process in which the nature of the therapeutic relationship is a central component for change and healing. For 21 years, 天美视频 has distinguished itself as a program rooted in the belief that we are created, known, wounded, and healed in the context of relationship. Our incarnational theology informs our theory of change, and our psychodynamic methodology develops thoughtful, committed practitioners. The RFPT certificate is designed for practitioners to continue their learning by equipping them with new insights and skills, helping clarify their methodology and theory of change, and offering a network of clinicians for ongoing support, community, and consultation.

This post-graduate certificate represents 天美视频鈥檚 intentional movement toward hybrid learning opportunities that are more accessible than ever, so that participants can continue to learn and grow even as they pursue their day-to-day work. In the RFPT certificate, clinicians will participate in a practice-focused, experiential training program delivered through bi-weekly online clinical consultations and twice-yearly in-person weekend intensive retreats. In the contexts of community and their own practice, participants will pursue an in-depth exploration of how they position themselves in the therapeutic dyad, how they reflect on the conscious and unconscious dynamics that unfold, and how they engage those dynamics with courage, discipline, and insight.

鈥淟earning doesn鈥檛 stop once you enter the field,鈥� says Dr. J. Derek McNeil, Acting President and Provost. 鈥淚鈥檓 pleased to be offering clinicians this opportunity to deepen their own learning and refine their practice in the context of community.鈥�

You can visit the program page to learn more about the Relationally Focused Psychodynamic Therapy Post-Graduate Certificate, including schedule, tuition, program outline, and the application process.

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鈥溾�nd by his wounds we are healed.鈥� (Isaiah 53:5)

Earlier this spring, my family and I came across a(n) (un)welcome surprise: We had joined forces with a tree that hid our home from others, but also from ourselves. What鈥檚 more, like this hiding tree, we realized we had each been hiding from each other, and also from the world around us. And it was by the wounds of this (tree) friend that we were healed. Let me explain.

My wife had been suggesting that we cut the tree down for any number of years, but I hadn鈥檛 been open to the idea. She knew she鈥檇 need to keep peppering me with this suggestion, until one day I would bend. I did, and welcome to our relationship.

It turns out the real estate agent who sold us our house back in 2009 had made a similar suggestion fairly immediately upon seeing our house for the first time. You see, our house was depressed when we bought it. It had held the energies of what sounded like a pretty brutal divorce, and it came onto the market mid-depressive episode. It would take lots of cans of paint, new carpet, and a series of house blessings from a team of pastors to clear the air in our home. Those dark, depressive energies seemed to be fairly deeply rooted, not unlike our hiding tree.

Our hiding tree was a Japanese maple, and alongside of the tree that stood beside it, this tree had kept our house from being fully seen from top to bottom. We live in a split-level home, which is fairly boxy, and this hiding tree contributed to the apparent plainness of our home鈥檚 curb appeal. So these suggestions to take down the tree had everything to do with aesthetics: Our house would be more visible and would appear less overgrown if we allowed it to be better seen. The beauty of this hiding tree had become a source of its contribution to the concealment of (or in) our home.

My wife and I are both therapists, and when we got together, we had a lot of learning to do in terms of the art and skill of vulnerable living. I came to our relationship loaded with theories that could cover insecurities, vulnerabilities, and frailties. My ability to theorize is actually a thing of beauty and something that contributes to my calling(s) in life, both as teacher and as a healer, but my ability to theorize is also a beauty I鈥檝e hidden behind, often concealing the life that twists and turns within me.

鈥淢y ability to theorize is also a beauty I鈥檝e hidden behind, often concealing the life that twists and turns within me.鈥�

But back to the felling of this tree: It was a Sunday morning, and our family had chosen to stay home and get some housework done, rather than going to church. What we didn鈥檛 know was that 鈥渃hurch鈥� would be coming to us that morning. I started to cut some of the smaller branches of the tree: the ones that were fairly high up but also within reach from the ground. The cut limbs began to weep. The water that had coursed through their veins now poured out onto the ground with surprising haste. I began to feel the pain I imagined this tree was experiencing, as I cut and as it was cut. My own body started to ache as I pressed on in my work, soon realizing that this tree and me were in a deeply spiritual contact with one another.

Soon I called my wife and our three boys over to the area where the tree had once stood, and I spoke with resonance to the life and pending death of this tree, and to how it had clearly served as a vestige of pain and hiding: a legacy of the house that was our house before it became our home. Maybe the irony of this service was that, by all appearances, the tree in and of itself was beautiful.

Ever since, I鈥檝e been working with this experience turned memory. That spring Sunday in March our family, to a person, each spoke to the ways we felt freer as a result of the ritual we spontaneously created as we brought the hiding tree down. We each confessed to each other, and to the more-than-human world around us, how we had joined with the tree in our respective hidings: We were each able to articulate ways we used 鈥渢hings,鈥� maybe even things that looked good (e.g. for me, a busy schedule), to keep us from more stark exposure to each other, and to the world that awaits and calls us by name.

Typing these words I鈥檓 quickly reminded of what I learned when I came to 天美视频 (then Mars Hill Graduate School) as a Master of Divinity student in 2002: I had used the beauty of a strong intellect (remember that theorizing my wife referenced?) and my intensity as an 鈥�8鈥� on the Enneagram (too much is just about enough for me) to become quite technically proficient at practicing and teaching the life and work of a therapist, all the while hiding myself from myself and also from the world around me.

I鈥檓 currently listening to a book on tape entitled , by psychotherapist Lori Gottlieb. The book follows multiple therapy patients, including the life that Gottlieb has lived as a patient herself. In talking about what separates more senior clinicians from those that are proverbially greener, Gottlieb notes that one has to be willing to be the same person, the same 鈥渟elf,鈥� both inside and outside of the therapy office, in order to set oneself apart as more senior or advanced in the work. In other words, if I put on the garb of therapist and I use such a costume to distance myself and my clients from my own human experiences and vulnerabilities, then the work of therapy (and probably best said the therapeutic relationship) will not progress in the same way it would if I felt freer to be me across time, space, and frame.

In my listening, as I move back and forth between my use of the word 鈥渃lient鈥� and Gottlieb鈥檚 use of the word 鈥減atient,鈥� I am reminded that the Latin root of the latter is the word patiens, which means 鈥渢o suffer.鈥� So a therapist treats 鈥渙ne who suffers.鈥� But a therapist being true to all of who they are means that they are patiens, ones who suffer, as well. The version of me that came to seminary was acquainted with grief and suffering, but of the ilk of serving others who were supposedly experiencing it differently (more profoundly) than I. It was only in being cracked open by my practicum (Listening Lab), personal counseling, and other extra-curricular experiences that I came to believe that being a co-traveler (ala Irvin Yalom) would be the only path to shared healing.

In April, Meg Wheatley, renowned organizational psychologist and author of , came to campus and put a call out for 鈥渉uman human beings鈥� who could serve as 鈥渋slands of sanity鈥� for each other in an age that calls for 鈥渨arriors of the human spirit.鈥� Meg spoke to how the ever-present need for belonging can twist and turn its way into lots of unhealthy human behaviors and interactions.

One way such a downgrading happens is when a person decides to take on a role as a way of limiting their exposure to the interconnectedness of all things. Gregory Bateson, a systems-thinker and major player in the establishment of the field of cybernetics, called roles a 鈥渉alf-assed relationship,鈥� in that surrendering one鈥檚 interconnectedness to the discreteness of a role allows and results in half-assed living for the role-bearer. This is often the way of it for many who find themselves in helping roles, healing capacities, and/or positions of spiritual authority: Their roles become their identities, their identities become half-assed, and they function as other/less than human humans (a nod to social identity theory).

If this month鈥檚 blog posts are about nurturing and formation, it wouldn鈥檛 take a far reach to claim that positions of leadership (including the pastorate, helping, and healing professions) often stifle those very things (nurturance and formation) in the people who serve in such posts. Rather than being permitted the messiness of having needs and of fraying at the edges like formation so often requires, such leaders are invited to be anything but human as they are charged to constrict and/or to restrict themselves to that which appears shiny and clean.

鈥淟eaders are invited to be anything but human as they are charged to constrict and/or to restrict themselves to that which appears shiny and clean.鈥�

Like our family鈥檚 home, helpers and healers are often subtly charged to hide behind beautiful things. It鈥檚 a beautiful thing to be called into ministry. It鈥檚 a beautiful thing to be in a position to see and to name on behalf of another. It鈥檚 a beautiful thing to walk the road of healer, having tasted some of the trials and tribulations that have brought people to one鈥檚 door asking, seeking, and knocking (Matthew 7:7). Our society desperately needs healing professionals and spiritual leaders willing to heed the call of caring for others. In a land rife with derision, we need to become 鈥渋slands of sanity鈥� for each other (thanks again, Meg Wheatley!).

That said, one can hide out on an island, just like one can hide out behind a beautiful Japanese maple. For me, the call to hide long preceded me. I come from a long line of men who hide behind positions of power and influence, or behind an absence of words or authentic encounter with another. A mix of Methodist good works (appearances) and Presbyterian rigidities (male privileging) coupled with war-time trauma, sickness, and a modern-era milieu populated with a toxic male code (see David & Brannon, 1976) contribute(d) to my ongoing tendency to use beauty (my intellect, my speed of processing, my use of words, and other performance-related variables) to hide.

But it is by the wounds of the suffering servant that we are healed (Isaiah 53:5). The felling of our hiding tree offered us a taste of that very reality. Our family was able to trade one beauty (hiding) for another (warmth and connection), in the form of a repurposed engagement with our hiding tree. Branches are now neatly stacked and ready to be used for summer backyard bonfires, and a seedling that had started to randomly grow on its own has since been replanted in our front yard, showing good signs of vim and vigor but also standing at least 10 yards from our house.

Beauty requires deliberation (see the work of Elaine Scarry), and beauty renders us impotent (and also the work of Hans Urs von Balthasar). Beauty calls, and the recipient responds. Beauty can and will draw us face-to-face with our need to receive, and with our need for divine encounter. But beautiful things can also be used to limit, if not conceal, other forms of goodness longing to be exposed to the light. Rooms on both levels of our home now beam with light in ways they never had before, and that light calls each person in our family to do and be the same.

So maybe an invitation for any of us who serve in helping or healing capacities, or who are called into one or more positions of spiritual authority: Where do you allow what was planted before you to keep root in a form that hides the fullness of who you are? Where do we take what we鈥檝e been given, bidden and unbidden, replete with beauty but also defense, and repurpose such into opportunities for warmth and connection?

Chances are it was our wounds that got us into our work, whatever it may be, in the first place. Wounds heal not only on or in bodies, but also in souls as well. Roles protect humans from the inevitable wounding of their humanity, and beautiful things can be used to hide deeper goodness. Islands can isolate, or islands can protect. And always we begin again.

Feeling called or compelled to emerge in some way? If so, please don鈥檛 be bashful in sharing with others: Our own nurturance, formation, and sanity awaits.

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Of course it is all too easy to tune out our bodies, to ignore how they communicate our need for nurture. What are the practices that help us listen to our bodies? What are the rhythms and rituals that connect us to those deep, vulnerable parts of our bodies and souls that are crying out for care? Our students and alumni have been wrestling with these questions in beautiful, creative ways for many years, and we often turn to their voices when we need to remember how to be present in our bodies. Today we鈥檙e sharing a few of those voices鈥攖houghtful presentations inviting us to engage the rituals, rhythms, and age-old practices that draw us back to our deeply human need for nurture. And if you鈥檇 like to join us in the gift of learning from the integrative and insightful work of our students, save the date for the annual Integrative Project Symposium on May 31.

At our second annual Symposia in 2016, Heather Stringer (, 鈥�10) presented 鈥淏reaking Frozen Seas: How Rituals of the Body Transform Clients and Communities,鈥� exploring how intentional, sensual rituals open us to learning from our bodies as we pursue healing from trauma. 鈥淚 think our body longs to teach us, it longs to mother us, it longs to remind us,鈥� says Heather. 鈥淎nd without ritual, we foreclose creativity and shared open language about what is happening, and we dissociate.鈥�

鈥淚 think our body longs to teach us, it longs to mother us, it longs to remind us.鈥�

Also at Symposia 2016, Jenny McGrath (MACP, 鈥�15) talked about 鈥淗ealing Trauma Through Movement,鈥� sharing how dance had been an avenue of healing and growth in her own life, and how movement and dance can be used therapeutically to bring counseling and rehabilitation for trauma survivors. Jenny shares about her work in northern Uganda, researching the therapeutic power of movement in the wake of war and exploring how dance can help communicate emotional realities that are beyond language. 鈥淲e are affected not just neurologically, but neuro-physiologically when we go through trauma. We are not just floating heads,鈥� says Jenny. 鈥淪o there needs to be some form of engagement with our bodies if we are truly to develop a sustainable model for people to recover from their trauma.鈥�

At Symposia 2017 Jenny Wade (MACP, 鈥�13), a therapist and founder of in Seattle, shared about 鈥淔inding Beauty in Embodied Resistance.鈥� In this profound talk, Jenny starts with the disgust that so many people feel toward their bodies, and the million ways we are taught to believe that our bodies are not worth trusting. 鈥淚 believe that bodies are good,鈥� says Jenny. 鈥淭hey are good, and they are wise, and they are beautiful. [鈥 But trauma, both collective and personal, separates us from the felt experience of our body. When we experience trauma, our body feels foreign. Our body doesn鈥檛 feel like it鈥檚 ours.鈥�

(For more on this, we also deeply appreciated J. Knox Burnett鈥檚 (MACP, 鈥�13) presentation, )

When we are more fully connected to our bodies, we are more able to attune to spiritual practices and soul care. This is much of the work that Lacy Clark Ellman (MA in Theology & Culture, 鈥�12) fosters in her work as a spiritual director. In 2017, Lacy presented 鈥淏eyond Borders: Cultivating Awareness, Resilience, and Transformation through the Practice of Pilgrimage.鈥� In 2017 she shared about the ancient art of pilgrimage and the archetypal human stories that have so much to reveal about the journey of separation, initiation, and return. 鈥淭his adventure of the hero and journey of the pilgrim is built within each one of us,鈥� says Lacy. 鈥淎nd claiming it as our own, we are aligning with our divine imprint as seekers of the sacred.鈥�

(Kate Davis [Master of Divinity, 鈥�15] also powerfully reflected on the transformative insights of ancient human stories in her Integrative Project presentation, )

Across cultures and generations, these categories of initiation, wilderness, and pilgrimage have been central to questions of what it means to be fully human鈥攁nd yet for many of us, they feel so foreign today. That鈥檚 why we appreciated this Symposia 2016 presentation from Doug Wheeler (MA in Counseling, 1987), 鈥淣avigating the Masculine Journey with 鈥楽herpas鈥� Nouwen, Jung, and Peck.鈥� Doug reflects on the archetypes that help clarify the terrain and trajectory of human pilgrimage. 鈥淭here is no entry fee, but it will cost you plenty to make this journey. Pack a lunch, lose your map, travel lightly.鈥�

On May 31 we鈥檒l gather to hear from students in our Master of Divinity and MA in Theology & Culture programs as they present on the projects that serve as a capstone of their time in graduate school. The Integrative Project Symposium is always an inspiring, grounding, and thought-provoking time. All are welcome!

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The MA in Counseling Psychology with a Concentration in Trauma & Abuse, to be launched in Fall 2019, offers a unique specialization in Trauma-Informed Narrative Therapy, a modality that has been developed over decades of experience by Dr. Dan Allender and The Allender Center. Informed by research into neuroscience, shame, somatic psychotherapy, bodywork, and robust theology, Trauma-Informed Narrative Therapy is a therapeutic approach integrating in-depth story engagement and an awareness of trauma science through the lens of a dynamic Christian faith.

鈥淥ur mission is to train people to be competent in the study of text, soul, and culture to serve God and neighbor through transforming relationships. It鈥檚 not about studying as an end in itself; that call to service is at the heart of everything we do,鈥� says Dr. Derek McNeil, Acting President. 鈥淎s students develop more clarity about the specific realm of service they are called to, their education should become more focused as well. So this concentration will offer very particular training that hones the work students are already engaging through the Counseling Psychology program.鈥�

鈥淎s students develop more clarity about the specific realm of service they are called to, their education should become more focused as well.鈥�

This new concentration, the first of several being developed within our graduate degree programs, is emerging at a crucial time in our culture. We are surrounded every day by evidence of trauma and abuse鈥攊ncluding the heartbreaking revelations of widespread, systemic abuse in institutions; the rising tide of individual stories brought to light through the #MeToo movement; and the myriad ways that more subtle effects of trauma and abuse play out all around us. More than ever, our world is faced with an urgent need for well-trained practitioners who are equipped to address the complex realities of trauma as they help individuals and communities pursue healing.

Our Concentration in Trauma & Abuse will feature teaching informed by a broad range of theories and approaches, as well as experiential training in individual and group story work. Courses will be offered in a laboratory-style learning environment, combining theoretical learning with practical application. Clinical formation will be facilitated by 天美视频鈥檚 practitioner/scholar faculty, in tandem with immersive learning with The Allender Center. Through the integration of these methodologies, students will develop trauma-informed strategies for work in a variety of mental health settings and will be equipped to provide grounded, insightful, and attuned presence to traumatized clients.

鈥淭his concentration is for those willing to listen and attune to the pain and harm they have experienced in their own life. We can only take someone else as far as we have gone ourselves,鈥� says Abby Wong-Heffter, LMHC, Affiliate Faculty and Allender Center Teaching Staff. 鈥淔rom that foundation, we train wounded healers to help others understand and heal from the complex impacts of trauma and abuse by listening to the stories their body remembers and longs to tell the truth about.鈥�

The Concentration in Trauma & Abuse is designed to be completed concurrently with the MA in Counseling Psychology, and is composed of 70 credits: four concentration-specific credits, four required MACP electives, and two intensive offerings from The Allender Center. More information about the curriculum, application process, and goals for this new offering are available here.

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鈥淭here is no one I am more inclined to speak with and learn from about marriage than Steve. His wisdom is astute, and his integrity is as true as his fly line is straight,鈥� writes Dr. Dan Allender, Professor of Counseling Psychology, in the book鈥檚 foreword. 鈥淚f I were to invite someone to read just one marriage book, including my own, I would recommend this volume.鈥�

Today we鈥檙e honored to share a conversation with Steve about what led him to write Reconnect, why disconnection in marriage is so common and so difficult, and his hopes for people who read the book. You can also listen to on The Allender Center Podcast, about the book and the fundamental components of recovering and sustaining connection where it has been lost.

Can you give us an overview of what Reconnect is all about?

This book really is about helping couples become more aware of the various issues that contribute to intermittent and sustained disconnection in their marriage. Reconnect was written to help couples develop new understanding, insight, and strategies to promote deeper connection and healing interaction in their marriage.

Why do you think disconnection is such a common experience in marriage?

Well, I think we each have different desires, hopes, wants, and needs鈥攕o of course this will create and lead to moments of disconnection in marriage. What鈥檚 missing for most marriages, though, is the process of reconnection when disconnection occurs. For most couples, disconnection is a familiar experience that occurs when we feel hurt. And, most often it occurs in the midst of conflict. When we feel hurt, we often withdraw, shut down, isolate ourselves, distract ourselves as a way to cope. Hurt essentially is the foundation of disconnection. And a failure to understand one another in the midst of the hurt is what perpetuates disconnection. Yet when we become aware of the hurt and move toward our spouse鈥檚 hurt without blame or judgement, understanding is cultivated鈥攚hich is the foundation for reconnection.

鈥淲hen we feel hurt, we often withdraw, shut down, isolate ourselves, distract ourselves as a way to cope. Hurt essentially is the foundation of disconnection.鈥�

How did Reconnect grow out of your experience鈥攁s a therapist, a professor, and a husband?

Over the years in my professional work with couples, I was noticing recurrent and common themes and patterns between couples鈥攁nd the central theme was a sense of feeling disconnected. And often, what was missing was how to recover, and essentially pursue reconnection. Most couples, including my marriage with Lisa, are often unaware of the dynamics that disrupt connection and unaware of the destructive effects of hurt, shame, and blame. Couples that are experiencing a sense of disconnection crave to experience reconnection but are often needing a roadmap of sorts to be able to return to one another in a way that facilitates reconnection.

What was the writing process like for you?

The hardest part of the writing process was simply taking the time to write. Writing is a terrifying experience. Writing this book has been one of the most vulnerable and transparent endeavors I have ever pursued. Mainly because I have written stories and reflections from my marriage with Lisa to help illustrate some of the common patterns within disconnection. Writing leaves us open to judgement and evaluation from readers, which is why it took me so long to finally write!

What kept you inspired as you worked through these ideas?

My good friend, colleague, and fly-fishing partner Dan Allender was such an influential and inspiring advocate to write. His persistent and consistent encouragement to put into writing my thoughts, ideas, experiences was absolutely essential in being able to finally write this book. And of course, my wife Lisa. She is such a wise, thoughtful, and insightful woman and has really helped shape and craft much of the understanding and clarity within the book.

What are your hopes for people who read this?

My hope is that couples will learn how to stay connected, especially in moments of conflict; that they will discover how shame is such a force in disconnection; that intimacy will be cultivated through their play with one another; and that they will discover insights, tools, and techniques that will help couples navigate the hopeful path toward reconnection.

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Counselors are good at relationships, or so they say. As folklore would have it, counselors are the 鈥渒nowers鈥� of all things relational and, therefore, can and should be 鈥渕asters鈥� when it comes to their own personal relationships. But is this really the case?

As a counselor, I thought I was good at relationship until I met and married my wife, who is also a counselor. Together, she and I quickly learned that, although we were each quite good at the craft of counseling, neither of us was all that good at establishing intimacy in our personal relationship. Our clinical training had taught us to rely on (if not hide behind) the role of counselor to find stability in the shifting sands of relationship building and maintenance. We had been taught to counsel rather than to relate. Ultimately, I would argue that this is true for far too many counselors.

Within our Western culture, taking on the post of counselor proffers one a certain amount of power, intended or unintended. One such mantle of power pertains to that counselor鈥檚 hermeneutic, or the lens through which that counselor sees the world. Just as lenses can come in various forms of tint, so too can hermeneutics be informed by a vast array of contributants. For many counselors, our entry into the field was informed by a quest to heal a past hurt. As counselors, we鈥檝e entered a profession that gives us access to the hurts of others and allows (even requires) us to focus on or name the 鈥渟tuff鈥� of others. What is more, our profession can grant us a certain measure of (therapeutic) distance in relationships, wherein we can give without necessarily receiving. Add this all together and it is apparent why our relational sight can be encumbered by the tint of our profession-endorsed hermeneutics.

Can you relate? If so, I think you鈥攍ike me and like many other counselors throughout the profession鈥攁re susceptible to a hermeneutic or relational stance that might be prohibitive to the intimacy we seek with the ones we love outside of our counseling offices. It is here that I see Western culture and its introjects informing the images of 鈥渃ounselor鈥� that reside in each of us.

We as counselors end up holding the mixed bag of messages that our culture affords. We sit in and with dissonance. At times we feel great about ourselves and the work we do. At other times it seems as if we鈥檙e a receptacle for others to use for their refuse. And so it goes that we bring said dissonance into our personal relationships, trying to get a handle on who we are and how we are to operate in and through these relationships.

What a mess! We can leave our counseling offices and expect to find the same level of acknowledgment at home. When our partners or our children don鈥檛 hang on our every word like our clients seem to, we begin to think our family members are the ones with the problem (how could they be so ungrateful?). Or when our partners begin to question us, we may find ourselves prone to interpreting their apparently exhibited defense mechanisms, loading our relational cannons to shoot down the perceived threat that our relational partners represent to us. In this, we learn to use our skills to hide and defend.

Moreover, counselors can become quite sophisticated in terms of their defensive relational frameworks. Our professional training can keep us entrenched in seeing the patterns of thought and behaviors in others (鈥淵ou seem to do this鈥� or 鈥淵ou seem to think that鈥�). Having been handed the constructs of transference and countertransference, it becomes hard not to see our partners as just one more person looking to work out their own unfinished business on us and our tabula-rasa backs. In other words, we can stop seeing our partners for who they are and begin responding to them and their behaviors as though they are clients coming to us for 鈥渃are.鈥�

I find it remarkable that although I鈥檝e been practicing and teaching counseling for well over a decade, it is still surprisingly hard at times for me to be open with my wife about what I am feeling. As a counselor, I have become a wordsmith, and I have become very effective at hiding behind my words when I want to. I can add a proviso such as 鈥淚t seems like 鈥︹�� or 鈥淚t feels like 鈥︹�� to my sentences to lambast a loved one or to take inventory of them in a way that is ultimately uncaring.

鈥淎lthough I鈥檝e been practicing and teaching counseling for well over a decade, it is still surprisingly hard at times for me to be open with my wife about what I am feeling.鈥�

In his text Nonviolent Communication, Marshall Rosenberg reminds us that a phrase such as 鈥淚 feel like鈥� doesn鈥檛 actually serve as an indicator for a feeling to follow. Such a phrase can be duplicitous in that feelings don鈥檛 need warm-up phrases. Hence, a statement made with an opening qualifier ends up being nothing more than an intrusion on my relational partner鈥檚 boundaries.

To this end, I would call myself a recovering codependent. In fact, many of the counselors I know would fit that category, regardless of whether they espouse such a descriptor. Our profession is one supposedly steeped with boundaries. If clients transgress and cross a boundary, they are called on it, whereas if counselors do so, it is often seen as therapeutic.

For instance, when was the last time you named something in your client? Did you do so with humility and a willingness to be wrong, or was your pronouncement emphatic and delivered with a triumphant edge? If the latter strikes a chord with you as it does for me, then I think we run the risk of taking this type of energy or engagement into relationship with those we love. With our partners, children, friends and other loved ones, we can make pronouncements that we think should garner applause and usher in healing and growth. And I鈥檒l say again, when this doesn鈥檛 happen, we鈥檝e been taught to view this dynamic as the other being full of resistance.

Ultimately, I鈥檓 trying to speak to my belief that we鈥檝e been set up to fail relationally. So what is a counselor to do? I believe our skills and our attempts at containment, which can seem to get us somewhere in the office, are the very things that can dismantle our interactions with loved ones. We鈥檝e been left with a tool kit of really expensive gadgets that oftentimes have little pertinence to our needed relational repairs. And here鈥檚 the kicker: We think we should know better.

I can鈥檛 tell you how many times I鈥檝e had the following thoughts when interacting with someone in my personal life: 鈥淚 should know how to handle this鈥� or 鈥淚 should know what to do here.鈥� I mean, after all, I am a counselor, right? Aren鈥檛 counselors supposed to know how to handle complex relational moments?

I think Carl Rogers was on to something when he claimed it is the personal that is most general (脿 la On Becoming a Person). A dilemma I face as a person is that I don鈥檛 often grant myself the luxury of being just that鈥攁 person. No, I think because of the work that I do or the degrees on my wall that I should have it all figured out and should offer pristine love and encouragement to all who come in contact with me. When I am unable to fit this bill, I take it out on myself and cower in shame. I choose to disengage rather than staying present in the moment. I retreat, look for cover and hope for a moment wherein I can get back on solid ground.

A helpful reminder: Maybe there is no such thing as solid ground in relationship. Maybe that鈥檚 the point of relationship. You鈥檝e probably heard it said that someone can have enough information about something to be dangerous. I think this is true for many counselors and therapists in their personal relationships. We鈥檝e been given diagnostic and interpretive categories, therapeutic skills to hone and a professional frame in which to hold it all. When push comes to shove, however, very little of this plays outside of the counseling office. Outside of my office, I am faced with the same personal struggles that my clients face: to engage openly and honestly with the people I love.

鈥淥utside of my office, I am faced with the same personal struggles that my clients face: to engage openly and honestly with the people I love.鈥�

So what鈥檚 the take-home message here? Don鈥檛 assume your clinical training will serve as an asset in your personal relationships. In fact, anticipate that it might act as a liability at points. Listen to yourself talk, and allow your use of language to inform you of your more deep-seated, hermeneutical leanings. Practice receiving care from others, especially from those who know and love you best. Ask for feedback; our places of work should not be the only avenues by which we engage in 鈥減erformance review鈥� processes. Seek out entitlement and/or power-laden energies in the ways you carry yourself both personally and professionally, and allow that voice of entitlement lodged within or the power plays you display to point you toward unmet needs of your own that are very much worth stewarding.

And above all, let鈥檚 stop taking ourselves so seriously. If we render ourselves 鈥渒nowers鈥� of the human condition who 鈥渟hould鈥� know what to do, say, think, or feel when it comes to our personal relationships, I believe we exponentiate the likelihood that we will promulgate loneliness in those relationships. Let鈥檚 allow ourselves to be who we are and where we are and be willing to chuckle at our foibles, our failures, and our good-intentioned but ill-advised attempts to get our own needs met. In so doing, we might just become better lovers.

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Grounded Theory Analysis allows the researcher to search for a central explanatory concept or core category which is intended to capture the essence of what has been studied. In this study, I could not escape an overwhelming concept that kept pushing to be named. I was reluctant to name it, because it is too human, and I was afraid it would sound too 鈥渟oft鈥� for research. But it refused to not be recognized. And it is this鈥攚hat lies at the heart of a psychoanalytic treatment is love.

It came up in three ways. First, interviewees stated it directly by simply saying, 鈥淚 love my patients.鈥� Second, I found myself 鈥渓oving鈥� my interviewees as I was 鈥渃aught up鈥� in how they expressed themselves with so much joy, care, and compassion for their patients. I found myself 鈥渢ouched鈥� by the intimacy that evolved in their work as they risked themselves emotionally and intellectually, wholeheartedly engaging the analytic process. Third, love came to be defined by the very kind of relationship analysts provide鈥攁 relationship that requires of themselves honesty and risk-taking, a deep immersion in the affective lives of the other, and a devotion to scrutinize non-defensively their own selves in an attempt to understand, feel, and grasp the internal and interpersonal world of another. The analyst is willing to resist the urge for self-protection, surrender certainty, and engage in the inevitable conflicts, misrecognitions, and ruptures, and to stay in the conflict until it is worked through. The analyst鈥檚 relentless 鈥渆thic of honesty鈥濃�攁 Freudian technique that Freud believed an essential requirement in the patient鈥攊s now valued by these relational analysts as a requirement also in themselves. It is this honesty that births an unusual authenticity rarely found in human relations, and the primary factor that engenders change and transformation in our patients鈥� lives.

As I vetted this study, I discovered that some analysts were uncomfortable with the word 鈥渓ove鈥� and some even stated that they didn鈥檛 love all of their patients, giving me pause to reconsider love as a core category. So how did it get included? First, it was in the data. Second, just as this research study was developed from a student pushing for clearer practices, it was also a student who encouraged me to include it. Students were aware of the research I was conducting, and many even participated in the literature review for the study. I told them about this thing called love, and that it was controversial. There was a student who had been in the class for two semesters and who had said little to nothing the entire time. I sensed his engagement, but was often curious about his silence. Now, at the end of the semester, having said our goodbyes, he approached me and quite intensely said: 鈥淒on鈥檛 ever shy away from love…You have brought it, you have lived it, I have bought it, and I believe it…And now, as a new practitioner, I have seen it. Don鈥檛 ever give up on love.鈥�

It should be made clear that we don鈥檛 鈥渄ecide鈥� to love a patient, and in fact, if love is in the air, we know that negative affective states are not far behind (and perhaps vice versa). However, isn鈥檛 the very tangle of the therapeutic relationship, where we experience the intensity of the full range of emotions, including love and hate, not some form of love?¹

He was handsome, confident, articulate, immediately fluid and charming in our interaction, eyeing me to see if I could be of any use to him. Socially sophisticated and gentle in his approach, I was quickly introduced to the intricacies of his life-drama and felt as though I was being auditioned to see if I would become critic or admirer. I sensed he wanted help, but he did not want to be revealed. He wanted to be seen, but not if it meant I might perceive him in any negative way. I was invited in to assist him in his difficulties in living as long as I did not disrupt the fragile persona that he had developed over his 40-plus years. We approached each other tentatively鈥攕keptics, if you will, wondering if we would find authenticity in the other or if we would part left with yet another false encounter. Yet we both stayed. Over time skepticism was replaced with trust and our lives enriched by the other.

Therapy is a profound relational experience that conjures up a myriad of emotion. I can easily report that I love my patients, and I respect their courage and willingness to enter the difficult work of therapy, but often I am caught off guard in that these are not merely words out of a textbook about empathy or unconditional positive regard, but are deeply held feelings that are alive within me.

鈥淭hese are not merely words out of a textbook about empathy or unconditional positive regard, but are deeply held feelings that are alive within me.鈥�

Such was the case for me with this man when I sensed something well up inside me and discovered that I felt a deep and abiding love for him. This love was not simply 鈥減rofessional,鈥� but was the kind of love that I feel for those I know best: love as a sensation not a concept. I felt excited, desirous, hopeful, emotional, and eager. I felt awe, the feeling of love that says, 鈥渢his is good.鈥�

I found myself disturbed by this love. Yet I also wanted to revel in it.

I was disturbed because I wondered if, in loving, had I lost my objectivity? Had I lost my way with him in such a way that I could no longer assist him in understanding himself? I was left asking, 鈥淐an I love him and be objective? And can I not love him and be objective?鈥�

As I sat with these feelings of love, I must admit I found myself less clinical in this session, less judgmental of his lapses of 鈥渕ental health,鈥� less energetic to go after his 鈥渦nderlying pathology.鈥� I felt a sense of celebration about the life that we had together so far. I was moved by how he was emerging from being a user and a manipulator of persons, to a lover of people. He was becoming a person who was discovering enough of himself that he was less driven to manipulate sex, women, and others to fulfill his needs. He was getting well. His work had been admirable. I was proud of him. There was cause for celebration.

I am acutely aware at moments like these that I may, in fact, be colluding with patients rather than interpreting underlying patterns of behavior. But this was not what I was experiencing at that moment. His earlier, more manipulative and hurtful way of relating had been tempered with genuine love. I felt his expression of love and, because I felt its genuineness, I too was moved to love.

I believe that my work with patients requires me to analyze and integrate the negative aspects of our relatedness. At the same time, I need to experience and celebrate with patients the lovingness that exists in each of us and often cannot find voice. The task before us, then, is how to connect with, surrender to, love, and be loved by our patients.

We all want to be loved, of course, but we often seek love in ways that it cannot be found. Almost always love is replaced with the need to be admired, taken care of, or desired鈥攁lmost anything except to be seen and known honestly for our real selves. And yet we 鈥渒now鈥� that when we are least defended, and when our more real self announces itself, then the Real (God) can be and is revealed. If we believe that God took human form in Christ Jesus, and that through the incarnation we are Christ to one another, then God鈥檚 own love comes concretely into our midst through our interpersonal interactions.

鈥淲e all want to be loved, of course, but we often seek love in ways that it cannot be found.鈥�

In this moment with my patient, I was reminded that shared knowing lies at the heart of fulfilled love; 鈥淔or now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known鈥� (1 Cor. 13:12). On that day, love shone through. We were face-to-face and, although we did, and will, and do experience many other emotions, on that day love let me see not only the darkness but also the Light. And he saw it too. The news that I heard was the news of love, the news of a self that had long been neglected, that had not been able to give voice. I loved the loved, and the Beloved was with us. And we were both changed.²

¹Excerpted from , Edited by Roy E. Barsness for the Relational Perspectives Book Series. New York, NY: Routledge, 2018.

²Excerpted from 鈥淗onor, Wonder, Awe and Love: Sacred Moments in Relationship with Clients鈥� by Wayne T. Aoki, Roy Barsness, and Sam B. Leong, in Journal of Psychology and Christianity, 2001, Vol. 20, No. 1, 80-84.

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My surprised skin bumped into the chills of the new fall morning air. Inhaling deeply from its fresh coolness, I steadied my beating heart鈥檚 morning aches that were left over from last night鈥檚 racing internal discussion about a life and a death. A young 19-year-old woman hung suspended before my mind, with her long, coarse, strawberry blond hair pulled tightly into a knot behind her head. She鈥檚 an average height, not skin and bones, but there鈥檚 not much extra. Her eyes don鈥檛 mask the dark terror of the voices. This body holds at least 16 years of consuming trauma. Trauma has mapped itself well, topographically: old scars and new ones mark her dips in and out of reality. She paces nightly, in pj shorts and tank top, racing through her own internal dialogue with accusing voices, imprisoning her body in my plain sight.

The darkness of winter seems to have arrived too early. I am unprepared for its tepid response to my request for a bit more light. Average gray clouds hold in sadness, lust, anger, desire, joy, and anguish, engulfing Seattle in the inevitability of pending violence. It鈥檚 the edge of a knife. The sharp edge presses my skin to see if I am real. Wincing, I look at the complications of loving, caring, justice, and reality. Her body remains unmoved from my mind.

With limited shelters and limited resources available to commercially sexually exploited persons, the short list of helpful and innovative options grows shorter when mental illness haunts bodies infected by complex traumas. This young woman will make frequent visits to the hospital in hope for relief and, yet, return to her life with little protection from the realities of her invasive trauma. Mental health hospitals diagnose these persons with schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, dissociative identity disorder, major depressive disorder, suicidal ideation, and more. The self-harming behaviors of cutting and the dreams of suicide are identified and categorized, and the diagnosis procured.

鈥淭he short list of helpful and innovative options grows shorter when mental illness haunts bodies infected by complex traumas.鈥�

Her shadow catches my eye. She walks down the street to wait for an Uber. The hospital door slams shut. She needs help and calls a friend.

The hospital releases her soul into a world of harsh expectations with little understanding of how in the hell she will come back from her severe mental illnesses.

I suppose, given the diagnosis, the hospital hopes that a plan of medication, therapy, and support will lead to healing. But without a buffer of time between the perpetual trauma and everyday life, hospitalizations, and a community that offers unconditional support, the commercially sexually exploited persons swim alone. They swim in dark, cold waters, gasping for air in systems unable to hold them compassionately.

Cutting edge therapeutic techniques are available to treat complex trauma; however, the skilled therapists are often financially bound to pay back student loans, bills, and to support a family. It鈥檚 difficult or nearly impossible to find social networks, churches, or systems that support the healing process of the lowest in society. And, most commercial sex workers are not white. They are Black, Asian, Pacific Islander, Latino/a, and bi-racial persons. When commercial sex workers walk into clinics, already stereotyped, reeking of addictions and death, only able to pay through state health insurance, there is not much hope to be held in those spaces.

These are the least of these. This is the trash run.

She sits, legs pulled to her chest, in the small shelter鈥檚 office, asking for grounding; she wants to get back to reality. Her phone buzzes just like mine, and her articulate analysis of her own internal reality questions my limited understanding. I mutter frustrations directed at a God who sees both of us. I resign to listen again to the accusing voices she narrates so clearly. We sit for less than 15 minutes because I am waiting on an Uber to take me home to a warm bed, husband, and four children. It is no consolation that I have spent precious hours away from my family to work here and get paid to chill with this woman and others. I don鈥檛 feel morally superior. I look at my watch one last time and excuse myself, telling her I am praying and hoping she stays safe. And with that, I remind myself that some would say I have completed my shift on 鈥淭he Trash Run.鈥�

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