the dented cup
felicia romano ~ march 2021 ~ process of psychotherapy II ~ pacifica graduate institute
As I reflect on the last few months, the synchronistic atmosphere of our first process class still stands out in my memory like it was yesterday. John Fox’s poem When Someone Deeply Listens to You was read aloud in our small group, followed by a class-wide discussion of Fox’s striking metaphors. The poem begins with a symbolic representation of deep listening, painting the picture of “a dented cup you’ve had since childhood” which is filled past the brim with fresh water. This symbol of a flowing cup has arisen from the collective consciousness with heightened personal meaning for me in the past, and its reintroduction in the context of my clinical training has been no mistake as it calls out for my continued meditation. Thus, as the months progressed through lessons of somatic, mindful, and experiential listening, I revisited the imagery of this cold water flowing out of a dented cup onto my hands to center myself in the present moment. Instead of allowing myself to become fixated on the dent in the metaphorical cup, I imagined flowing emotions as water and reminded myself to ride the currents through my active listening sessions.
Overflowing cups have come up for me in the past due to my quick and sometimes uncontrollable stream of consciousness that flows from me without much control. On this note, after the first round of dyad sessions, it became clear to me that my tendencies as a listener are toward excess verbal stumbling, as well as offering reflections that have too much packed into them. This can certainly happen when I am too involved in the content of a session. It can be a hindrance as well to present-centered attainment, as I find that when I get too hung up on narrative content I miss what is happening for my dyad partner in the here-and-now. Thus, one of my growing edges this round of dyad sessions has been to focus less on the verbal content and more on body-language and affect. I did see myself improving as the semester went on. In my own way, I have become more comfortable tracking and incorporating my partner’s present-moment non-verbal cues into my process as an active listener. I have not found seamless integration of verbally offering feedback on body language, which is something we focused on in class. However, I do feel more connected to reflecting with immediacy when I tune into my partner’s vibe. For example, in a couple of different sessions I used words like “light” or “heavy” to describe the atmosphere. I have realized that offering my take on the overall feeling in the shared space, especially when the embodied energy shifts either within a session or one week to the next, is a nice place to make contact non-verbally.
Mindful listening involves taking into account cultural diversity and reflecting on the impact of different backgrounds in our partners. These considerations regarding my own dyad pairs this semester were mostly focused on gender, as I prepared to witness how I would relate to my two female partners instead of my male dyads last quarter. Going in, this was a notable area of potential projection and countertransference to keep an eye out for, as I notoriously come up against more resistance when interacting with females than males. However, I found my interactions with my female partners were even more genuine, actually reaching deeper than my sessions from the previous quarter. Not many other areas of diversity arose in the context of my dyad sessions, but one detail worth mentioning is the faith associated with 12-step programs for addictions. As my partner told me about her recent journey in recovery, we discussed her search for a higher power that fully encompassed her version of God. This spiritual dialogue was very smooth between us, but I could see certain clients who are more traditionally religious in their approach to recovery might be a bit harder for me to understand or fully get on board with due to my own religious upbringing and preconceived notions. Like everything else, this is something I will keep in mind for the future.
My existing strengths in mirroring and being open to the process of my partner are now being woven in with new strengths, most notably in trusting myself to still say some of what bubbles up for me in the moment it arises. An instance of this was when I chose to incorporate a somewhat negative earlier affective experience in a session with its symbolic and affective opposite in our final session; this was a moment of feared potential overflow from my cup. With this in mind, I gave a preemptive warning that what I was about to say might be considered a diversion and went on to draw a parallel between a current topic with one that was discussed a few dyad sessions before. I described the striking symbolic polarity that came up when juxtaposing the all-accepting mother that my partner was describing in a spiritual light with her judgmental and rejecting literal mother. This noting of a theme and connection between previous and current content resulted in the most obviously pivotal moment in the session. My dyad partner’s response was “woah, I hadn’t even thought of that. That’s so right on,” going on to say that she did not think I was diverting at all and that I should trust myself going forward. She even referenced this in my feedback sheet. Thomas Moore writes in Care of the Soul (1992), that in therapy, he tries “to give what is problematic back to the person in a way that shows its necessity, even its value” (p. 6). This felt like a perfect moment to do just that, and I was glad I took the leap even though I initially feared I might be saying too much.
On the topic of trusting myself to bring forth genuine attunement in dyad sessions, I want to reflect on a habitual tendency to unexpectedly detour with one of my partners. In both the talking and listening roles of our sessions, my partner and I seemed to consistently find ourselves laughing, relating, and generally feeling as though we were falling away from the exercise. We were aware of this and communicated about it, and my partner offered a bit of insight in her final session which stuck with me. She said, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all that we’re getting off track, I actually think that’s just how we naturally flow together,” and went on to say that it is an indication of trust between us. I could not help but agree with her assessment. I originally saw my lack of discipline as purely unhelpful in the context of dyad practice, but I have come to see it now as representing both a growing edge and a strength. Dan Siegel writes about resonance in The Mindful Therapist (2010), noting that “resonance moves us beyond understanding and into engagement” (p. 55). I feel as though when we tried too hard to do the exercise perfectly, we missed out on the full degree resonance achieved when we let ourselves be more free flowing. Although this engagement flowed over the top at times, our poem does state that “when it overflows and touches your skin, you are loved” (Fox).
Fox describes the experiencing of what becomes overflowing water in such a way that one might not even remember that usually spilling water would be considered a mistake to be cleaned up. His reframing of the spilling cup touched my heart, as I meditated on the symbolism of a spilling cup before in quite a different light. Almost two years ago, before I found out I was pregnant, I wrote and recorded a song called “gumption cup” as I processed my constant grappling with pouring my excess opinions, feelings, and unnecessary baggage onto those who are close to me. After our first session in January, I recorded the song and sent it to the process group to listen to; I have uploaded that recording with this assignment, as well as an archetypal image of the water bearer. I have continued to come back to this spilling cup throughout this quarter and imagine that I will keep doing so in my personal therapy, as my lyrics from a couple of years ago play back with even more salient resonance in the present moment.
I’m putting down this cup, for all I know is all I hold I lack
I know not what to wish at all, so all I wish now is to live
And not condemn the tides for how they rise and fall, and take and give
References
Fox, J. When Someone Deeply Listens to You. Retrieved from Kathee Miller’s process notes.
Moore, T. (1992). Honoring symptoms as a voice of the soul. In Care of the Soul. Harper Collins.
Siegel, D. J. (2010). The Mindful Therapist: A Clinician’s Guide to Mindsight and Neural Integration. New York: W.W. Norton.
This too shall pass