I've wanted to write
this post since last Friday, but...[fill in the blank lame excuse for not
writing]. But I'm making myself write it
tonight. It's had nearly a week to simmer
in my brain. It should be good and
acquainted and flavorful by now.
See, as of last Friday
at about 2:46PM, I am a licensed psychologist.
I have had quite a few celebrations between then and now, and too many
"congratulations" to count.
It's a big deal. Yes, yes, of
COURSE it's a big deal for everybody.
It's important. But...it's a
really big deal. I cried when I passed
that last test. I cried when I got the official
letter in the mail today. I will
probably cry when the official license comes in a few weeks. I cried when I got mail from another
organization saying "congrats, you passed it, now join our organization
and give us money." And
yeah...maybe everybody cries about these things. Maybe licensure just turns us all into
blubbering messes.
When I talk to others,
I'm not really sure what to say. Yep, I
passed it. Yep, it's exciting. Yep, it feels awesome. Yep, I'm really and officially done. Yet, as I say these things and have these
conversations, underneath of the excitement and the happiness is something
else. There's something else burbling
there, and so far, when I let it up to the surface, it just comes as
tears. Happy tears. Relieved tears. Overwhelmed tears. But tears nonetheless. What's with that?
Passing that last
licensure test feels like the closing of a door. A big, heavy door. On Friday, I let it slam with a really big,
resounding BAM. In the silence that is
left after that soul-shaking slam, I feel lighter. I feel like it indicates that I finally ran
faster than those demons that have been chasing me. For once, I ran down the right hallway, I
closed the door, and the entire limitless world is in front of me, rather than
a dead-end, or a cliff, or an ocean I need to swim.
How are you liking all
these metaphors? Are they working for
you? I don't think they're working for
me. I thought this post had already had
time to simmer? Let's try again:
Grad school was
rough. In fact, it was pretty awful in
parts. In other parts, it was just
flat-out, downright awful. I've realized
lately that, sometimes, awful happens so slowly that you don't realize it's
happening. Sometimes, awful runs you
over like a semi hitting a squirrel on the highway. Sometimes, when awful creeps and rolls and
flattens you, you kind of forget what "not awful" is like. The work of grad school was part of it: I
dare you to find someone who says their clinical comprehensive exams or their
dissertation was "fun."
(Actually, my dissertation was kind of fun. It was work, but it was good work....it was a
little bit fun). The actual work of grad
school, though, was not the majority of the awfulness. The majority of it was the extremely
unhealthy environment The Program created.
The majority of it was the finding and losing of friends. The majority of the awfulness was
bullying. The majority of the awfulness
was sexual assault. It was
harassment. It was the brushing of
issues under the rug. It was no support
from The Powers That Be. It was lies,
and it was fear, and no one to trust, and anxiety, and most of all, it was the
feeling of No Way Out. It was feeling
that The Program and the Bullies and the Powers That Be were omnipresent and
ubiquitous.
There were good things,
too. There were friends, and there was
church, and there was meaningful work, and there are people I love there who
love me back. But when you're in a place
of No Way Out, it can be hard to feel that and believe it. It can be hard to feel worthy of it. It can be hard to feel that it's real.
When I moved for my
internship (which occurs prior to graduation), I wanted to feel closure...but I
didn't. The Program, the Bullies, the
Powers That Be all had power over me.
The Program and the Powers That Be had legitimate power. They could still prevent me from
graduating. The Bullies--that power was
all in my head. I had nightmares and
day-mares on the regular about all the myriad ways I imagined The Program
preventing me from graduating.
But then I did -- I
graduated -- and again, I waited for and looked for closure. It came to an extent, but I still felt they
had this power over me that I couldn't name.
I still had to pass the national and state licensure exams. Somebody could still find me, hear some
version of lies from The Powers That Be in The Program, and prevent me from
ever being licensed (so I told myself).
I believed that I could still fail.
I could still "prove" the people right that I felt were trying
to tear me down. They could still
win.
The national licensure
test and the state exam were the last hurdles.
The very last hurdles. After
that, I would be on my own: nobody else would hold that power over me anymore
that I felt would stop me or prevent me from achieving my goal. I imagined my school refusing to release my
transcripts, being unable to get documentation of my hours of clinical practice
and supervision...I pictured bridges being so burned that I could not get what
I needed to finish the last step.
Miraculously, none of
that happened. Documentation was
provided. With much studying and
anxiety, I finished the two tests. It's
done. It's over. I did it, in spite of The Program, in spite
of The Powers That Be, and in spite of The Bullies. I no longer need to rely on them to provide
me with anything. The people I work with
now will gladly provide anything I need.
They like me and the work that I do.
I feel that they value me, and they respect me. I get to engage in work that fills my soul
and is deeply meaningful. In spite
of everything, I get to do what I set out to do. I saw that goal through to the very bitter
end, and it feels as though a weight has been lifted. The axe is no longer hanging over my
head. The door is closed, and my body is
turned out to the world with my face towards the sun.
I am also realistic:
there may be strong winds that blow that door open a bit. There may be times it gets stuck and I need
to figure out how to push it closed. It
could fall off its hinges. The locks
could break, the handle could fall off, somebody I need in my life could be on
the wrong side of the door. Anything is
possible.
But for right now, the
door is closed. The weight of those
years is packed away somewhere safe. My body is
turned out to the world. My face is
turned towards the sun.
Print this out a thousand times and paper a room with it so you don't forget. I'm so proud of you! Congratulations!
ReplyDeleteThanks! <3
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