I am just a waffle.  I am golden-yellow, crunchy on the outside, and soft and fluffy on the inside.  My pieces de resistance are my many little squares; each mini square acts as a reservoir for delicious toppings.  I am often paired with butter and maple syrup, but a shake of powdered sugar can be sprinkled atop like a dusting of snow on a cold winter eve. Sometimes I serve as a bed for a blanket of strawberries and whip cream, bananas or other delectable treats.

Often on a Sunday morning I find myself sitting on a buffet surrounded by a host of breakfast choices that fill the room with a symphony of smell.   My regular neighbors stand to be the scrambled egg, sizzling sausages, hash browns, bacon and, of course, my biggest nemeses, those sneaky stacks of waffle-wanna-be’s: the pancakes.  They pose as if to be a class of their own with their round girths and smooth tops, but add some butter and syrup and they are suddenly dressed up like me and teasing the hungry eyes of all who feast upon us. 

We regulars in the ‘hood, under the warming lights, may also share our top notch real estate with French toast, quiche, ham or a sliced prime rib.  Around the corner sit the breads: muffins, bagels, pastries or toast.  They, too, compete amongst one another and often find themselves in a tussle, flung aside behind the toaster with crumbs and butter wrappers.

I would be remiss if I forgot to introduce the cereals, yogurts, fruit and oatmeal.  They are often a party of their own adorned most beautifully by the clear container of iridescent Fruit Loops.

Rumor has it that I have been known to cause an inner struggle to many a’ nosher.  I have heard that I have been maligned to the tune of being “bad”, fattening or too carby.  Word on the street is that the oatmeal, yogurt or fruit have won many an internal battle despite my alluring crunch and fluff.

Friends, I am just a waffle; I bare no malice or judgment. I am here to please you in the morning and/or at other times of the day. I am here for sustenance, joy and comfort.  What I am not is 'bad', for food is not 'bad'.  Food is food.   I believe that we are all created equal; we are worthy of love and joy and not shame or disdain. 

If you crave a glorious bowl of yogurt with heaping spoonfuls of blueberries and sweet crunchy granola, by all means go for it. If your mouth is watering for a fresh bagel with a shmear of  Philadelphia’s best cream cheese, please indulge.  And, even if you must grab that pesky stack of pancakes, have at it; I may throw you a side eye, but I own that and am addressing it in therapy.

I cringe to think that in this big beautiful world where so many of us are privileged enough to enjoy such bounty that we put worth on food.  It is bad enough that there is so much judgment both inwardly and toward one another causing such strife and malice. Can’t we just let go long enough to enjoy the sanctity of a nice, moderate and balanced meal without throwing shade on those of us with a little higher carb content? I mean, in the end, I’m still just a waffle.

To my dear clients of 2021;

I want to thank you all for working with me this year.  We have been through quite a year and somehow made it to the other side.

We have laughed and cried and been furious and confused.  I am so honored that you have trusted me with such personal information.  I know it has not been easy to open up to this middle-aged, sometimes silly, but always genuine woman on a screen and yet you have done it week after week sharing your truths and fears and believing that I could help you make some sense out of all of these big feelings.

I know it would have been better if we could have sat together in my cozy office; you on my comfy gray couch and me on the ripped leather chair that I kept meaning to replace.  I would have offered you water or tea, we would have been surrounded by the colorful inspirational messages decorating my walls and we could have done our work face to face.

But alas, that damn Covid thing kept us apart.  Instead we logged on to Doxy and most of the time we were able to hear and see one another.  There were times we switched platforms, times we talked on the phone and a couple of times we watched each other on the screen while speaking into the phone for audio.  You met me from your rooms, decks, offices and cars.    Some of you were walking during our talks and others logged on from beach vacations. You teenagers graced me from your tousled beds often clicking the link as you opened your eyes with bed head and morning breath, and yet you were still there.

Whatever the method, you showed up. You opened up and you did the work.  Life is hard and life in a pandemic has proven to be exponentially so.  Whether you are an adopted teen, a college student or one of my adult clients, you shared your stories and let me help you dissect them in hopes of better understanding.  Although we desperately tried, we couldn’t always resolve the confusion; why did my birth mother relinquish me, how could that college reject me despite my exceptional application, why did my spouse cheat?

The depression, anxiety and/or grief are heavy, painful and also, very scary.  I feel so privileged that you allowed me in to see these parts of you and only hope that my presence allowed you a little relief from the lonely, awful pain that accompanies mental illness.  

We all have more work to do, and yet, your huge efforts and beautiful progress give me so much hope. 

My personal difficulties with the pandemic and the isolation of closing my office have been greatly diminished by you allowing me to work with you.  Engaging with you while digging deep into my therapeutic tool box in hopes of helping you heal have enlightened my days despite this foul virus that has taken so much from all of us.

I wish you all more joy and laughter in 2022 and pray that we all see health and some freedom from the disease in the near future.

All my best,

Laurie

I have written about my favorite co-working space, Rowan Tree, here and here. What I haven’t mentioned is that I have had the honor of providing a monthly discussion group for Rowan Tree members since the evil that is Covid-19 entered our lives and forced us adjust how we operate as a community.

Rowan Tree pivoted beautifully when the pandemic hit and built a robust virtual presence for their members. Truth be told, Rowan Tree also provided many virtual events for the general community opening up their vast programming to those interested in learning about the co-working experience to include anyone isolated at home seeking comfort, distraction and connection.

My role was to provide a monthly forum for members where we met via Zoom and discussed a designated mental health topic. I selected the topic and facilitated a safe and meaningful conversation amongst those who joined the discussion. Each month the number of participants ranged from about six to twelve members who were open to sharing their experiences on the topic du jour. The subjects have included anxiety, depression, grief, empty nest and “back-to-school the Corona version”. We also had a series on Women’s EmPOWERment where, for three months, we covered such topics as body image, self-esteem and finding our voices. Another series centered on boundaries; each month highlighting an area where many of us struggle with setting healthy boundaries be it professionally, in our families or in our communities with friends, neighbors and/or volunteer commitments.

I have so enjoyed our monthly discussions. Everyone has been respectful, thoughtful and honest. We have laughed a lot and shared some tears, but it always feels warm and safe despite our screen presence. Professionally my role as a therapist is to keep the “me” out of the room. Of course, the essence of “me” is omnipresent; my warmth, concern and humor always join every therapy session. The “me” that sits out is my personal life and daily drama so that my clients can focus solely on themselves as the session is about their personal experiences and healing. I found myself in a conundrum with these discussions; am I therapist Laurie? facilitator Laurie? Rowan Tree member Laurie? I think I have been able to comfortably merge all of these parts into a healthy and productive leader of our mental health discussions.

We plan to continue our discussions, Covid or not, as they seem to be quite well received by the members. Activities like this are just another one of the multiple offerings that come with a beautiful work space and an even more beautiful community of supportive friends and fellow business owners. Give it a try, this place has changed my life and it is sure to change yours as well.

(Full disclosure, I am not in any way endorsed or reimbursed for my blatant enthusiasm of all things Rowan Tree. I just continue to benefit and enjoy the community so much that I can’t stop running my mouth about it. You’re welcome!)

We are still at it. Covid 19 that is. Pandemic life. Masks, hand sanitizer, vaccination debates, the works. I often wonder how the history books (or online readings, will there still be books?) will document this era. It really is a remarkable time that has changed so much of the world as we knew it.

A year ago I had several clients begin their freshman year at college. I felt like I had a front row view into Pandemic College Life 101. I wrote this post last September which seemed to highlight quite accurately what was going on at college campuses.

Twelve months later I am aware that there have been some changes from the rigid, yet necessary, lockdown-like experiences at the colleges. Most (hopefully eventually all) of the students and staff have been vaccinated which gives us some peace of mind despite the variants that are arising and creating more sickness, death and fear. Most students are able to have at least some of their classes in person while wearing masks which has to be a huge improvement from being isolated in their dorm rooms staring at a screen. I hear that many activities are happening as well as sports and clubs etc. I hope that the students are engaging in all of this fun, important college-life smartly and safely so that that fun, important college-life can remain open.

I received an article from a college sophomore today who was one of the aforementioned freshmen last year. The article was spot on, mirroring my exact sentiments of the difficulties for last year’s freshmen. I thought I would share it thinking that it would be helpful for anyone who is interested.

This was written by Leslie Zacks and published in Today Parenting Team on August 27, 2021

Returning sophomores, we owe you an enormous debt.

You guys.

I don’t even know where to begin.

I’ll start this letter to you with full disclosure.

For three years, my family has lived deep inside the belly of an elite midwestern university. We are a “faculty family,” here to provide some balance to the culture of campus life. We are encouraged to engage, but we have few actual residential life responsibilities. We treat students as neighbors who occasionally need to be reminded to take out their trash and turn down the music, but who also like my dog and fresh baked cookies and invitations to a BBQ like anyone else.

We were here before the pandemic. We were here during the evacuation of Spring, 2020. And we were here to cautiously welcome you as incoming first years (freshmen) last fall.

We sat anxiously and watched the university desperately plan and pivot to make it possible for the campus to open during those tentative, pre-vaccine days of late 2020. We were here when you quickly unpacked your parents’ cars, subjected yourselves to COVID screens, and locked yourselves in, sometimes with roommates, but often alone.

We felt the silence of a locked down campus just as you did. We joined Zoom dorm meetings where you met your RAs. We saw you get your food to-go and eat it in small groups on the lawn. We watched you mask, inside and out, and we did the same, every time we walked the dog or got in our car. To this day, I wouldn’t recognize any one of the two hundred first years living in my very building if I ran into them, maskless, on the street. They wouldn’t know me either, except for the dog.

We watched the campus COVID tracker in fear. We witnessed the telltale daily walk of the unlucky very few as they dragged their roller bags to the quarantine dorm. We felt the anxiety. The loneliness. The isolation. The disappointment. The frustration.

But we also watched you connect and thrive and experience the joy of simply being away from your parents after so many months of the pandemic already behind us.

I know many of you wondered why you were here. I know that we wondered why we were here too. But in the absence of alternatives, we watched you figure it out, and we were happy to bear witness. We were proud of you, grateful to you, and in awe of you.

Now it is the fall of 2021, and we are watching a whole new class move into the spaces you occupied last year. Things are very different this year, but also infuriatingly the same. We are charging ahead, but we also have the cinderblock of the unvaccinated tied to our ankles. The threat to the world is the same but the threat to this community is greatly reduced because we’re all vaccinated. This year, the campus is a place of unprecedented celebration, confidence, and hope. Still steeped in caution, the university is not asking if we can do it, but how, and how much more. There is a bias for the kind of engagement we didn’t risk a year ago. Not 100%, but a solid 80%, and from what I can tell, nobody is complaining.

Class of 2024- you, like the newcomers, are almost certainly relieved and enjoy the changes. But it is not lost on us that you must have feelings about this fall. The efforts made to make it normal-ish were not possible a year ago. You were robbed, and I am deeply, truly sorry. The experience of being a first year was, in so many ways, taken from you, and can never be returned.

But here is what your university community should say to you:

You guys are heroes.

You came to campus. You had courage and conviction.

You left the safety of your parents’ homes and came to campus, and to the extent that anyone was able, you gave the university community purpose and motivation to move forward. To focus on its core mission. And to continue marching forward.

You did what you had to do to learn and grow and connect and thrive.

Every single member of the class of 2025 owes you an enormous debt for forging ahead and lighting the way. You set a standard for perseverance and grit beyond anything any parent would have wished for their child. You cleared a path in ways that might have overwhelmed your parents (myself included). The Class of 2025, my own child among them, traveled an agonizing pathway of their own to get to the doorsteps of their colleges and universities, but they have been welcomed with a wide-open road ahead because you stepped up and did it first.

Nobody can replace what was taken. But we can acknowledge that those who come after you must respect your journey, honor what you experienced, and thank you for keeping the fire going during some cold dark nights.

You will always be your own generation, forced to share a name and character with no other. The pre-vax class of 2024 who showed up as first-years and made it work. For that, you deserve the honor and respect of every university chancellor, dean, department chair, professor, faculty and staff member who rely on a college campus for their livelihood.

You are this millennium's greatest generation not just because of what you accomplished during the pandemic, but because you proved what is possible. Your perseverance will be critical in the years to come when, I fear, the challenges we face as a planet will stress us even further. Beyond some isolation, disappointment, illness and yes even death. What you’ve done, while great and worthy of deep respect, was simply an opening act. Don’t forget what you’ve already survived as you continue to forge the pathway ahead.

Thank you, 2024. For getting through it. For having grace and courage. And for showing 2025 exactly how it’s done.

And welcome back.

I went to a training this afternoon on Google Analytics.  For the record, I am a psychotherapist and my brain is wired to assess your emotional status, be present with you and your feelings and help guide you to make positive changes to feel better and lead a healthier life.  I have been to many of these types of trainings and each time I have left with a panic attack of my own about SEO’s and Key Words and plug-ins.  Today’s training, led by Meg at Clapping Dog Media (how cute a name is that?) was more helpful than the others and at its conclusion I announced “I barely have a panic attack.”

I am going to these trainings so that YOU can find ME.  I learn all of this information about Google and how Google finds websites when people do searches for therapists or guitar stores or nursing bra companies.  It’s a big world out there and an even bigger Internet world growing bigger by the second based on the statistics that Meg presented at the training. 

Meg instructed me to write more blog posts ( Exhibit A – this post) add links to my website and said blog posts (see above Clapping Dog woof woof) and do all of these overwhelming computer-type-things that scare the beep out of my soft science brain.  She even told me that Google will affirm this blog post if it is 350 words, but she recommends 750-1000 (current word count is 248 in case you are counting).

And here I am, a solo practitioner psychotherapist whose passion is working with teens, adopted kids, college students and adults.  I love assuring a teen that they are indeed heard when they feel so very alone, and walking a freshman in college through the anxiety of their first semester exams.  Last week I finished an awesome client session and texted my colleagues “Some sessions can be so fulfilling”.  I had just helped a client dissect her  longtime relationship to see how her insecurities from childhood were informing some of her current unhealthy interactions with her partner. It felt so good to guide her through this difficult session only to witness her come out the other side more informed and relaxed about her behaviors.

Friends, Google Analytics is not seeing this work that happens between my clients and me.  The metrics  and Headline Titles will not soothe a depressed adolescent or a recent widow struggling with grief.  I know I have to do the backend work for clients to find  me.  I know it is important and I am very grateful to Meg and all of the hardworking technology people who make it possible for me to do my work.  Zoom has saved us all this year and I am eternally thankful that smart IT people made it happen for us.

Mr. Google,  I will try to do my due diligence so you can send beautiful people to my door (or my screen) to meet with me so that we can do good work together. I believe that this work lessens the pain in the world and spreads a little more peace and joy.

That’s 512 words, folks.  I hope Meg will be satisfied.

I participated in the Avon Breast Cancer Walk for five years in a row.  We built a team called the Reston Rack Pack and each year  our team varied between three members up to twelve members one year. Every year each participant had to raise $1800 to be eligible to walk.  Our team always raised above the minimum via solicitation and local community fundraisers.  The money went towards breast cancer research, providing mammograms for women in underserved communities and funding local facilities that work with breast cancer patients.  

We walked 26 miles on the first day of the event and 13 miles on the second day.  It was a lot of walking.  We were enthusiastic, then exhausted, and then delirious, especially the first day.  By the second day, if  our leg muscles were still working and our blisters weren’t too debilitating,  the 13 miles felt almost easy after the prior 26 miles.

The organizers of the walk did their best to encourage the walkers.  There were cheerleaders throughout the whole route, bikers dressed as clowns following us  and firefighters in pink standing outside of the firehouse.  There was one guy who showed up every year in a cow suit handing out candy and many neighborhood kids gave out lemonade as we walked by their homes.  

The whole weekend was a celebration of the breast cancer warriors.  The motto was if a patient can endure chemotherapy and all the pain from the illness, we could manage to walk 39 miles. Breast cancer patients walked and survivors walked and many family members who had lost loved ones walked.  It was a celebration, but there were also many tears for those who had lost the battle, those who were struggling and fighting and those who were so grateful to be healing.

I know a woman who is a newly diagnosed breast cancer patient.  She has called it her “second full time job” between all of the appointments, the phone calls and the immense amount of paperwork, particularly with insurance companies.   She is tired and scared and overwhelmed.  She told me “I don’t feel like being a pink cheerleader at this moment while I’m just trying to keep it all going”.  She talked about all of the publicity that breast cancer has received like breast cancer awareness month including football players wearing pink.  She acknowledged how helpful awareness and funding can be for research towards better treatments which, hopefully, will benefit her and many others.  She said she doesn’t feel or want to be perky all of the time about her illness, but maybe that will come when she is on the other side of it.

Her sentiments resonated with me.  I understand wanting to undergo this privately amongst a close circle of family and friends and not wanting to be the poster child for your illness.  Not everyone wants to  sport the pink boa which is completely understandable.   

There are all kinds of people and all kinds of patients.  I am glad there are opportunities to celebrate five years cancer free  if that is so desired, but I really have a new appreciation for the pressure some feel to be upbeat and jolly every day when all they want to do is hunker down and get well. 

Reston Rack Pack 2012

When I agree to take on therapy clients, I do so with the intention of helping to improve their lives.  I work hard to listen and make sure they feel heard, I help them to identify areas where they would like to make progress and I try to provide specific tools that they can use in their everyday lives when they feel sad or anxious.  

Most of these steps happen after some time spent building rapport.  The client needs to get to know me and my style and work on beginning to trust both me and the clinical process.  This is done slowly and intentionally to gently ease into a therapeutic relationship.  I ask many questions both about their life and their current struggles and I listen to and validate what they say asking follow-up questions if it is deemed necessary.

I do everything possible to avoid causing any undue harm and only want a calm and positive experience for my clients.

This past week I had the most  unpleasant experience of being deposed by an attorney.  Over a year ago I worked with a client for one month.  The custody situation between the clients’ parents has become increasingly ugly and thus, I have been dragged into the ugly situation.

My involvement began when I was standing on my driveway about to walk my dog.  A little old red car drove up to my house.  A twenty-something hipster dressed in jeans got out of the car and asked if I was Laurie Levine.  Looking nothing like Ed McMahon who I have learned after a quick Google search died in 2009, I realized that the hipster in the red car was not bringing me winnings to the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. He said “I have something for you”, handed me a subpoena and got back into his red car to, most likely, bring unwelcome annoyance to the next unsuspecting witness in his pile of white paged subpoenas. 

The subpoena stated that I was to be deposed in nine days.  If you have ever been a therapist or have gone to a therapist, you have probably booked appointments several weeks ahead of time thus, I most likely would have a full day of scheduled appointments  on the date in question. Were anyone behind the delivery of the subpoena to have asked me what my schedule was on that specific day or to have merely mentioned that they might be asking me to testify for their case, I may have been less surprised and/or irate when the hipster boy dropped off the goods. 

After some investigating I learned that the deposition was to be virtual and I was  mailed a link for the deposition at said day and time.  When I clicked the link I joined six other squares with people already present.  I heard one person, I believe it was the court reporter, say “there is the witness.”  Not one person greeted me or introduced themselves.  To this day I am still not sure who some of the players were in the surrounding Zoom boxes. 

One man, apparently the lawyer who had summoned me, started reading me rules and asked me three times to state my name for the record.  This attorney represented the parent who was fighting the case.  It  was the other parent who had brought the child to see me for therapy.  This attorney questioned me about what I said, heard and did with the client eighteen or so months ago in my office.  As the client is under eighteen their confidentiality is less valued than a client who is considered a legal adult, so I was less able to maintain as much privacy on behalf of the client as I would have chosen.

The attorney did his best to undermine my work and challenge how I guided the client.  He questioned what the child had said and wondered what the child had felt about the situation.  I felt bullied and disrespected as I sat through nearly an hour of questions about a client that I saw only four times.

See above where I described the nature of building rapport and striving to create a comfortable setting for the client; where I make sure that the client feels heard and validated.  This deposition was the exact opposite of that experience. I am not saying that a deposition should be akin to a therapy appointment, but for goodness sake, someone could have introduced themselves to me, the witness.  

Once the meeting had ended and I was able to close my computer I was shaking.  I felt so stressed and upset that I immediately called one of my therapist friends for validation.  I literally broke down in tears when one of my dearest colleagues answered the phone.  I just could not believe the cold and impersonal way I was treated all because I was trying to speak on behalf of a child stuck between adults behaving poorly.  

These proceedings were wrong and the process by which I was handled was uncaring.  I was a mere blip in this elaborate legal system which deposes and tries people and cases all day every day.  I am an older, educated and supposedly, mature woman and this one hour chipped away at my confidence as a professional. I can not imagine how brutally it can affect so many others going into this situation far less prepared than me.  

I would like to say that I can walk away from this deposition and wash and sanitize my hands of the rudeness of which I endured.  But, I got word that this case will probably go to trial and lucky me gets to go through it all again, this time with a judge present as well.  At least next time I will be prepared when the hipster pops out of his little red car.

As I write today’s post I am leaving my therapist hat by the door.  Today, I write as me. Writing as me on this blog presents some delicate challenges. A therapist is taught by necessity to stay in the therapist role thus leaving the self at the door.  Not, of course, one’s personality traits;  my warmth, humor and sass is always with me.  But my stuff; my daily dilemmas, my personal challenges and my heartbreak are kept outside of the therapeutic relationship so that the focus can be on my client and the wellbeing of said client.  For now, my need is to share my thoughts more personally.  If I am vague in some areas, it is for the above reasons. Who am I kidding? I am sure if anyone is actually reading, this is of no matter to anyone but me, so here goes.

“When Bad Things Happen to Good People”  This book title, first published in 1981, has resonated with me since I first heard of it.  I remember in college, a good friend telling me that the author, Rabbi Kushner, was his rabbi in the neighboring town of Natick, MA. I must admit that I often struggle with non-fiction reading, I can read almost any fictional story, but have stacks of unfinished non-fiction books that were started with good intentions (you can imagine how well that went during graduate school).  With this disclaimer, I admit that I have read parts of this classic book, but never completed it in its entirety which is my own loss. Yet, the title and all that it encompasses has always stuck with me and weighs heavily on my heart today.

A woman who grew up in my hometown died from colon cancer this week.  There has been so much bad in 2020 that when I hear of more heartache I wonder how much one person, community or nation can take.  Yet, her story truly encompasses “when bad things happen to good people.”

Margi was two years younger than me.  She was in my brother’s class and part of his friend group.  You know how it is, you look up to many of the kids a few grades ahead of you and know several of the younger students.  Due to our close knit synagogue community, our youth group congregated among multiple age groups so I had the opportunity to get to know many of my brother’s friends including Margi and her closest girlfriends. 

Once I left for college I lost touch with many of the younger kids still in high school, but I had the privilege of a constant update about Margi when I was home on break.  My brother’s best friend was in love with Margi. I mean in love obsessed!  He spent hours upon days at our house talking about his love for Margi.  There was even a memorable weekend at our lake house with my brother, my grandmother (go figure) and, let’s call the best friend, Jeff, for confidentiality purposes (although any NSHS grad of 1985 will surely know Jeff’s true identity).  Jeff could not get his mind off of Margi, and with his strong Boston accent, I spent the whole weekend hearing about  “Mah-jee”.

We all became adults and began our own lives.  Before the internet, we got updates about classmates when home for holidays or on actual landline telephone conversations.  Years ago, I learned of the terrible tragedy of Margi’s husband dying in an automobile accident.  Margi was a pediatrician and raised her two young daughters alone as a young widow in Connecticut.  I then learned that Margi had gotten colon cancer, but as the fighter that she was, she persevered as a mother, physician, researcher and writer.  Margi lived for seven years with this awful disease.  We had a few facebook interactions here and there, but mostly, I admired her from afar.  One of her besties routinely posted Margi’s beautiful articles and I was always eager to get more tidbits of the beautiful Margi.  Just six weeks ago I was back in New England for a socially distanced family Bat Mitzvah.  I was happy to catch up with Jeff  (happily married and well beyond his adolescent crush) who sadly informed me that Margi was not doing well.  

Earlier this week my brother passed on a heartfelt email forwarded from his friend group that Margi had died.  I have spent the past two days rereading Margi’s beautiful articles and stalking her Facebook to see the gorgeous tributes her friends are posting.  I have learned, what I instinctively knew, what a beautiful person she was.  One post stood out written by one of her medical students lamenting about how many patients she had to see in a given day only to spend the rest of her evening catching up on the day’s charting of these same patients.  This woman shared how Margi taught her to slow down and attend to the family, learn about the mother and her breastfeeding issues, or their food scarcity and all of the other factors contributing to the patient’s health concerns.  This one post exemplified the “good people” that was Margi.

There are cruel people in this world. There is a brutal inhuman person currently pretending to run this country.  Margi’s children are now without either parent. Tell me please how any of this makes sense!  I am enraged and hurting for our world and for Margi’s family.  I know that this is the moment when I must return to my unfinished copy of “When Bad Things Happen to Good People” and really read it because Rabbi Kushner can help me find some peace out of this pain.  I can’t make sense of it and I need some clarity.

To all who knew and loved Margi, I am grieving with you.   

(Click here to read one of the many fantastic articles written by Margi.)

“Hi. I’m Laurie. It is so nice to ‘meet’ (fingers doing air-quotes) you.” I seem to have said this to a new face on my computer screen umpteen times since March when I began conducting virtual-only psychotherapy due to Covid-19. This electronic introduction is always a little odd for me; I can’t imagine how nerve-racking it must be for a new client, especially a child or teen, who is already very nervous about the whole therapy process.

As is my usual, I am my silly self at first to help the person on my screen feel more at ease. I assure them that this is also a little strange for me to meet someone on screen, so if they are feeling weird or nervous it is completely normal and expected. I do my best to create a comfortable environment, as a first-time therapy appointment even in a warm, cozy office can often be intimidating and overwhelming. Sometimes I wonder if there is a little relief in talking to me from the comfort of their home. Teenagers especially who are cocooned in their rooms may relish the privacy and familiarity of their bed, desk, or beanbag which can settle the nerves a bit.

Whenever I meet with anyone under eighteen I need to have a parent present for part of the first session to review procedures and confidentiality. In these cases when the screen goes live, I am met with both the client and the parent. There is always the finagling of the screen to make sure everyone is in view as well as volume checks and adjustments before we settle in to become acquainted. The first several minutes are a crucial part of the first session, but now even more so as I want to assure and help them to become as comfortable as possible.

The good news is that despite these hurdles, virtual therapy has been working very well. I am amazed at how connected my new clients seem to be feeling even though we have never met in person. I have noticed that each subsequent session the client leans in more to the process. A normal practice of my therapy is to check in with a client during the second session. I ask how they felt after their first session, what if any, thoughts or feelings about therapy came to mind throughout the week and how they were feeling about meeting again? I find that this gives me insight into their initial feelings about the therapy. Do I need to move slower? Adjust my tone? Build more rapport before delving into the heavy topics? There can be subtle clues as we review their first session. On-screen it can be a bit trickier; eye contact can be fuzzy if the camera isn’t clear and there are often poor connections that interrupt what someone may be saying. So, although I continue this check-in routine, I am more tentative than had we been having an in-person session.

There have been sessions where I do miss pieces of the puzzle due to the fact that we are online. One mom was describing her pre-adolescent daughter’s school experience. She was talking about the daughter’s peer relationships and some of her struggles both during Covid and pre-pandemic. Out of the blue, the mom said to me “My daughter is 5’7”. I am 5’10” and her dad is over six feet.” I am positive I went wide-eyed with my jaw dropping as the mom went on to say that this is something I certainly wouldn’t know by meeting on screen. We both had a good laugh about the peculiarity of this mode of therapy and mom went on to say that being so tall in elementary school is a unique challenge for her daughter.

Another young teen with body image issues was sharing her struggles with both restricted eating and her desire to be “skinny”. As is always the case with this population I emphasize inner beauty over outer features and strive to re-focus the attention on personal strengths aside from how one looks (and as is usually the case with these young girls, they roll their eyes at me and return to how many calories they consumed that day). I digress, this is not an expose’ on the merits and challenges of eating disorder treatment, but rather to say I honestly had no idea what this young woman’s body looked like. And, not that it would make much of a difference in the treatment, but needless to say, it is informative to know whether a client with disordered eating tendencies is under, over or average weight.

Recently I met with a teen who is confused about gender identity. She is exploring these complicated feelings and bravely shared her thought process. She mentioned that “certain pants are more masculine, like the ones I am wearing right now.” Uhm, hello…I am seeing you from the neck up, thinks the ever chatty voice inside my head. Although there were many jokes early in the pandemic about people wearing shorts and suit coats on Zoom meetings, it would have been telling had I been privy to more than just what the screen allows.

I have thought a lot about these moments and wonder how many other therapy misses are occurring due to the limited visibility of virtual therapy. I wonder about all of the medical telehealth visits and how the physician can accurately assess the patient without taking a pulse or feeling for whatever it is that they are feeling for when they poke and prod away at my less than firm abdomen. I feel fortunate that psychotherapy is relatively successful via the screen, especially when I think of my masseuse friends and other personal care businesses like nail parlors and beauty salons who were unable to work early on when many businesses were shut down.

From the neck up is working. It is not perfect and many internet interruptions are necessitating a reboot or change of viewing platform mid-session, but overall, I am confident that the services that I am providing are, indeed, helpful. Many a time the smile that I see on my computer or the heartfelt thank you before we sign off reminds me that my clients will feel a little bit better once the screen goes dark.

I know a lot of college students; my clients, my neighbors, my kids’ friends and my friends’ kids. Being a college kid in the fall of 2020 is not much fun. I hurt for the newly minted freshman, I hurt for the seniors gearing up for their last year and I hurt for the students who chose to defer for this year. Honestly, I hurt for all of the students who were looking forward to what should be some of the best months and years of their lives.

While conferring with a colleague this morning. I shared a story about a group of four college sophomores living in a house together who had contracted Covid-19 (they are all recovered, healthy and thank goodness only had a mild case). I was telling my colleague that they had done everything right: worn masks, socialized outside, avoided large parties and created a group of eleven kids with whom they would regularly gather outside as a contained social bubble…and then a girl in the bubble went rogue. My friend laughed and said that this could be the name of a book or a blog post. Since a book is not in my near future, this blog post was born.

The girl didn’t do anything wrong. She had a roommate and the roommate had a friend and they may have hung out with the friend’s roommate. Thus the problem with the bubble concept. Each person in every bubble has another person with whom they may happen to socialize or bubble with. Containing a horrifically contagious virus amongst hoards of young adults living on top of one another is proving to be nearly impossible.

Many of the colleges are trying really hard to function amidst the pandemic. Random testing, weekly testing, no parties, quarantined hotels or dorms for exposures, boxed food etc. I can not imagine the level of stress at the staff meetings of the administrators of higher education. They are truly in a terrible predicament with complicated variables in whichever direction they choose to proceed.

I’ve spoken with some freshmen who are really struggling. Their big moment has turned sour. They are at college without the college life. They spend hours staring at a screen trying to virtually learn advanced academics having never met the professor or even sat in a college lecture hall. They grab some food without the fun of hanging in the dining hall wasting away the afternoon and have no clubs, intramural sports or Greek life for entertainment. They are all but locked down in their dorm rooms bored, anxious and frustrated.

I know some freshmen who have returned home where they are continuing their studies remotely. The Covid scare was too high at their specific school and they felt they might be more safe at home. I also know some kids toying with leaving their university; they struggle with seeing their peers flee and wonder what is the point of being here? Can i make friends in this environment? Am I safe? What will the next few months look like?

Students who previously struggled with mental illness seem to be having reoccurrences. Anxiety is high for anyone beginning college under normal circumstances and certainly high for all of us during the pandemic. Couple both of these with all of the restrictions on socializing and interacting within the college milieu and it is a recipe for huge bouts of anxiety for already anxious kids. Depression is also exacerbated by increased isolation due to mandatory time spent in dorm rooms and decreased opportunities to make new friends.

The upperclassmen have a leg up on the freshmen as they have a year or more of college life under their belts. They have made friends and formed social groups in which to build these proverbial bubbles were they to actually work successfully. Although the upperclassmen have friends, I am still sad that they are having limited interaction with their classmates and new peers where they could have once expanded their social circles.

I ask all of my clients, both in college and secondary school if they have friends in their classes. Most of them say “I don’t know”, because, of course, none of them are turning on their cameras to be seen. More sadness on my extroverted matured-age heart . “KIDS!!! Listen to your elders!!! It will be more engaging and interesting to SEE your friends!!” I am hoping that as the semester progresses and everyone gets more accustomed to this new abnormal-normal that maybe they will show a little bit of eyebrow or something via their virtual screens.

I do hope and believe that some students are making lemonade out of these very bitter lemons. Some have reached out within their dorms or to friends of friends to safely meet with new friends. One freshman followed every name she saw from her Zoom classes on Instagram and is trying to connect with these strangers via social media. She said some ignored her, some gave a little wave and a few people have interacted via messaging with her. Last week she met one of the girls for lunch and they have become friends. I was so thrilled to know that she has put herself out into the large judgmental social media world and found a friend, but even more than finding a friend she, hopefully, learned that sometimes taking risks can have very positive outcomes.

If you know a college student be compassionate with them, this is certainly not an experience that any of us have ever experienced. And, maybe, just maybe, share the idea that sometimes getting out of their comfort zone can create wonderful opportunities.