chaplainbarbie-blog

[chaplainbarbie-blog]

On Being (Profoundly Unqualified)

“What’s been the worst experience you’ve had in the hospital so far?” He asked me at a table of sixteen people having dinner at my new priest’s house. I froze as a myriad of images rushed through my head, all of which painful and ugly, none of which I would ever share in such mixed company. 

The table fell quiet as everyone looked over at me. Uncomfortable with the question and more uncomfortable with whatever answer I gave being heard by everyone, my mind raced. I remembered a text I’d sent two days earlier and answered with it, looking him directly in the eye, skirting his question. “Feeling profoundly unqualified to do this work and learning how to embrace that, rather than letting it hinder me.”

He made a face, communicating that the answer wasn’t what he was expecting and as I took a bite of food someone else covered the awkwardness with a change in conversation topic. 

While it’s rare that a question is that direct, this is something that I wrestle with. People are curious about chaplaincy, about hospital work, about death. They ask if “anything interesting has happened this week” or if I “have any stories.” The answer is always a resounding “YES!”, as anyone who has ever worked a day in a hospital knows, but the stories are often too heavy, too complex, and too sacred to be shared flippantly. While there is a part of me that wants to share the gruesome details with everyone who will listen, there is another part of me that wants to tell no one and hold it all in. 

I struggle with that balance. What do I share with my best friends? My significant other? My priest? What do I tell my mother when she asks about my week? How do I navigate protecting “my people” from secondary trauma while being vulnerable with my support network, while also holding the sacredness of those moments? How do I answer that question when it needs to be answered and how do I gracefully side-step it when it doesn’t? 

I want to say it’s like a dance, not in some poetic way, but because I’m notoriously awful at dancing. Sometimes I tell too many details to someone and step on toes, other times I tell too little and miss my cue. I’m rarely ever on beat and not once have I ever been called graceful. I’m hoping that eventually I can find the rhythm that I need for my own self care while learning how to politely redirect when a question feels too invasive. 

For now, I will continue to stumble, trying to remember that being profoundly unqualified is as much of a gift as it is a curse and working to embrace the process and the journey that are continuing to unfold. I’ll also try not to sit near that guy at dinner, because his questions are a little too direct for my fragile soul right now.

[chaplainbarbie-blog]

Residency Intentions

Today was my first day in the hospital. Following new employee orientation, I visited the interfaith center and spent some time setting intentions for the year. I’m coming off a pretty difficult six months and I’m hopeful that my residency will be both healing and challenging and will serve to form me into a more grounded caregiver, a more self-aware minister, and a more compassionate person. 

Intentions:

May this year be as nurturing as I hope it will be, as challenging as I need it to be, and as difficult as I can stand. 

May I experience the depth and breadth of human emotion--both within my own being and within the lives of others. 

May I be present in the midst of miracles and tragedies--shying away from neither and holding both as things that necessitate the other. 

May I be acutely aware of my own limits and value both humility and courage--never being afraid to ask for help, but not shying away from uncomfortable experiences that reveal opportunities for growth.

May I take risks that stretch me as a caregiver and as a person, always believing that I am capable of immensely more than I give myself credit for.

May I immerse myself fully into the experiences of my patients, embracing them with compassion, love, and presence--holding all, rejecting none, and remembering that I, too, am held.

May I learn the art of vulnerability with my supervisor, my cohort, my clergy, and my support systems--leaning on them in times of need, listening to their corrections, and seeking to know and be known.

May I embrace all that is brought up in me in group, individual supervision, and in patient rooms--tending to all my own emotions and welcoming the discomfort.

May I nurture my own spirituality with intense care--seeking to foster it, protect it, and hold it close, always remembering that it ebbs and flows but can never be lost.

May I seek to build relationships with staff--trusting their insights and wisdom, offering whatever I have to give, and never feeling superior or inferior to anyone.

May I offer hope, comfort, peace, and presence--or, at the very least, not cause more pain, suffering, or despair.

May I find healing for all the things broken in me, but if not healing, than the ability to be a wounded healer, using my brokenness, pain, and sorrow as connection points to the lives of others, believing that we are better journeying through life together.

May I survive and may I thrive.

May I hold and be held.

May I care and be cared for.

May I grow in compassion, in presence, in love, and in skill.

May I be a blessing to all whom I meet and may I see all others, too, as blessings.

Amen.