Another semester is almost over and the familiar routine begins. The furious rush to finish all papers, projects, and assignments that you knew about from week one. Then, that oft-repeated vow: that you will never wait so late start . . . again. The perfunctory filling out of class evaluations that you know you should spend more time on, but you don’t, and the lightning-fast goodbyes that we give to teachers and students alike as we dash toward the parking lot.

It is the last part of the routine that I take issue with. We say goodbye too easily. We often talk about “terminating” with clients and how much care is needed because of the emotional bonds that have been created. Yet what about the bonds created with that person who sat beside you for countless morning and evening hours? Saying goodbye to them should not be so easy. Take the time to thank them for their presence, their camaraderie, for their commiseration with you about the long nights, for their listening ear about the woes of your internship. And, of course, thank them for all the times that they agreed with you that your paper did deserve a better grade. Don’t just say goodbye, say thank you.

If the events in our country over the last few weeks have taught us anything, it is that life is precious and every day is a gift. Just like we can’t take life for granted, we also can’t take the relationships with our classmates for granted either. These are our present peers and our future colleagues, fostering and maintaining relationships with at least a few persons will produce unimagined benefits.

I have heard it said that part of what makes Loyola great is the students, and I would definitely agree. Even the students that I have disagreed with have added something to me. They have helped to clarify my voice, my views, and my beliefs and, in some cases, even my faith. That is a gift and I am thankful for it. And, to you who are reading this blog, I thank you as well for journeying with me and all the other writers as we have shared with you.

To the students I have met, the professors who challenged me to grow, and the friends I have made, I have been blessed by the gift of your presence.

I am not saying goodbye. I am saying thank you.

My client was not listening.

Yes, I know it sounds inconceivable, but that was the case.

I had listened to his story in session one, diagnosed all of his issues by session two, and formulated a treatment plan by session three that even (in my modest opinion) should be framed in the hallowed halls of the ACA (American Counseling Association) to be gazed upon with awe and reverence for the rest of antiquity.

That was a month and a half ago.

And now, here I sit in session nine and the client has yet to make progress on even one of the treatment goals that I created. Not one. Every session we reviewed them and every session there was no progress.

Doesn’t this client know that I have years (well, at least semesters) of the best counseling education that money can buy?

Doesn’t the client know that I have read (well, at least heavily skimmed) the great works of Adler, Freud, Perls, Erikson, Jung, Rogers, and others?

Doesn’t the client know that I am just years away from being published in every major counseling periodical and publication?

The nerve of some clients — to actually have their own ideas about how to run their lives.

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Yes, this was a facetious and totally fictitious rant, but I would suggest that some of these same thoughts have or will dance in our heads.

Clients make their own decisions, because it is their life!

We can come up with the best treatment plans, but the client has to agree and want to carry them out.

We may like our clients, have empathy and high hopes for them, but we cannot LIVE for them or – even worse – try to live THROUGH them.

At times, as counselors we can forget that God alone has the patent on perpetual wisdom.  We do the best we can for the client, but that is all that we can do, which is a blessing, because who would want to have the power and responsibility of other people’s lives in your hands? (I will ignore the people who actually did raise their hands).

The client has given you the gift of their presence and you give them the gift of your care and your service.

We must respect that fact that the client is probably nervous, vulnerable, unsure, and wounded, and they still came in the door to ask for your help.

That takes courage, trust, hope and, well  . . . nerve.

The nerve of some clients . . .

“I don’t want to be here, but I have no choice.” I have heard similar statements from clients; however, in this instance, those were my unspoken thoughts, as I reacted to Loyola University’s mandatory 20 hours of personal mental health counseling or psychotherapy, for Pastoral Counseling students. In retrospect, that experience as a client has made me a better counselor.

It was difficult sitting in the client’s chair. As much as I theoretically recognized the value of counseling, I was not comfortable. My therapist patiently listened as I selectively shared thoughts without allowing interruption. At the end of the session, she gave me homework which I accepted, but ignored once I left her office. While I am not proud of my behavior, nor do I encourage others to emulate it, it helps me to empathise with the clients who I now serve.

In their work The Practical Counselor (Brooks/Cole Publishing, 1997), Philip Lauver and David R. Harvey stated “you get to practice piano in private and perform when you’re ready, but in counseling, the practice is the performance.” This cannot be a comforting statement for a newly-minted counselor; however, having experience as a client, does help to alleviate some nervousness that new counselors face.

In my situation, I resisted even as my therapist displayed genuineness, unconditional positive regard, and empathy. Eventually she talked me down from the ledge of arrogance and anchored me in the client’s chair. That was when my work began. I learned to reflect the qualities she presented as I released my defenses, recognized my biases, and addressed my fears.

During that time, I realized the importance of trust, not only in the counseling process, but also in myself. And, I finally understood what Irvin Yalom meant when he wrote in The Gift of Therapy, that the therapist’s own self was his/her most valuable instrument, and that valuable instrument had to be well-tuned and kept in good repair, so as to be effective. Sitting in the client’s chair provided me that opportunity.

Today, I have my own clients, many of whom do not volunteer for therapy. They present similar defenses as I did when I was a client, selectively sharing their thoughts without leaving room for interruption, and rarely doing homework. I offer genuineness, unconditional positive regard, and empathy, as I prepare a therapeutic space where healing can begin.

I finally realized the value of the 20 hours of counseling that Loyola requires, reiterating Dr. Yalom’s statement that personal psychotherapy is the most important part of psychotherapy training.  It is also fundamental to ongoing maintenance of that valuable therapeutic instrument, viz. the therapist’s own self.