Dorit Amir addresses a very important topic in her article “How Do We Nurture Ourselves?”; namely, how we as people who care for others care for ourselves, how do we get the energy to continue doing what we do. There are several enthusiastic responses to this article that reflect the interest most of the music therapy community likely has in this topic. Indeed it is a very interesting topic, and, as mentioned, important. I feel, however, that something crucial is being overlooked in all of this discussion.
Amir’s trip to Kauai revealed a different way of life, a more spiritual way, a more congruent way. Trying to bring a little part of that life back to the city, making a “Hawaii room” to revisit the calmness and awareness achieved on the island, is of course a smart thing to do; it is certainly not a harmful thing to do. If any one of us can do something similar, by all means, I think it should be done.
But something like a “Hawaii room” to refuel, or writing for writing’s sake like Lara Trimpe’s response details as a way to reenergize, is missing what I think is the main point of the discussion, what’s really at the heart of all of this. Why is there a need to refuel? Why is there a disconnect between healing others and healing the self?
We can all agree that the reason Amir’s article was written in the first place is that one cannot truly help others become well if one is unwell himself. It is why we are directed to place the oxygen mask over our own mouths before assisting others in the case of an emergency on an airplane. It is why Amir stated, “I felt that I first had to nurture myself, to give myself before seeing clients. By creating this room and surrounding myself with my Hawaiian music, art and beauty I could both fill and feel myself again. And only then did I feel that I have something to offer to clients, who, surprisingly (or not!) started to come.”
My position is that there should not be a time to heal others and a time to heal the self. These things should be one and the same, part of the process of becoming whole, part of the journey we have undertaken as music therapists. In Cyndi Williams’s response she says, “Every therapist finds what it is that recharges him or her or fuels the flame for being a music therapist.” Isn’t being a music therapist the fuel itself? Isn’t playing music and helping others what keeps us going? We are not bankers or telephone operators or garbage collectors who put on a different face for work every morning; we are doing what we feel we were put on this earth to do—play music—and we are doing what we are all (humans) put on this earth to do—help each other. We shouldn’t have to need to find a way to refuel.
In her response Sharon R. Boyle asks: “How do we teach the next generation of music therapy students the importance of self-care? How do we teach them that this is a priority if they are to fully be open to others … to be present for their clients?” The answer to this lies in the way we should be training music therapists overall, for within that new model answers to such questions as Boyle’s will be inherent. What is that new model? I don’t purport to have the blueprint for a perfect music therapy training rubric, but I can see some problems with the current model in a few of the responses to Amir’s article.
For example, Trimpe states “With the vast amount of reading that I had to do for class, I had let reading for enjoyment fall by the wayside.” Why is anything being assigned that is not enjoyable? It’s clearly not essential to the process if it’s not enjoyable, unless Trimpe doesn’t enjoy doing music therapy. A couple of other responses remarked on the stress involved in schoolwork and assigned reading. I don’t advocate a total removal of theoretical training, but clearly a good amount of what reading is assigned in today’s music therapy programs is viewed as something to get through, something that is a hassle. I think the fat needs to be trimmed off and everything, from the readings to the papers to the internships to the classes to the assessments to the licensing process, needs to be congruent, needs to be perfectly streamlined, needs to be essential at a pure, core level for the emerging music therapist.
My belief is that music therapy is not a career, but a path, a way of life, something to be embraced fully and completely, something to be committed to on a very primal level; the music therapist is fueled by that which he does. I would imagine the majority of my colleagues may feel the same, and we might begin to see ways to train for and pursue a more integral way of work and life.
About Marcus Lawrence Soifer
Biography
First-year Music Therapy student, Lesley University.
Dorit Amir addresses a very important topic in her article “How Do We Nurture Ourselves?”; namely, how we as people who care for others care for ourselves, how do we get the energy to continue doing what we do. There are several enthusiastic responses to this article that reflect the interest most of the music therapy community likely has in this topic. Indeed it is a very interesting topic, and, as mentioned, important. I feel, however, that something crucial is being overlooked in all of this discussion.
Amir’s trip to Kauai revealed a different way of life, a more spiritual way, a more congruent way. Trying to bring a little part of that life back to the city, making a “Hawaii room” to revisit the calmness and awareness achieved on the island, is of course a smart thing to do; it is certainly not a harmful thing to do. If any one of us can do something similar, by all means, I think it should be done.
But something like a “Hawaii room” to refuel, or writing for writing’s sake like Lara Trimpe’s response details as a way to reenergize, is missing what I think is the main point of the discussion, what’s really at the heart of all of this. Why is there a need to refuel? Why is there a disconnect between healing others and healing the self?
We can all agree that the reason Amir’s article was written in the first place is that one cannot truly help others become well if one is unwell himself. It is why we are directed to place the oxygen mask over our own mouths before assisting others in the case of an emergency on an airplane. It is why Amir stated, “I felt that I first had to nurture myself, to give myself before seeing clients. By creating this room and surrounding myself with my Hawaiian music, art and beauty I could both fill and feel myself again. And only then did I feel that I have something to offer to clients, who, surprisingly (or not!) started to come.”
My position is that there should not be a time to heal others and a time to heal the self. These things should be one and the same, part of the process of becoming whole, part of the journey we have undertaken as music therapists. In Cyndi Williams’s response she says, “Every therapist finds what it is that recharges him or her or fuels the flame for being a music therapist.” Isn’t being a music therapist the fuel itself? Isn’t playing music and helping others what keeps us going? We are not bankers or telephone operators or garbage collectors who put on a different face for work every morning; we are doing what we feel we were put on this earth to do—play music—and we are doing what we are all (humans) put on this earth to do—help each other. We shouldn’t have to need to find a way to refuel.
In her response Sharon R. Boyle asks: “How do we teach the next generation of music therapy students the importance of self-care? How do we teach them that this is a priority if they are to fully be open to others … to be present for their clients?” The answer to this lies in the way we should be training music therapists overall, for within that new model answers to such questions as Boyle’s will be inherent. What is that new model? I don’t purport to have the blueprint for a perfect music therapy training rubric, but I can see some problems with the current model in a few of the responses to Amir’s article.
For example, Trimpe states “With the vast amount of reading that I had to do for class, I had let reading for enjoyment fall by the wayside.” Why is anything being assigned that is not enjoyable? It’s clearly not essential to the process if it’s not enjoyable, unless Trimpe doesn’t enjoy doing music therapy. A couple of other responses remarked on the stress involved in schoolwork and assigned reading. I don’t advocate a total removal of theoretical training, but clearly a good amount of what reading is assigned in today’s music therapy programs is viewed as something to get through, something that is a hassle. I think the fat needs to be trimmed off and everything, from the readings to the papers to the internships to the classes to the assessments to the licensing process, needs to be congruent, needs to be perfectly streamlined, needs to be essential at a pure, core level for the emerging music therapist.
My belief is that music therapy is not a career, but a path, a way of life, something to be embraced fully and completely, something to be committed to on a very primal level; the music therapist is fueled by that which he does. I would imagine the majority of my colleagues may feel the same, and we might begin to see ways to train for and pursue a more integral way of work and life.