Mary Oliver writes poetry. Lots of it. I don't get it all. Some of it seems to be the verbal equivalent of beautiful nature paintings. But when I do get it, it resonates. Deeply. So here's one of those:

THE JOURNEY

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice –

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

“Mend my life!”

each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do –

determined to save

the only life you could save.

 MARY OLIVER

Seemingly paradoxical idea for a psychotherapist, no? We can really only help ourselves??

Reminds me of some words I've heard attributed to the Chofetz Chaim (likely attributed to others as well).  He said, "In the beginning I thought I can save the world. Then I saw this was impossible so I tried to save my community. Then after seeing this wasn't to be, I tried to save my family. In the end, I saw I can only save myself."

I believe that all our training and practice boils down more to how we can be there with others and for others, much more than how we can fix others. At best, we show people how they can show up for themselves..

When we do this, therapy is at its finest.