Finding the Positive

As I sift through the notes I have taken over these past weeks I am trying to find the themes that speak to me, and what I want to focus on in the development of an ecopsychology workshop. More and more I find that the critical aspect of ecopsychology is what I am drawn to, which is not the most useful when thinking in terms of therapeutic applications. Ecopsychologist Andy Fisher (2012) writes that ecopsychology has two ways of being radical.

"The first sense is recollective. It involves recalling the unity of humanity and nature. This is about rediscovering our roots in the earth and realizing human-nature kinship in all its concrete detail-- a task requiring new and old knowledge, skills, and practices. Such recollection is radical because it overcomes the forgetfulness of our earthbound nature, healing a deep wound in the modern psyche and opening up a rich world of more-than-human relations unimaginable to the earth-alienated min. Less familiar than the recollective sense is the critical sense of ecopsychology-- the questioning of our entire social formation insofar as it generates ecological and psychospiritual crises through the domination of nature. The critical work of ecopsychology involves such established areas as the critique of ideology, historical and cultural analysis, and critical social theorizing in general. Its big picture approach offers interpretations that reveal connections that are invisible to the mainstream view and that provide root level insights into our historical ecopsychological situation. The recollective and critical sides of ecopsychology are its positive and negative moments. Together they form the radical whole." (pps. 81-82)

I find that the notes I am taking, the journal entries I scrawl on page after page, they all bear more of the "negative" or "critical" side to ecopsychology. Though I think that this is a very important aspect of what makes ecopsychology a critically important lens, when we are talking about treatment applications it would seem that looking at the  recollective elements of ecopsychology are the most vital. How can we reintegrate into our place as a part of the whole of life? What are the webs that need to be rewoven to bring about a shifting of our individual, and ultimately collective wellbeing?

Fisher (2012) points our that it is too easy to use "nature" as one more pill in the medical model of therapy. That we must change our entire framework and way of thinking in order to address the pathology that is creating the wounds to being with. "Ecopsychology easily reduces to slogans along the lines of 'Nature is good for your mental health,' a medical notion that perpetuates a nature-estranged way of talking (nature being something external than can be prescribed)" (p. 82).

And so I go back through the underlined texts, and the stacks of notes to find the underlying themes that I am personally drawn to utilize in a therapeutic context. To reexamine the critiques and look for the moments of movement and growth within them, so as to have actual tools to bring to my work as a counselor. In these next weeks I will be developing a workshop to tie together some of these practical tools as treatment applications. I will then present the workshop outline here.

References

Fisher, A. (2012). What is ecopsycholgy? A radical view. In P. H. Kahn, & P. H. Hasbach (Eds.), Ecopsychology; science, totems, and the technological species (pp. 79--114). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.

A Personal Reminder

The internet went down today as I sat in an upstairs nook of the library at the college where I got my undergraduate degree. I've been coming here every Wednesday this semester. I bring my two kids along and while I pour over school texts, they pour over picture books, peg boards with rubber bands, math cubes and cooperative board games. We camp out in the curriculum room for most of the day next to the large windows that peer out upon the mossy forrest and the looming grayness.

At home we have a house rule that computers are not open, or used for very long, when then kids are awake. We are trying our best to be present and not have our relationships mitigated by technology. So my graduate schoolwork is shoved tightly into the hours after their bedtime and weekends when they are with their dad. Aside from these few precious study hours on Wednesdays, our routine is filled with books and cooking, playing dress up and wizardry, chasing chickens, wandering through the woods, and reading in the grass.

But I find that I am increasingly preoccupied and less able to be present. The heaviness of expectations, the call of the laptop, or the textbook, takes me, even subconsciously, from the moments that make my life worth living. In the hours allotted, I am franticly trying to complete assignments, research internships, read the extra material that will help me recontextualize all of the "mainstream" counseling psychology texts through a radical ecopsychological lens. But I carry the stress of it in every minute, and every interaction of the day.

And then the internet went down.

I pressed refresh over and over again, to no avail. It was down for the count.

And I felt a moment of terror. My schedule upheaved from it's fragile balance. I wracked by brain to come up with an alternate location to get my work done for the day. One that would contain and entertain my children and allow me space to get enough work done to alleviate some of this pressure from my chest and shoulders.

And then suddenly I remembered.

I remembered what it actually is that I am doing. Why I am doing this program at all. Why I believe in the path that I am on and the work I am supposed to do in the world.

Here I am studying to be a therapist, looking to help people find healing from trauma and suffering, stress and addiction and disconnection, and I have lost my own balance in the process. It doesn't matter how many hours of the week I go to the woods if I am spending that time feeling guilty about how I should be drafting my response to the psychopathology assignment. If I keep my computer closed when my kids are around but find my patience with them short because I am carrying the weight of worry about my schoolwork and the inadequacy of hours in the day.

So today, when the internet went down I packed up my laptop, and my books and we went home to spend those last Spring hours of daylight playing make-believe in the backyard. I saw the sunset over the evergreens and let the kids play out their game until past dark when they decided to come inside on their own. Dinner was late, as was bedtime. And I never got that work done that I "should have" earlier. But somehow it all makes more sense than it did when I was on schedule.