ABSTRACT
I am often struck by what a strange profession being a psychotherapist is. Who spends her days listening to tales of dread and woe? Even if some stories eventually turn redemptive, one can only best assist that by listening intently and identifying, at least partly, with the protagonist. The empathy required means that you, too, tap into rage and dread and horror. Like watching the news all day, you are exposed selectively to the cruelty and unfairness of life. People rarely seek therapy to extend their happiness; it is their pain that brings them. If we do therapy well, we resonate with our clients, and we then become vulnerable to becoming possessed by a pervasive and dark view of life. It is the occupational hazard. Just as firefighters face falls and smoke inhalation and burns, therapists risk capture by cynicism and hopelessness. You cannot be a firefighter without running toward the fire, and you cannot be a therapist without encountering hopelessness and fear and your own ineptness in the face of pervasive and timeless tragic stories.
