“What if?” If I had a dollar for every time one of my children started a question with those two words, well let’s just say that no one in my family would probably ever have to work again. There have been days when my husband and I have talked about the sheer exhaustion from the amount of questions our children ask. At one point, when my oldest child was about 5 years old, my husband decided to count the number of questions he asked, and it was 11 per minute. My younger child is a pretty decent match for that. And as they have gotten older, the number of questions hasn’t changed, just the breadth of what they ponder and seek to understand has just gotten deeper.
I wish I could say that I always answer their questions with grace and patience, but let’s be honest…I am human and a mom who is usually trying to juggle making a left hand turn in a busy intersection when their need to understand all the intricacies of the universe suddenly erupts. But, now I have to ask, “what if?”
What if they are on to something? What if we all approached our daily lives constantly asking, “what if?”
I spend a lot of time thinking about my role as a mother and a clinician, and I often wonder what traits and habits contribute to the moments when I am confident that I am rocking those roles. Then I think about the times when I second guess myself and my decisions and wonder what did I do differently in those moments. And I think a lot of it comes down to curiosity.
You see, when I approach a situation with a preconceived idea of what would be best at that moment based solely on my education or life experiences, it is easy to miss the possibilities that I may not know exist. A little fact that I remember learning several years ago was that at any given moment there are millions of bits of sensory information around us that our brain takes in, and then our brain filters out the vast majority of it because to notice and process it all would be incredibly overstimulating. Our brain’s intelligent design is such that it weeds out what it deems unimportant and allows us to focus on the most important 7-21 bits of information at any given time. Such an amazing system to help us stay focused with just the right stimulation! BUT…what the brain chooses to show us typically aligns with our own belief systems. In most cases, what is weeded out is what we don’t expect to see or believe to be true.
Let’s think about this in a real-world scenario that many people have encountered at some point. Imagine that you have misplaced an item. The last time you saw it, you recall it being on the kitchen table. So, naturally, you go look for it there. You check the table and maybe even the floor and counters around the table and don’t see it. Then you head to the living room, and the item you are looking for is sitting on the coffee table. It is right there in your visual field, but you still somehow miss seeing it initially. Eventually you may spot it, but often at that first glance at the coffee table you don’t see the item because you weren’t expecting it to be there. The item being on the coffee table wasn’t in your belief system at the time, so your brain didn’t bring it to your conscious awareness.
How does this play out in the therapeutic setting? As therapists we spend many years in school to learn our trade. We follow that up with continuing education courses throughout our career, often related to specific areas that interest us from well-known instructors and providers who have intense knowledge about their given topic. We hone our own knowledge and therapeutic skills in that area and often the courses we take and the therapists who teach them say very similar things, so our belief system becomes more refined. This can be a positive thing because it is often helpful to have “experts” in specific fields and topics.
But what happens when therapists become so passionate about their specific area and believe so strongly that the therapeutic techniques they have learned in these courses are the gold standard with little to no wiggle room? If we think about how our brains protect us from overwhelm by limiting what we see to match what we believe, then what may happen in the therapeutic setting in this scenario?
I believe it results in a loss of curiosity and thus a decrease in how effective our therapy is. I have witnessed therapists asking for ideas or suggestions in therapist groups about situations they have with clients and other therapists responding with things like, “you have to do [insert therapy technique here]” or “this client needs [insert a specific assessment or tool or technique here].” I sense that those who respond to these requests for input in this manner are doing it with the best of intentions and believe wholeheartedly that the advice they are giving is what their colleague’s client needs.
There are also therapists who follow protocols and methodologies to a “T” because they have been taught and have come to believe that these interventions are the “right” way to do therapy and will result in the best outcomes for a specific diagnosis.
In both scenarios the intent is benign, but the impact may be anything but.
When therapists lose their curiosity and approach therapeutic sessions from a place of “expertise” in specific techniques for specific diagnoses it is hard to remember that each client is an individual with their own story, their own nervous system, and their own belief systems, all of which impact the therapeutic process. They are not diagnoses. Human beings are complex, and approaching them with unwavering beliefs and unbreakable narratives doesn’t allow for client-centered therapy. It prevents us from finding new possibilities that may differ from what we have been taught but may be ideal for the client in front of us.
Often I think about my own journey as an SLP: the many people I have encountered, the many courses I have taken, the way my own therapy style has changed over the years. I recall things that I shared with parents and the expectations that I had for outcomes with clients in the past that no longer resonate with me and the times that I felt stuck in therapy because of how my own beliefs prevented me from seeing what was possible but not yet evident. I ponder how I have at times become so excited about a new modality or course that I missed its limitations for certain clients or just convinced myself that those limitations couldn’t possibly exist because they didn’t match the story I told myself about that technique.
I come back to the present with a sense of humility, reminding myself that I do not and am not supposed to have all the answers at any moment. I sit with the idea that life is about learning and progress (not perfection), and that applies to our role as therapists as well. And how can any one of us progress without curiosity?
