Larry is a caretaker. The kind of caretaker who takes care of people. Well, it’s more like he gives clients the tools to learn to take care of themselves.  Like anyone in a helping profession he bumps up against secondary PTSD in his life because he is meant to do what he does. Listening with the heart has risks, even for the most trained. Deep listening drains and we become empty even if we try not too.

I’m telling tales out of school here, but I emailed him once because I heard what he wrote with more than my thoughts and ideas and identifying. I don’t remember what I said other than thank you for being a caretaker, you have worth, what you are and what you do matters.

His words are a lot like Real Live Preacher, rich, warm, sharp, ticklish, immerse.
He wrote back saying thanks, if that that was the only email he got like that from blogging it was worth it. I’m too cynical to be flattered, identifying with someone is something that just happens between people sometimes and it’s a good thing. I hope I gave hope to a caretaker.
 
Another good thing is that effective truly called caretakers get nuance and subtlety. Cognitive dissonance isn’t an enemy.  Works for them as well as their clients and when caretakers refuel enough to remember they need highs and lows in compassion, the fulls and empties,  they can employ their tools when energy begins to peek through so they can start chasing away secondary PTSD.

Larry is going to be fine. The clue for me is that if he can write about being empty, the emptiness isn’t as deep as he experiences it. It’s real I won’t negate.  Can you imagine a writer being so empty she or he can’t write? That’s when I’d worry. 
He will remember what things he needs to do be his own caretaker. He’ll remember to shut out the toxic people and allow those that love him to romp through his life, even if it’s teeth grinding for awhile.  I pray as he goes through he finds divine mirth. This is a good piece of writing that will resonate like a tuning fork for the caretakers in our lives.

I’m empty right now. Physically, mentally, spiritually. No gas in the tank. There are a lot of things that have converged to create this situation. The specifics are decidedly nonspecific. I’m not sad. I’m not depressed. I’m not in denial. I’m empty. I’m still doing my physical, mental, and spiritual exercises, but they’re not helping. My legs are filled with sand, my prayers bounce off the ceiling, and it takes a backhoe to construct a sentence. I don’t need your sympathy or suggestions. I don’t have the juice to process either.

The emptiness can lead to depression. I’ve been depressed before; I hope I don’t get to that rodeo again. But I don’t have an oar in the water. If I had an oar, I wouldn’t use it.

I’m a few days into this emptiness and I believe it will work itself out, kind of like a bad burrito. We’ll see.

Here are the signs of my energy depleted person: I am reusing words and phrases. On everybody. At work, with friends, everybody. I am teaching old material. Telling old jokes. Rephrasing clinical suggestions. Giving out old assignments. I told you I was empty.

This past week I found myself sitting across from a client. I tried to connect that client to one I have known before. Who does he remind me of? What did I tell him back then?  And I told him what I told the former. I vomited old rancid counselor sputum. Normally I would call that lazy counseling. Except I’m empty. I’m not lazy. And I’m not depressed. Or in denial.

Here’s how emptiness can turn into depression: What do we do with empty things? The milk jug is empty. Throw it away. The tuna can is empty. Throw it away. Your tube of toothpaste is empty. Throw it away (and it’s not even fully empty yet). Maybe you don’t throw things away. Maybe you recycle. That’s throwing things away with a karma coupon. Maybe you don’t throw things away. Maybe you keep them. That’s just weird. Weird because we only throw things away when they are of no use to us. No value. Useless.

So that’s why when we feel empty we begin to have doubts about our self worth. Most people discard empty things. This is also why we isolate from our friends and family. We’re not mad. We’re not pouting. We’re just empty. A tube of rolled up toothpaste. One more squeeze and we’re all done.

He’s getting there. Half full