I had planned (and even started) to write something nice and optimistic about glitter and creating with it as a material — to sum up the past year and share a bit of what I hope the new year will bring.

I wrote and erased again and again, and honestly, like glitter, everything just flew away in the air, got into my eyes, blurred my vision, and made me tear up. At the same time, it didn’t leave me and is still stuck in my head, because that’s how glitter likes to behave. I believe I’ll come back to it later because I really love glitter, and luckily, I encounter it a lot in my clinic (and at home too — which isn’t always fun but I try).

So, 2018 began. It’s not too late, but it already feels different. I’m in a different place, not just because New Year’s Eve passed (I even went out to celebrate with my husband for the first time in… I won’t say how long, on New Year’s Eve! And it was fun, actually!), but mainly because a lot has changed in a short time, external changes that led to internal ones. At the center of it all: a new, thrilling job, different from anything I’ve done before; alongside continuing my private practice, I will also have the chance to nurture a very young unit combining art and therapy at the Ashdod Museum of Art.

I’m not a big fan of extremes. You could say — I’m actually pretty scaredy-cat (right now, all my family and childhood friends reading this are saying, “Pssh! Very scaredy-cat indeed!”). I’ve avoided a lot of things because I was afraid — of the unknown, of being far from home, of failure (because clearly, if we don’t succeed fully — it’s failure, right? Sometimes it feels like there’s no middle ground).

Also, loss of control scares me a lot, helplessness too, getting stuck. Many things, really.

Last week, I watched an episode from the new season of Black Mirror. For those who don’t know it — I highly recommend checking it out. Until then: it’s a series that explores the impact of technology on our lives in the future, in a mix of speculative fiction and realism (it depicts technologies mostly not yet existing, but that make you think, “We’re probably almost there.”) It mainly deals with alienation, changing human relationships, and each person’s relation to the world. It’s tense, shocking, scary, and highly recommended — though I admit it has caused many sleepless nights.

Anyway — the episode I saw dealt with a mother and her daughter. After a traumatic event in which the daughter disappeared from her mother’s sight for several minutes, the mother turns to an innovative institute that implants a brain chip in the girl, allowing the mother to see the world through her daughter’s eyes — literally. The mother connects via an iPad to software that shows her the daughter’s viewpoint, monitors her health, reports her geographic location, and many other features.

Among other things, the mother can control what the daughter’s senses receive: at the push of a button, she can blur frightening or upsetting elements — like the parental controls we have today on screens to block inappropriate content for kids — but for real life. If the daughter encounters something scary, the mother receives signals of physiological distress and can pixelate the view or lower the volume of what the child experiences. Thus, a protected child grows up, surrounded by cotton wool, shielded from unpleasant stimuli, constantly monitored by the mother.

Sounds like a dream, right? Well… I won’t spoil the rest, watch and see.

This episode stirred a lot of thoughts in me. Mostly, I stayed with the reflection on how we relate to fears and “unpleasant,” triggering, unsettling, anxiety-inducing experiences. How much energy do we spend trying to ease ourselves and our children?

This mother pixelated her daughter’s scary world in order to pixelate her own experience of a frightened child.

It’s completely understandable. We all want happy, content kids who aren’t scared — or at least are scared as little as possible. That’s our goal. And if we can live in peace too — even better.

How many things do we avoid talking about with kids to “not put demons in their heads,” to stretch the (imagined) idyll of a life without dangers, wars, death, aggression? Unfortunately, I also include in that list — life without sexuality, truly regrettably, considering the complexity many people face engaging with this area, despite it being present, part of the landscape, sometimes in a distorted, inappropriate way. Instead of fixing the distortion, we turn our heads and hope our kids aren’t aware. But they are. They are exposed.

We want to overcome fear, conquer it, make it disappear. We want to soothe pain, not feel it, cancel it immediately.

There are many moments of uncertainty when working therapeutically with people, and this issue occupies me a lot — as the scaredy-cat I think I am. I invite strangers, families, into my clinic, into my life — sensitive and sometimes volatile situations. We start to get to know each other, and honestly, no one really knows what exactly will happen. I come equipped, with my therapeutic toolbox, the theoretical knowledge I’ve gathered so far, with a variety of materials — and from there, everything depends on the relationship that develops.

I can only give what I have, and only what the person with me is willing to receive. That’s scary.

Many worrying thoughts arise during therapeutic processes, and I’m sure they belong to all involved: patients, their parents (if children), and I want to believe also therapists: “What will happen here? Will a meaningful process occur?” “What kind of relationship will form and how will it affect my life?” “What will it take from me to make this work?” And the biggest one: “What if it’s not enough? What if I don’t meet others’ expectations, or my own?” I could write until tomorrow about the beauty of airing expectations and the joy of creating from a pure, intuitive place — but it’s not easy at all to live that way; sometimes those voices are louder.

After many (!) attempts to give my brain an epidural in frightening situations and let it doze off until the anger passes, I find myself more and more deciding to let the fear stay with me a bit. To really fear, and admit it, even to others. To decide I agree to fear now, for a while (which is also scary), and still keep doing this scary thing.

Instead of saying, “It’s not scary at all,” or “It will be fine, all beginnings are hard,” say: “It’s scary, stressful, and that’s a great reason to do it.” Fear excites me, and that’s my drive to do and dare.

I suppose this decision lets me do much more than I originally planned and find my real size, discover I’m bigger and more capable than I thought. Or at least hope so, believe that even if I’m not big yet, I can grow. That fear, stress, and pain are actually growing pains or pressure points, temporary, and only this way do we come out into the world, change, and develop. That’s how we discover what we can do, who we might become in our own eyes and for others.

If it’s still hard for you to get into this mindset, I warmly recommend getting help from your loved ones, those who see you in your true light, even when your connection with yourself is dark. Ask them to help you collect your pieces and tell you a bit about yourself. It’s always nice to hear and can help a lot.

I also recommend relying on your kids or kids around you — kids are afraid of many things and go through many transitions and adjustments in life. So: use their knowledge about this. You won’t believe what great advice you’ll get from them, and the kids will benefit too — feeling included, helpful, smart, important. They truly are. Even if their advice isn’t practical for you, I promise it will bring a smile to your face and warm your heart.

My daughter (nine and a half) shared with me that a good way to fit in somewhere new is to offer to help people with tasks they don’t like to do. That way, she said, she’ll be less alone, have a chance to talk with others, and learn about their roles. I think that’s a really great tip — I totally took it with me.

My son (four and a half) thought it would be good for me to sing songs I like and spray water with friends in the restroom. Honestly, sounds fun, but how to say it — probably not going to implement that one. Still, it made me laugh and he felt important because I took him seriously, even while laughing!

A bit late and not very elegantly: I wish you a successful civil year, full of adventures and plot twists. I wish you to take risks and not play it safe, to go out, explore, and try. At worst — you come back home…