Hi, my name is [...] and I’m a psychologist.

That’s what I get to say at least once a week, during the first round in the group therapy. We have a red ball that is tossed around – everyone says who they are, what a hobby of theirs is and what was nice during the week-end. I always felt like I was lying the first several times I introduced myself as such. Like: wait – those people on TV, who get interviewed when something went wrong and have “diplomed psychologists” written under their names, I’m like them? I’m supposed to know stuff? Where did that come from?! Needless to say, it took some getting used to. As if I had to practice it at all times: Hi, I’m a psychologist, and I’d like a side of fries with that. Here’s a copy of my diploma.

My second week at the clinic wasn’t much about doing psych-stuff anyway, since I had to take three days off. Exactly the three days I would usually work on. See, next to the work at the clinic and the theory hours on evenings and week-ends, my class also has what is called “self-experience” courses. It’s much less esoteric than it sounds: on those three days we drove out to some hick town in the middle of nowhere (literally, it had about 700 residents) to stay at a lodge (we had to pay ourselves) to get to know each other, form some group cohesion and practice different therapeutic techniques on each other. Until next gathering we also have to think about and send in what our “topic” could be: a personal problem or reoccurring theme that could hinder us in our role as therapists. It gets pretty personal and I felt completely empty at the end of those three days. We did get to bond real well, though. I have a great group: everybody is empathetic and non-judgemental, we all get along, but everyone still has a distinct and different personality.

Back at the psychiatry, I was having a much harder time integrating. It’s not like we had rounds where we would gather and talk about ourselves. Slowly, one after the other, I tried to remember all the names of the shift-changing nurses, the ward doctors, the assistants, etc. Luckily, there’s another psychologist on ward who’s in the same situation as I am, only much further in his formation. So I stuck by him in the first time and tried to learn the ropes. In my head I was just counting the days till the week after, when we were finally supposed to get some time in an office. We’d have to share it with a third person, but at least it’s a place to put our stuff down and have some computer access. I didn’t have many therapy sessions yet, but I did take over the relaxation group. First I have to round up the patients, then I explain what the progressive muscle relaxation technique is about and how it works, then the relaxing begins. At least for them. I have to keep a steady voice and weed out the disruptive ones – quietly. At the end of the group I always do a feedback round, where everyone gets to say how they experienced it and what bothered them. I got so much positive response that I was totally pumped up when I left. The BF later asked me, while we were at the gym, what happened, because I seemed so aggressive. I wasn’t angry – my job is just so exciting!

So, what’s it like?

Yeesh, I can’t believe it took me over a month to get back to my story. Now there’s even more to cram into this poor little post! September can be summed up quite quickly: I was deciding / preparing to move out of my apartment and take over a new one, previously owned by a good friend of mine – but that’s an entirely different story, which will need its own post. This friend was moving to a city far, far away, while another good friend was leaving for a year abroad. Lots of good-byes and sadness in September, while I was also trying to keep those few friendships that were still here going. I wasn’t sure how it would be when my apprenticeship started – would I get along with the others in my group, or would I be left friendless? I was anxious to meet these new people but also sceptical due to some “bad apple” stories I had heard. Finally, on September 24th, it was the moment of truth. My first day of school – again. I was the last to get there, just in time. We had assigned seats with name signs and a big folder with our name on it. Then came three hours of explaining of the formalities in that folder by an uptight, possibly anal-retentive secretary. Fun. Needles to say, I didn’t get to know the other candidates very much. A few I had seen on the day of the interview, some others I knew from the university. But there’s only so much you can tell by staring at people.

Two weeks later, on October 5th, is when I started my job at the clinic. Or rather: when I should have started. Because my contract was nowhere to be found. I was off to a good start: the ward doctor had ignored the e-mail concerning our getting to know each other before I start, and no one on the ward had heard of me. It was fun to introduce myself as psychologist for the first (and second, and third, …) time, though. Since I didn’t have a work contract, we all agreed I should just sit and watch. For the most part. Since we psychologists are apparently worth nothing, we also don’t have an office or any supplies that go with it. With no contract, I also had no keys. Or ID card. So I started scraping binders and papers together where I could and copied and took notes. I was an intern, once again. On my second day of “work”, still no contract. That relaxation group I was supposed to direct? A CD did it in my place – but I did sign the patients attending cards. On the third day, they finally managed to conjure up my contract. It stated: one year, no vacation, no payment. Huzza! So now that I was allowed to (i.e. insured to) actually do stuff, I had two diagnostic tests, a structured interview and a therapeutic session to accomplish. Let the stress begin.

[To be continued]

So, where’ve you been?

My last ever exam, the day I finished my studies, was on July 9th. That evening I gathered with a few good friends at a lovely café outside, drank, talked, laughed and tried to feel accomplished and adult-like. That still doesn’t work, but maybe once I turn the dreaded 25 I’ll stop feeling like I’m merely cleverly disguised as an adult. There wasn’t much time to let the diploma-feeling sink in anyway, since just two days later The BF and I left for our Cretan vacation. Since I’ve already described that in detail, I’ll move on to two weeks later, when we came back. A buttload of paperwork was waiting for me, since I had pushed off a lot for after the exam. Mainly there was the issue of my therapist formation. June 9th was the date of the interview at the institute and we were supposed to get an answer within two weeks. Needless to say, I spent the next two weeks running to the mail box every morning to check. And of course, the one day I didn’t is when it came. I was accepted for the fall course. Yay! This was such a huge relief! We had heard that there were about 50 applicants for about 10 spots and nobody could (or would) tell us what the criteria were. But I got through! I got a spot!

After clearing the matter of getting a spot at the institute, there still was the matter of getting a spot in a clinic. Because the formation has several parts, one of which is a year in a psychiatric clinic, for which we have to apply separately. We had gotten a  list of clinics that cooperate with the institute (you can’t just pick any which one), which I had combed through before hand. I narrowed the pick down to places that were less than 100 km away (since I have no car) or could be reached by train within less than an hour. Then I looked at the homepages, asked friends and generally tried to gather information about what kind of clinic they were. Astoundingly many of them worked after a system that looked completely out-dated to me. So in the end I had my three favorites to which I wanted to send an application. Before that, I met up with a friend in the same situation. I thought the more info, the better. Boy was I wrong. This friend of mine totally freaked me out. She said there were hardly any spots available, so I could forget actually picking where I wanted to go. I should feel lucky if I got any job at all, even if it ment spending a year in a clinic I knew I would hate. Fun times. And after calling through the list, she turned out to be right. One guy actually said they had way to many applications already – even though they had no available spots – and since I was the youngest, I didn’t even need to try. Nice. But I did anyway and managed to get invited to two job interviews after all. Both for UNPAID clinic jobs. And when I say unpaid I mean I would be getting zilch on top of diddly squat. No money for the work, no money for lunch, no money for transportation – BUBKES. And yet the situation we therapists-to-be are in is so FREAKIN MISERABLE that I was actually glad to have found these jobs. Both were in clinics I had done internships in and never wanted to return to again. So much for that. One had a broader concept, different patients, more responsibility and a more interdisciplinary team – but would cost me 1.500 € more a year and 1h30 a day in transport. So I took the other.

A day after the second job interview, I headed to my family in France, where I spent two weeks. I was kind of dreading this, since I know I get tense every time I meet back up with them and usually come back with more problems instead of feeling rested and refreshed like some other people do after a visit back home. But this time it went surprisingly well. I managed to talk to my mother and we spent time actually doing stuff, like visiting a farm with my little sister, who got to ride on a pony and learned how to make butter. We also went shopping, of course, but this time I actually had stuff to buy, and we also finally managed to clean out my old closet. Where I found lots of old memorabilia and other crap I couldn’t believe I had kept. Among other things, there were the old Michael Jackson videos. I watched them all, of course, but sadly the best one was broken. Never the less, it turned my little sister into a fan, too. The biggest surprise, though, was to hear that my big sister had actually taken up driving lessons. She was learning how to drive – in Paris. Can’t wait to see when she gets her license.

[To be continued]