Why It Matters... As a Clinician
Design, for me, is an emotional experience. When the space is right, I have a visceral response. So, I decided, for this blog, I wouldn’t resort to my list of clever design clickbait ideas. For this one, I want to tell you why I do this work.
I love playing the game, “if there’s one thing in this design scheme I would change it would be…”. It’s fun, you should try it! It’s a satisfying practice in imaginary design. I have been a professional imaginary designer, in my mind, for a long time. I have developed opinions that are rooted in my experiences as a client and as a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. I’ve learned that my creative brain is intrinsically tied to emotion, memories, and feelings. All the colors, textures, and layouts take me places and make me feel.
As a therapist in private practice, I always worked in a practice that was operated and designed by others. I started to pay attention to how people interacted in the space: hiding under pillows, moving pieces of furniture, all in an effort to feel some sense of safety as they trusted me with pieces of their most vulnerable selves. I was impacted too. After three sessions in spaces with florescent lighting, my eyes were always watering, mascara bleeding, trying to make it through. To counter this encroachment, I began making a habit of organizing my space before clients arrived to create comfort and safety without spatial interference. I became the therapist known by my peers for rearranging the desk, vacuuming, fluffing pillows, and moving lamps.
Eventually, I was lucky enough to acquire an office setting where the decor was up to me. No money was allocated, but I did what I could. I hung artwork that felt good or held memories and positive energy. I traded the florescent haze for natural light from a wall of windows, which made the best therapeutic impact. And I tried so hard not to clutter or pile or create possible triggers for anxiety. I left it open and light. Frequently, I found moments of connection with the people sitting across from me in the discussion of a painting or in the shared silence of observing the world outside the windows.
I hold most dear the advice my parents planted in each of us as my sister, brother and I grew up, each of us navigating our own versions of artist and thinker. “Find a way to integrate your work with what brings you joy, and do good for others if you have the chance.” I think that’s what I’m hoping to do with all of this. I’m attempting to combine joy with doing good. Here’s hoping it’s helpful! To me, there is no more gratifying therapeutic high than when someone says it feels good in a space that I’ve helped create.
