Expressive Arts is a beautiful process of coming home to oneself. We often spend a lifetime detached from our bodies and others-replacing connections with fallacies of social media and text message. It’s easy to scroll for hours, send a quick text, developing a habit of nonchalant routine. But is that really connection? Some say yes. They are able to check in with family all over the world or they need to check out after a long day, but that is not connection with self or with others. We’ve developed a nasty habit of leaving ourselves without coming back to self. It is anything that allows someone express who they are, their experience, giving a voice to the voiceless (i.e. believed to be unheard or experiences stuck in the emotional part of the brain that does not have access to language in the thinking portion of the brain).

Coming home to self and providing a voice to our emotions and experiences that get shoved aside with disconnection, allows the individual to settle into their own skin. They’re able to figure out what it’s like to build a home with self and the meaning of connecting to life around them. For me, Expressive Arts as provided a way for me to communicate what my home, my body, needed to spring clean to feel safe.

For me, the best part of Expressive Art Therapy is the aftermath, when the supplies are strewed about the space and smudges of paint, pastel, and glitter are left behind. There is always a different light that shines brightly in my clients’ eyes. A sense of fresh air that I’m able to sit with. The aftermath is a complete flip from when I start working with clients, because what is this going to accomplish? I can’t tell you how many times I get eye rolls or eyebrow raise when I begin pulling out crafting supplies in session.

The aftermath of Expressive Arts processing is different from the excitement in the middle of the process and the middle of their treatment continuum. Once the world of Expressive Arts is introduced, the craving to express, the desire to be heard, seen, healed, takes a front seat. It’s the lit match blossoming to life, of insight settling in for the ride. It’s the self-permission to express leaking out onto the page.

I promise you when someone is in process, it is mesmerizing. It is awe-inspiring to watch someone learn to trust themselves enough, and you enough, to express themselves. It is awe-inspiring to sit back after a session with paint smudges, charcoals, cut paper littered about, and seeing that person, that client running with ideas (regardless if it’s merely an upturn of one corner of their mouth, staring at their piece, or rushing to share what they noticed in excitement). It is wonderful when you’re able to experience this yourself. Sitting back from my pieces and taking in the message conveyed in writing or imagery. There’s nothing quite like it.

When I’m cleaning up after a client and groups, I can’t help but smile at the charcoal coating a chair or paper debris on the floor. They made a mess. They made a mess, even thought they were previously asking permission to move, worried about staying in the lines, asking to use paint. They made a mess. They let themselves make a mess, to put their hands in paint, fold and tear paper, to express everything they’ve kept inside. They let themselves try something new and permission to sit with self and explore. In a world where we’re told what to do and stay in the lines, to disconnect and move on, the best thing we can do for ourselves and those we work with is to step outside our comfort zones and greet the unfamiliarity of imperfections, emotions, and to provide a space for expression in all its formats.

It is often thought that someone with a speech or communication disorder must be fixed. They’re broken. The identified disorder is viewed as pathological and treated as such. I know this, I have one. From the age of 2 years old to 15 years old, I spent many a day in the speech therapist’s office focused on pronunciation, how to place my tongue, how to move my lips, how to move my jaw, how to breathe as I speak. So do a multitude of others who visit those very offices.

However, when you think of speech disorders, have you ever thought of understanding that individual? Instead of the passed down language, we inherited our own language and are merely struggling to learn yours?

I bring this up, because this is an important concept to take in consideration when it comes to therapy. When you have someone sitting across from you who speaks a different language, you find ways to communicate with them: a translator or someone who speaks their language. However, with an individual with a speech disorder, that bridge of understanding is rarely crossed. Yes, there is circumlocution in regards to what we’re trying to communicate. Yes, eventually an understanding is meet. Usually through frustration and anxiety. Embarrassment. Irritation. Shame. D) all of the above. All this frustration can be seen in memes posted about speech disorders (either from those living with one or those making fun of it). So why not try to find other ways to support that person sitting across from you?

Language, speech, and communication do not come to fruition until the neocortex, while emotions occur within the midbrain; Way before conscious thought sees the light of day (for more information on this, you can look up the triune brain). Typically, with speech therapy, you’ll see various types of art or games to help bridge this gap. I remember multiple times in sessions, we’d be blowing bubbles, doing artwork while working on pronunciations, learning how to breathe, and what not. This helped the other kids and me tremendously.

Therapy is where all the emotions are meant to be greeted and dealt with. This is where I’ve fallen in love with Expressive Arts Therapy and Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), because they don’t necessarily require that much language. The understanding comes from within and the art. If an individual is having difficulty expressing themselves, they can use art to get it across. This is true for the main populace in general, however, has so much meaning for an individual who struggles with speech on a day to day basis. Trying to fight oneself to pronounce shit isn’t an issue when art is involved. This subtracts a good amount of embarrassment and shame from communication, because the focal point is on the piece or with EMDR, they can motion to keep going. No speech necessary.

While this is only a small insight into the world of speech and communication disorders, I encourage you to take a step back and reflect on how you communicate. To reflect on how difficult it would be to have your own body and mind fighting you against communication. Take this reflection a step further and consider how would you bridge a gap of understanding between yourself and another, to support them. How would you redefine you approach to see the individual and meet them where they are?    

We try to fit into these names. Take into account the name lists that float around Facebook. Being able to find our names on Coke bottles. Our names mean something to us. However, what if we don’t identify with our birthname? It becomes this scratching walls that is suffocating.

You see, I have a speech impediment from childhood trauma and it impacts my processing (mental stutters) and my ability to pronounce anything with a “R.” “R’s” can go to Hell for all I care. And of all the “R” sounds that could possibly exist, my birthname has one of the hardest configurations of that godforsaken sound.

There have been many speech therapy sessions spent on pronouncing my name. Many. Over time, I developed a sense of shame and embarrassment. My number one label, my number one identifier, and I can’t say it. When out and about with friends and family, it intuitively became a thing that they’d pronounce my name for me. I don’t know if they perceived my shoulders dropping in, my split-second hesitation, whenever anyone asked, “What’s your name?” My voice would get caught in my throat and I’d shrink into myself. “Just call me, M.”

It got worse when people asked where my accent was from. From as far back as I can remember to when I was 26, every day I was asked where my accent was from. When I was younger, I would tell people I moved around a lot. It wasn’t until I was 23 that the internalized shame branched off into anger and I dreaded every interaction with new people.
 
“Where’s your accent from?”
“It’s a speech impediment.”

Whenever I dropped that bombshell, people would begin to squirm. How does one come back from that? This moment is the opportunity I take to remove myself from the conversation. I remember a couple of times when people would learn about my speech impediment and the fact I couldn’t say my name, they kept trying to pressure me into speaking. Into saying my name.