Leaps of Faith
Earlier this year I found myself standing in the mouth of the lion’s head about to follow a path that I could not yet see.
Fans of Indiana Jones will recognise this pivotal moment of cinema, and Harrison Ford stood at the opening of a dark, rocky cave, faced with a seemingly uncrossable chasm stretched out before him. The third in a series of deadly challenges in search of the Holy Grail, Indie must cross The Path of God; an bridge invisible to him from where he stands.
This canonic moment left a lasting impression on me as a younger person. It has been widely discussed as a beautiful allegory for beginning a journey when you do not know the first steps to take. With no clear path and no safety net, one who takes this “leap of faith” must trust in its process in order to reach the most desirable of goals.
The leap of faith itself has its home in philosophical thinking, but has become a popular cultural reference point. What I am taken by is the embodied sense of risk and uncertainty in the pursuit of life’s goals. I’m a planner. I am someone who has experienced trauma in her life, and who struggles with anxiety as a result. For the worriers of the world, not knowing the potential outcomes of a decision or being able to plan multiple steps ahead can make us feel unsafe.
Back on April 11th, I found myself being drawn back to this image, and tweeted it. I had spent the prior 3 weeks at home with COVID-19, trying to push through work, and stealing my spare time to write an application for a PhD scholarship. I’ve wanted to apply for a PhD for a very long time, but never dared to dream it could happen for me. Imposter Syndrome is a close friend of anxiety, and coming from a background where things had, at times, been very difficult to say the least, I wasn’t sure I ‘fitted in’ to academia.
Still, on April the 11th, I tweeted the image of Indie taking his first tentative steps across that canyon, and pressed ‘send’. My application was complete, and I waited to hear if I would receive an interview. I had taken my first step onto the invisible bridge. The PhD was a studentship, and came with a stipend and tuition fees paid. I figured it would be incredibly competitive, but due to my personal circumstances, if I was ever to study at this level I’d need that support. It was serendipitous, however, that the studentship opportunity was to study a project I’d had some involvement with for years - something I felt particularly attached to and equipped to dive into. It felt like the starts aligning.
It is often the way that many significant life events tend to cluster together. The decision to potentially leave the job I adored to take on the challenge of a research project wasn’t taken lightly. Like many of us I have had to evaluate a lot during the course of the past couple of years, in light of the COVID-19 pandemic and the challenges that came as a result. This past winter also affected me like no other, as I suffered from some debilitating physical health symptoms. Just as I started to find my feet again, I had a sudden and traumatic bereavement. I had lost my second parent, my mum, after a long term struggle with her health, depression, and alcohol use.
For a long time, talking about my past experiences also felt like a “Leap of Faith” - I worried about hurting my parents by opening up about our story. I worried about what my colleagues would think. I worried about internalised stigma. (I worry about what you, reader, will think, too). As an art psychotherapist, and someone who works in the field of health, we often feel pressure to remain a tabula rasa - a “blank canvas” online, and even in person - a phenomenon many of us describe as a frustrating and artificial “us and them” divide. I believe now, however, that sharing stories is the most powerful agent for change. In my experience, so many of us share similar secrets, but shame keeps us hidden and isolated from connecting over them.
It has been this intense period of change, risk, self reflection and loss that has prompted me to begin to share more of my process. I’ve always wanted to share my art, writing, and research online - but in order to do this in a way true to my values, I want to be honest about the behind-the-scenes of all of this, too. I have been encouraged to share my research, skills, and personal reflections, by incredible and brave advocates before me who have used their voice to shine a light on the darker parts of life.
So, kind reader, this brings me to today. As I write, I have been a PhD student for a month at York St John University. My application was successful. I’m also winding down my work as a Local Area Coordinator, so that I can dedicate myself to research full time from September. I’ll be exploring York’s innovative “Connecting Our City” mental health transformation project, and incorporating arts based research methods to dig into some of the barriers we face today when we think about how to treat life’s challenges holistically. I’m also figuring out how to wade my way through that imposter syndrome, finding ways to grow, and sharing them where I can. My art practice continues to help me find the language to make sense of all of these challenges - and the strength to carry grief with me whilst campaigning for better conversations around mental wellbeing, communities and connection, addiction, and the importance of purpose.
I welcome anyone interested to come and take some steps across the chasm with me.
