Turbulent Times: Takeaways from Attending the AGPA Connect 2024 Conference
Image via Sharosh Rajasekher
Things were good, but that wasn’t good enough. Over time I’ve learned that it’s not in my nature to be easily satisfied, a fact that is sometimes as irritating to me as it is to others. I accomplished most of what I had set out to do academically over the last few years. I received applause from the people I expected it to come from. None of it was surprising or particularly exciting, which was the problem. Everything had mostly gone as expected, and rather than feel good about this, more than anything else, I felt painfully bored. I was searching, or at least I wanted to be searching, but I had no idea where to begin, so I was restless and resigned to my circumstances. I felt completely unmoored. I wanted to be standing on the precipice of something different, but it was difficult to know which path would take me in the direction of the difference I was seeking and whether or not I even knew what that was.
Those were the circumstances I faced when I once again was presented with the opportunity to attend AGPA Connect, a conference hosted by the American Group Psychotherapy Association, that I had little interest in attending up until then. By now I had advanced enough in my career to also be swayed by a sense of duty and obligation to attend the conference, and there was also something more to it. The solution to my current predicament, I concluded, was to run towards my boredom, frustration, and career anxieties, and throw myself fully into them. It was counterintuitive to choose to move towards the sources of my discomfort, and that was different enough for me to be convinced that it was worth trying.
Arrival
I flew into Washington D.C late on a Saturday night, and immediately marked myself as a typical Southerner by my lack of preparedness for the change in climate. A year spent living in Pittsburgh had convinced me that my body would get used to it and a light jacket would be enough, but all my northern exposure did was make me foolishly indifferent towards the weather. Standing outside of the airport in cold and windy Washington D.C I quickly realized that I was not prepared for the effect the weather would have on me.
The people seemed nice enough. They were at least willing to humor my questions about where I could find a store to buy proper attire at midnight, but could not provide much in the way of help. Solving that problem would have to wait until later.
I decided I would be using public transportation throughout the week and the man who arrived to bring me to the place where I would be staying was chatty. He described himself as El Salvadorian because of his mother, and Costa Rican because of his father. He was a bad driver, who took multiple wrong turns and drove on the wrong side of the road, but I figured this was the norm for a major city so I said nothing. I rationalized that as far as introductions to a city things could have been worse.
Attending AGPA is like being transported out of time, or at least being transported to a place where time seems to move at a different pace and rhythm, one that is wholly defined by the AGPA calendar instead of any celestial cycle.
Before my flight even landed I was already watching, looking out for what the experience might have to offer. The culture of the South, and maybe every other place, is this odd mixture of familiarity that comforts and suffocates at the same time. I always forget, when I’ve stayed there too long, that not all aspects of culture travel well. Some parts get left behind, and make space for experiencing alternative views of life. Some parts get dragged along no matter how much you might like to leave them behind. Race falls into the latter category.
At some point my Uber driver decided he likes the black people in Washington D.C more than he likes the black people in other places because he gets along better with them. Through some unknown calculus he decided to confide in me, a black man from another place, about his discovery. The irony of the situation was not lost on me. I feigned a few lines of curiosity, as he told me that I should visit Baltimore to be among my people. I nodded as he told me about his wife who he wanted to take on a vacation to Pennsylvania, in part because it was too dangerous to travel back to her home in Colombia. I kept nodding, and when it was time to get out of the car, I thanked him, grabbed my bag, and went inside. It was the type of conversation that made me feel like I was right back at home.
Start of the Conference
Attending AGPA is like being transported out of time, or at least being transported to a place where time seems to move at a different pace and rhythm, one that is wholly defined by the AGPA calendar instead of any celestial cycle. It’s a phenomenon that is difficult to fully grasp, and while trying to wrap my head around it I was also tasked with thinking about a different question, what it means to be an ally.
A room full of new, unfamiliar, delighted faces, and myself, had to ponder this question. We discussed it while discussing ourselves, which is how a lot of learning is done at AGPA, through a mixture of curated topics that have off-ramps into the realm of the personal built into them. This worked for me because it allowed me to gradually open myself up without being pressured to do it all at once, and always gave me the option of taking my foot off the gas and slowing down if I wanted to.
Even though there are built-in stopgaps, most people tend to ignore them, and strong connections develop fast at AGPA. It’s appropriate that the word connect is included in the title of the conference because it’s greatly emphasized. People who attend the conference are chomping at the bit for it. Secretly I was too, and when asked what I wanted from the experience, I talked about looking for a home. A few years ago I thought I had it, but I was searching once more.
Pain and torture breed isolation and people are more likely to find strength and healing if they have a community to rely on. It is the group, and not the individual that survives, and it is within the context of the group that some individuals can begin to thrive.
Seated at dinner that night, in a sectioned off room full of the faces I had met that morning and afternoon was where I had my first inkling of it, when I gave my first real consideration to the idea that I might have found a home. There were plenty of accomplished people in the room with numerous accolades, but it was their warmth and their willingness to share their stories that most affected me.
After dinner a group of us splintered off and found ourselves in the lobby of the hotel bar, drinking, laughing, storytelling, connecting. A woman brought out a deck of tarot cards and each of us drew from the deck, reading the description of the cards we had chosen and its personal relevance to us. Tarot cards had no significant meaning to me until I was in a relationship with someone who liked to use them to predict the outcome of our romance. It might have mitigated her anxieties, but it worsened mine because I never knew what to expect. It was based on the message from the cards, so on some days our love was inevitable, and on others they provided perfect justification for the chaos and turmoil that existed between us.
Obviously my view of tarot cards was slanted towards the negative, and for that reason, this unexpected gathering was more than random entertainment. The entire experience with the cards and these people served as a medium that allowed me to re-do what had been a painful experience and incorporate something new into it. What used to be an unpleasant association became tinged with the sweetness of that evening spent sitting at the lobby bar.
Torture
Early on at the conference it occurred to me that an aspect of my identity that I don’t think much about is nationality. Despite the historically tenuous nature of my relationship to the term, I take for granted the fact that I am an American. Not much thought or consideration is given to this fact unless I am traveling abroad, or in this instance, still stateside but in a more multicultural environment, which Washington D.C certainly is in comparison to Louisiana.
This is one of the reasons I was interested in learning about therapeutic work with forced migrants, a topic I knew nothing about. I’m less ignorant now, slightly. I know about the millions of people from the hundreds of countries around the world who are violently branded with the term migrant. I know, in the most disconnected way possible, what they have had to survive, and now have a more clear vision of how I might help. Now I understand that as a therapist my own clarity of mind is crucial to helping others because ambiguity is more than just an uncomfortable state. It is also a tool used by torturers and oppressors who come from all walks of life. This is what I am tasked with trying to work against. My own inner clarity is crucial for supporting others as they find their own way out of this web of ambiguity and return to life feeling more empowered. This process can take place one person at a time through individual therapy, but it can be accelerated. Pain and torture breed isolation and people are more likely to find strength and healing if they have a community to rely on. It is the group, and not the individual that survives, and it is within the context of the group that some individuals can begin to thrive.
Full Participation
Which is not to say that being in a group is always desirable. It certainly isn’t easy. Everyone brings their own perspective to the experience. Everyone carries inside of them their own world, colored by the presence of others, yet still wholly unique to themselves. And when there is a confrontation between two worlds, the process of convergence can be difficult.
The beauty and terror of being in a group is that it allows you to excavate thoughts and feelings that you hardly knew were there. Through this process new discoveries are made about the self and others, and concepts that seem vague and coolly intellectual become more personal and understandable through a combination of experience and reflection.
I knew enough to know that AGPA would set the stage for this conflict through its Institutes, all day affairs in which I would become a part of a therapy group, not only as a silent observer, but as a full-fledged participant. As the theory goes, this was supposed to help me learn what it means to be a group therapist, and help me incorporate my learning more fully. Despite knowing this, I was still skeptical going into the institute, but that’s the point. New group members feel the same–they are skeptical about how joining a group will help them in any way. They, which is to say I, experience a mix of fear and curiosity about the whole thing, especially being seated amongst professional peers, which makes a person act with some trepidation. The smallest decisions, such as what chair to sit in, become crucially important, and everyone knows it because everyone is trained to notice these subtleties, and the feeling that there really is nowhere to hide is exacerbated. The paradox is that this is true and it isn’t. You can hide, but really you can’t, because even the act of hiding reveals something about you.
Microaggressions
In any social context the specter of microaggressions looms large. The question is to what extent are people prepared to talk about the presence of this phenomenon, and to what extent are they willing to address microaggressions when they occur.
The topic was introduced early on in the group, and the right things were said about microaggressions often being unintentional, but there was something about the discussion that left me unsettled. It was difficult to say at first, but it became clearer over time that there is something about the way microaggressions are discussed as a universal phenomenon that is unsettling to me because it ignores the complex ways in which this process plays out. Microaggressions may be unintentional products of the unconscious, but the unconscious functions differently from person to person, and this functioning is often greatly affected by privilege and power. In addition to this, conscious awareness also plays an important role in microaggressions that cannot be ignored.
The types of microaggressions perceived to be available to a person are a function of identity. It is difficult for me to recall ever having enacted a microaggression against a white man because of the psychological effects of a legacy of racism that makes it clear what boundaries should not be crossed. But it feels much more probable that in my life I have microaggressed against women, even if I can’t recall specific incidents, because of a different power differential that exists in these relationships. All of these thoughts came to me because I was in the group. It is impossible to predict when and if I would have become aware of them in any other way, which I think is the point. The beauty and terror of being in a group is that it allows you to excavate thoughts and feelings that you hardly knew were there. Through this process new discoveries are made about the self and others, and concepts that seem vague and coolly intellectual become more personal and understandable through a combination of experience and reflection.
Desire
My sideways glances kept directing themselves towards a woman with piercing eyes who was seated across from me and my attraction made me realize how much this room was like so many other rooms I had been in. I realized the prevalence of desire, not just at a hotel with thousands of people closely residing next to one another, but everywhere else too, almost all of the time. I bring desire into almost every room I walk into, and it was in Washington D.C that I noticed that it was constantly by my side. At presentations, panel discussions, and dinners. Walking alongside strangers, and waiting for rides. The feeling of desire was ubiquitous, and in this environment, more easily acknowledged.
Years ago I sat through a lecture on the mate selection process, and listened as the professor named desire as a poor barometer by which to judge someone’s viability as a long-term romantic partner. He encouraged the use of other standards when trying to find a mate, and I couldn’t really disagree with his larger point about the limits of desire, a point which ironically is made valid because of the limitless nature of desire. But I couldn’t totally discard desire as a useful tool for relationship building either. The rush of excitement that we experience when we find someone who we desire is often enough motivation to draw us into an interaction with them. This does not always lead to romance, because feelings are not always mutual and even if they are desire is rarely strong enough to triumph over incompatibility, but this is not the only option and sometimes, desire is the starting point of what may become an intimate relationship of real importance. The lesson one learns over time is how to be careful with desire, not to completely disregard it.
Therapy groups illuminate these hidden fears and desires by forging a crucible in which these dynamics can arise without being immediately discharged or casted aside as is the case in normal life. It is inevitable that you will find within the group, whatever exists outside of it. This is a familiar axiom in the world of psychotherapy, the understanding that people bring their experience with them and recreate it in the therapy situation, or at least act in ways that allow the experience to resurface in this context.
The struggle that every therapist must contend with and resolve is where the line between the personal and the professional lies, and whether or not the line actually exists at all. Professional organizations and licensing boards try to help in this area, but they can’t really decide.
What became evident to me is that this process may also work in reverse. The experiences we have in groups sometimes resurface even after leaving the group, and we become more skilled at recognizing when this is happening. In all likelihood this is because the group is both reflective and experiential–as individuals interact with others in the group they get to receive live and in the moment feedback about how the impact they are having. They also have the opportunity to offer the same feedback to others. This process of slowing down to observe in real time these multiple effects has the impact of accelerating learning.
My own observation is that the learning that began for me in my training group continued beyond the eight hours we spent together. The identified themes of fear and desire were just as present as I moved onto dinner and other activities that awaited me that night, but even more so than before. There was a strange congruence that stayed with me throughout the night, and my sense is that this harmony was somehow informed by my experience in the group.
The Personal and the Professional
The struggle that every therapist must contend with and resolve is where the line between the personal and the professional lies, and whether or not the line actually exists at all. Professional organizations and licensing boards try to help in this area, but they can’t really decide. Attending a professional training where you also are asked to participate in group therapy makes it clear how blurry are the lines between the personal and the professional.
On the second day my group insisted on making the distinction even messier than it already was in my mind. They had spotted my deception, the easy way I’m capable of hiding by giving the least required information about myself, and using it as a launching pad to ask other people questions, pivoting the conversation away from myself. They had noticed it, and would no longer abide by it. They wanted more from me. They wanted me to be more vulnerable, to join in with them, at which point the group started to feel less like professional development, like an intellectual exercise, and more like a referendum on my chosen way of being with these people. I bristled at the request, but it no longer made sense to try to hide. I tried to bring myself in, and initially I stumbled because it was difficult to figure out what parts of myself to show. Maybe I was unsure of what parts of myself were allowed.
The group waited as I wrestled for quite a while, trying to identify what I wanted. Eventually I found the thing I wished for, and being far off from the realm of the professional by this point, offered my wish to the group and waited to see what would happen.
When you risk vulnerability and your leader does not respond as you want them to, you are left with only two options–blame yourself or suffer an inevitable loss of faith.
There was a silent pause, then a request for more clarity, and finally a feeling of stuck-ness as the group reached an impasse. To me it felt like a defeat. I thought I had expressed my wish in the clearest way possible and yet I was left facing the coldness of miscommunication. And after surrendering my previous position, I was left with nowhere to hide. Nothing came of the request for clarity, and no common ground was found. In hindsight, I was also to blame for the miscommunication. I spoke clearly, but shared a wish that was completely outside the realm of normal expectations in professional training, which is exactly the conundrum that underlies this situation. I was operating completely from the personal side and moving further and further away from the professional side of things. I was moving towards the anger and frustration I was accustomed to finding mixed in with my disappointment.
The Role of the Leader
I have a certain level of respect for any therapist willing to take on the task of leading a group, especially a group that is formed impromptu with minimal input from themselves on the group’s formation. Especially a group with me because I don’t consider myself to be a good group member, meaning early on I am resistant to being led and maintain a healthy amount of skepticism towards the leader. The respect that I mentioned usually isn’t shown until after the group is over and I’m at least somewhat assured that the group leader is capable of earning it if I needed them to. It’s not fair, but it’s the way it is with me in groups. In this context, I expect just as much from others as I would from myself.
I expect that when someone takes a risk in a group, the leader is able to support them and help them complete the motion so to speak. If someone attempts to build a bridge, even a flimsy one, the leader has to help the group connect to the person's efforts and complete the bridge, and if the group cannot do this then the group leader has to model how it’s done by doing it themselves. When this happens, the group is able to progress towards its intended purpose, but when this opportunity is missed, the group becomes disjointed, and without intervention, withers and dies. People take up residence with each other by forming sub-groups with one or two others whom they think might be able to provide some protection from the outcome.
Feeling anger and frustration, I wasn’t sure what to do, but it no longer felt like I could look towards the leader for direction. When you risk vulnerability and your leader does not respond as you want them to, you are left with only two options–blame yourself or suffer an inevitable loss of faith. I was well beyond the point of taking on blame for others, and not so fervent in my faith to begin with that the other decision would come at a terrible cost. So I watched and observed the group wrestle with the question of what we were doing while silently personalizing it and turning it into a singular issue, thinking only of what I wanted to do. What did I want from this experience? This was not new to me, having to figure out for myself what to do because I could not rely on the adults in the room. I was experiencing the group as I had experienced some of the earliest groups I had been a part of in my life. I suspect the same was true for everyone else in the group, and it may have even been true for the leader too.
Years ago I was at an open mic event for poets and I watched a man perform a poem in which he uttered the phrase “repetition is the father of learning,” riffing on the original phrase to share his painful experience with his father. I recall it now as I think about the repetitive nature of group therapy, the way that themes from one’s life surface again and again throughout the group experience. Repetition can be a means to experiencing great pleasure and also great pain, but it is the latter that produces the most impactful kind of learning.
Large Group
I was beginning to get my bearings. I wasn’t as wide-eyed about the experience of the conference, and I was starting to solidify in my mind how I wanted to show up in the space I was in. I had begun to learn the routes in and out of the hotel, recognize the now familiar faces of some of the workers as I stood in the morning breakfast line, and had a sense of the people I wanted to be around. I was networking, a term I’m realizing I dislike, but still had the goal of building community and broadening alliances, finding more people I felt protective of and felt protected by in return.
All of this was crystallized during the large group, which, as I understand it, is an experience meant to allow for the observation of broader social dynamics within a confined space. It is a microcosm of societal dynamics, and with this being the case and society being what it is, the large group is also wildly confusing and at times blisteringly painful. I’m used to therapy groups of six to twelve people, so sitting in a room with hundreds of people who were all trying to participate in group therapy felt like I was spying, like I was watching something I wasn’t really supposed to be a part of. It felt like I was privy to a conversation that was not meant for me.
But, maybe that’s part of what you’re supposed to get from the large group. You get to be privy to the conversations that you intuitively know must be taking place all the time–how could they not with things being as difficult as they are at times for certain groups in this country. You know that some segment of the population must feel indifferent or hostile towards you, and some other segment must be busy fetishizing you, but it is still strange to become a witness to it. Especially when the confirmation comes from a room of your professional peers.
You don’t get fully settled, even after you get past the initial strangeness of it, because there is this tension in the room that at times borders on becoming explosive. I shouldn’t have been surprised. People suffer and struggle to make sense of why this is so, and when it seems impossible to cut through their suffering with logic, violence becomes optional. This tension always exists and there is a need for people who are willing to give of themselves and guide others towards a different path that allows them to deal with their pain and hurt. There was plenty of it in the room after the anger subsided, along with a deep feeling of sadness, but there was something else present too, in between the lines of sadness wrapping itself around everyone in the room, which to me felt like a renewed sense of belonging. If people could tolerate their suffering long enough they could notice how it connected them to every other person, and allow them to leave the room still hopeful.
Being a therapist sometimes means that you get too comfortable living in the world you have created.
That final feeling must have carried over because the last large group was still combative, but less so compared to the others. People were still angry, but their anger didn’t seem to be genuine. It was the anger that is used to cover up true emotions. There were beautiful moments of connection in the last group. Moments of unity, moments of solidarity, and moments of transformation. The group got closer and closer to connecting, and then anger, which was really fear, would get in the way. Everyone was wrestling with this in their own way. The path was not necessarily open, but it was there, and the group had begun to turn towards it. Given how the group started, the willingness to even entertain the thought might be considered a sign of progress.
One Last Chance
By the end of the week I was ready to go. Ready for the Southern warmth that I knew was waiting for me. I had planned for an early morning flight that would allow me to get back with plenty of time left in the day, and meant that I would be waking up in the middle of the night to leave from the hotel. This presented logistical issues for me which I decided to resolve by sitting in the hotel lobby and staying awake all night until it was time for me to leave. I underestimated the discomfort of doing things this way, and the temptation to lay down on the floor and close my eyes if only for a few minutes, having reached a state of mental exhaustion days before. Neither option was appealing to me but I was accepting of my circumstances and would manage to suffer through one uncomfortable night at a hotel.
I had spent the early part of the night with two friends from home who were also attending the conference and we had said our goodbyes so that they could go back to their room and rest. After we parted ways I sat in the hallway thinking about everything I had experienced throughout the conference, trying to keep myself awake and alert. I was wondering about the next few hours with a tired sense of dread, when my phone started to buzz. Instead of responding to the text I called my friends and listened as they invited me to take one of their beds so that I could have a few hours of sleep before leaving early in the morning. Initially I wanted to decline the offer because my instinct is to refuse help unless I really need it and the standard I’ve set for what qualifies as a need is not met often. But, because of the experiences I had at AGPA throughout the week I paused and thought about it. I thought about the ways I had been tested and pushed to learn not only how to give but also receive, and how this was a necessary challenge for me to overcome in pursuit of goals that were both professional and personal.
Being a therapist sometimes means that you get too comfortable living in the world you have created. You invite your clients in and though they are able to influence it, for the most part you get to maintain control. Group therapy is about something else. It is about co-creating that world with other people, and one quality that I am sure is necessary to be a good group therapist, is the eventual willingness to give up control and let yourself be a part of the process. With gratitude I accepted the offer from my friends, and made my way to their room, still reflecting on all the beautiful shades of humanity I had encountered in myself and others throughout the week.