“I’m not mad at the birds anymore.”

In the mid 1990’s someone on my caseload said something I’ve never forgotten.  And every time I try to tell this story I find it hard to tell without starting to cry.

This happened in our 9-12 month women’s residential program.  In addition to our adult female patients, we had space for 14 children from newborn to age 4 to live with their moms in the building during their mom’s treatment.  The person in this story was about 6 months into their stay at the time. 

The story goes like this.

One day, a patient came to my office for a regularly scheduled individual session.  After getting seated for the session she seemed to have something to say, but was holding it in.  I could tell she was having some feelings and was holding back tears.  (By the way, in her overall treatment process she was doing really great work, and this moment felt really poignant.)

She looked up at me and held a little bit of eye contact for a moment.  Then she looked down at the floor.  Then she went back to making eye contact, then broke eye contact, and so forth.  The whole while she seemed to have emotions rise and fall, and then rise again – with tears starting to form. 

I told her to take her time.  And I told her to say what she would like to, if and when she chose to.  And I told her there was no rush.  I told her I would easily wait and remain silent while she decided and got ready to say whatever she wanted to. Or to not say anything.  And I told her that any decision she made was perfectly fine.

She gave me a slight smile while not yet speaking, as if to let me know she understood the opportunity I was describing. 

Then we sat together in silence.

In a minute or two I could tell she had decided to say something, and she seemed about ready to say it.  With a palpable and deep happiness, she said, while starting to gently and openly cry, “Brian, I can tell I’m getting better!” 

She then took a pause.  And when her pause ended she added, “I’m not mad at the birds anymore.”

I had no idea what she meant or what she was talking about.  So, I waited a while. 

She held silence, so I asked what she meant.

She said that over the years her life had changed for the worse in many ways, due to smoking more and more crack cocaine over time.  And then she added, “When I’m finally in bed asleep, and the early morning comes around, I can start to hear the birds when they wake up — when they start singing in the early morning.  And they make me so mad!  Well, while I’ve been here, I’ve noticed that I’m not mad at the birds anymore.”

It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard in my whole life.  The way she said it was so poignant.  And for me, it’s remained unforgettable.

“I’m not mad at the birds anymore.”

To me that’s a symbol of whole-person healing. 

Bio-psycho-social-spiritual. 

The whole person, healing. 

She talked about sleeping much better. And her sleep being slowly interrupted and broken by the sound of birds outside her window in the early morning.  She talked about waking up to the sound of those birds. And liking the sounds they made.  She talked about how they sounded, and how she liked their sounds.  She explained that she realized she had actually caught herself liking the way the birds sounded, as a part of nature, and that this was a giant change for her.  She said she could tell it was part of the real change and real healing and getting better that was going on with her.

She said she liked how they sounded. And she said that liking their sound and liking them made her happy.

For me, listening to her talk about this was an amazing few minutes.  And for me, listening to her had a giant impact. And remains unforgettable.