I haven’t posted in quite some time, and you might be wondering why I’m suddenly writing in English. No, I’m not having a stroke. And no, my schizophrenia hasn’t flared up. Well… that’s not the whole truth either.

To be honest, I’ve always overthought how this blog should look — which is funny, really, because I could say the exact same thing about my own appearance. But for this post, I prefer writing in English. My English alter ego somehow manages to take life less seriously and turn what other parts of me would call “disastrous moments” into (what I think are) funny stories. So, I’ve decided to do what I want and not worry whether it fits the “concept” of this blog — because, in the end, it’s mine anyway.

I suppose this desire to unleash the more relaxed, English-speaking version of myself — and to put a little more distance between me and difficult emotions — might have something to do with completing the first half of my art therapy training, which focuses intensely on self-awareness. By the end of that chapter, there wasn’t a single blind spot left in my soul that hadn’t been dragged into the light through some sort of therapeutic art process. It’s been deeply effective, but if I hear one more story about an “inner child” needing healing, I might actually vomit.

Okay, I’m exaggerating — but only slightly. The past 18 months have felt like changing schools every few weeks. I’ve been the new kid over and over again, endlessly introducing myself and retelling my story so my classmates could unknowingly trigger yet another hidden aspect of my psyche.

But here I am. I survived. And I’m glad I haven’t dropped out, because there’s probably nothing I enjoy more than asking people questions. Yes, my English alter ego also happens to be a bit of a little Sherlock — always on the lookout for clues about what people really feel and think beneath what they’re showing. In the second half of my training, I finally get to dig into the lives of future clients. And let me tell you: there are plenty of ways to dig that hole.

Did you know, for example, that in psychoanalysis (developed by Freud — probably the oldest form of psychotherapy and the one with the cliché image of a patient lying on a couch), clients are asked to speak freely about everything that comes to mind — thoughts, memories, dreams, emotions — while the therapist sits silently out of view, analysing what’s said but never sharing their interpretations? The method is based on the belief that the client carries their own unique truth within, and no therapist can know what’s truly best for them.

In fact, that’s quite close to our approach in art therapy. After the creative process, we invite clients to describe what they see, how they felt while creating, and how they think it relates to their everyday lives. It’s not our job to give advice — we provide methods and tools that help people reconnect with themselves, their needs, and their inner resources.

So why am I telling you all this? Because right now, I’m lacking a vision. I know I want to become a therapist. I know I want to be self-employed. But I have absolutely no idea what that should actually look like.

Do I want to work with children? With adults? With people who’ve experienced trauma? Or those dealing with depression? Do I want to use dance, theatre, or writing as my medium? I’m not even sure whether I need to know yet — but in the zeitgeist of manifestation, where you’re constantly told that in order to reach your goals you have to visualise them clearly, not having that picture used to scare the shit out of me.

So, I started doing what many of us do: looking at my friends. Trying to figure out what it was that made them happy in their work. Because if there’s one thing I am sure of, it’s that I want to feel fulfilled in my future profession. Of course, not every single day will be joyful — but on the whole, I want to be able to say that I’ve found “my thing”.

Admittedly, that’s not the most humble of wishes. But when you’re paying 1,000 Swiss francs a month for training, modesty does start to feel a bit overrated.

So, here I am — on the hunt for “my thing”. And what I’ve realised is: I can’t just copy the lives of friends who’ve already found theirs. We’re all so different, and what happiness looks like for one person can be completely different for someone else.

But man, finding your thing is not easy. ChatGPT kindly offered to guide me there, but the questions it asked didn’t quite resonate with me. And maybe that’s the point: there is no shortcut. It’s about patience. Trusting the process without becoming passive. Staying open. Following my curiosity — which comes more effortlessly to my English alter ego. And one day — without even noticing — my thing will simply be there.

What about you, have you found ‚your thing‘?
If you already have or are in the process of looking for it:
What has helped or could help you on your journey to find it?