By Claire Rose, MOT, OTR/L
Book clubs, ugh. Read my last post for how I used to perceive this kind of gathering. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good book. I grew up without access to mainstream media, which fostered a love of reading from an early age and boosted my vocabulary as a young English learner. I found solace in the nooks of my school library as I distracted myself from the discomfort of adolescence with the magical world of Harry Potter and the land of Narnia, felt my heart pound with every page of suspenseful Agatha Christie mysteries, swooned over the handsome (albeit occasionally pompous) gentlemen in Jane Austen’s novels, and found beauty in lines of poetry by Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson. Honestly, I’d still opt for a Shakespeare play instead of a Hollywood blockbuster to this day. Books were always there for me on my hardest days, greeting me with soft pages and an earthy smell each time I reached for their comfort, like the deep embrace of reunion with a long-lost friend. Books were simple, tangible, with no expectations or unspoken social rules for me to sort through.
As much as I have worked to break out of my interpersonal comfort zones, I’ve also had a hard time feeling a true sense of connection and belonging in almost any group activity I’ve tried out. In my experience, groups and clubs didn’t give me the space or time I needed to explore something in order to form an opinion about it, but rather demanded an established passion and expertise for the club’s topic or skill set from the very get go. I gave a few middle and high school clubs an honest try, but found myself more disenchanted with social politics than anything else. University clubs were slightly more in my wheelhouse, but between a full-time academic load and working nearly twenty hours per week, there wasn’t enough gas left in my social tank to find true joy and belonging in a group full of relative strangers.
Fast forward to the present and you’ve found me now a decade into my work as a pediatric Occupational Therapist in Northern California, deeply immersed into supporting each family with everything I have to offer. It’s an exhausting job and not without its challenging days, but infinitely more miracle-filled and rewarding than I had ever dreamed possible. This work demands authenticity, transparency, vulnerability, and bravery, all of which have become themes for growth for each therapist in their own season. As therapists, we have a unique opportunity to connect with each other on a regular basis for mentoring, education, and continued exploration of who we are as therapists and how we can best be of service to our community while continuing to nurture ourselves and find that delicate balance.
As summer progresses and I begin to think about the academic year ahead, I find myself now feeling a spark of excitement for our monthly Book Club gathering and conversation; the existential dread of social connection has subsided in this context.
This is a space where I can belong, in my truest, most authentic form. A space where my imperfections are honored, my quirks are embraced, and my voice is valued. A place where the beauty in the struggle is celebrated, and where the light at the end of the tunnel is stoked by my community when my own fire is dwindling down to a small ember. I invite you to join us, wherever you are, in whatever season of life you are navigating. Come as you are, and stay as long as you’d like. You have a place where you belong.
