My Journey of Personal Transformation: An Autoethnographic Perspective on the Meaning I Ascribe to My Lived Experiences of Music and Imagery (MI) Training during the COVID-19 Pandemic

Abstract

Is it possible to experience healing and growth when you grieve? How and where do you find meaning again? During the COVID-19 pandemic, many people were looking for answers to these questions. This autoethnography explores how I experienced personal transformation through the method of Music and Imagery (MI) therapy in the midst of the pandemic and huge personal loss. This transformation also impacted my faith in Christ. Through documenting my journey using music listening, artwork, journaling, memories, and peers’ feedback, I realized just how possible it was to grow and find healing in trying times. I pieced all the information together like a jigsaw puzzle until I could see the complete picture.

1. Introduction

There is no doubt that during the COVID-19 pandemic, many people struggled on various levels. Anxiety, depression, and PTSD increased (Chen et al. 2021); Pietrabissa and Simpson (2020) also described heightened states of depression, loneliness, and grief after the death of a loved one during COVID-19. According to the World Health Organisation (WHO 2022), over 6.5 million people had died as a result of this virus infection by mid-October 2022. Dying in isolation has been discussed in research studies, both from the patient’s point of view and that of the loved ones. Capozzo (2020) argues that, even in a pandemic, it is not acceptable to have to die alone, and that fear and anxiety are heightened if one is alone while being sick, hospitalised, or dying. The negative impact of isolation on the patient, hospital staff, and family members was demonstrated by Ann-Yi et al. (2021), who found that patients regarded the well-being of their loved ones as the second most important priority for their well-being. In a survey by Carson et al. (2021) which focused on the impact of losing a loved one during the pandemic, findings indicated that post-traumatic stress increased dramatically, while post-traumatic growth was very low.

In writing this autoethnography, I hoped to understand my own experience of dealing with the profound grief and disappointment of losing a loved one during the pandemic. During this process, I became aware of a renewed connection to God as my refuge and Saviour. Becoming vulnerable on an emotional level was part of this writing, but only to gain deeper insight into and interpret the significance of the experience (Freeman 2018). I hope that readers of this autoethnography, which attempts to convey a deeper view of my experience, will come to better understand life in general, as we experience it communally (Hamdan 2012), especially as this pandemic still has a global influence on our well-being.

Music therapy is reflexive in nature as the therapist needs to understand the client’s perspective to do the best for the client in clinical practice (Devlin 2018). Receptive music therapy has at its core active listening to music (Wigram et al. 2002). When one listens to music, there can be various ways to respond, including verbal response, drawing, or movement. Listening can also be experienced in silence. (Grocke and Wigram 2007). The music choice is dependent on what kind of experience the client seeks as clients’ responses to the music listening can be physical, intellectual, emotional, aesthetic, and/or spiritual (Bruscia 2013). In Music and Imagery (MI) the client listens to music while drawing. Only one piece of music is used and repeated until the drawing is completed. Focusing on one image ensures containment and a deep emotional experience for the client. The drawing can also serve as a helpful tool for discussing the experience after listening (Summer 2015).

The importance of the lived experiences as part of the research paradigm, according to Muncey (2010) is to ensure that the focus is on which experiences are meaningful. Muncey also argues that these kinds of cathartic meaningful lived experiences should be described in narrative form. Listening to music as a lived experience can have a profound transformational effect, even when and maybe especially when difficult situations, such as loss, are being explored. The lived experiences of people while listening to music are described by Gabrielsson (2011) as especially strong.

I had enrolled to do a specialised MI course in Scotland to enhance my music therapy practice work—the ticket for my flight was already bought. However, because of the pandemic travel restrictions, the training had to be done online. At the same time, my oldest brother was in the hospital with a brain tumour, and he could not be visited. In this autoethnography I will try to describe my experience of this MI training, while at the same time not being able to make any contact with my dying brother. The question that I wanted to answer for myself was: What meaning can I ascribe to my experiences of MI training while dealing with a personal struggle during the COVID-19 pandemic? In my case, MI became a tool to deal with my pain. In dealing with my loss, I found myself asking questions about religion and faith, including my own Christianity. At the same time, I was wondering about the thousands of other people in a similar situation who might not be so fortunate to have coping skills or tools.

2. Procedures

I chose a personal narrative autoethnography to answer the question. With the autoethnographic approach I could recount specific events and experiences and analyse their significance within a broader context (Ellis and Bochner 2000). For the Music and Imagery (MI) training, I had to take the role of client. Therefore, it was quite natural for me to write from the first-person’s perspective. Bearing in mind that meaning is not static or tangible, I needed to do a lot of introspection for my narrative to make sense to and resonate with the reader (Kim 2015). Sensory information contributes to the reliability of one’s memories, so I made use of various methods during this investigation to ensure the reliability of my account (Muncey 2005).

First, I made use of photographs that gave me some perspective on the background of my relationship with my brother, Henry. I obtained permission from everybody on the photographs before I included them in this article. Second, I drew on the content, both artwork and music, that I used during the training, which included the months of supervision after the coursework. All the images that are included in this script, are my drawings. Third, I attempted to give an account of my memories which were diarised during that time. Fourth, I asked my peers to share their memories about how they perceived my experiences during the training. They all gave their informed consent to participate in this study. Their feedback was coded and the themes that emerged are included in this narrative.

I engaged with the autoethnographic narrative in the way that I would assemble a jigsaw puzzle. I felt like the pieces of my story had to be solved like a puzzle for me and others to understand it. I divided my story puzzle into four stages. Stage one, constructing the frame or border of the jigsaw puzzle, is the background to my ‘story’. In stage two I took a very close look at my experiences during the MI training. This was like sorting and grouping the puzzle pieces after having turned them all picture-side up. Stage three was filling in the centre noticing how the picture unfolds and kept working until it was complete. Stage four of the exercise was to get an objective look at the picture as a whole and reflect. Only then could I start to make sense of it all.

These four stages coincide well with the three-step method suggested by Chang (2016) to engage with the autoethnographic data. The first step, fracturing and connecting, meant that I had to categorise the data, after which the separate elements were connected again to make sense in the wider context. In this case, the connection point is the effect of COVID-19 on well-being. In the second step, zooming in and zooming out, I looked at the data in detail before putting the pieces back into the ‘bigger picture’ again similar to assembling a puzzle, trying to fit all the pieces. Chang (2016) describes the third step as a creative step that ensures a holistic view within the context. This step is referred to as insight, intuition, and impression by Creswell and Poth (2016). The puzzle was completed. I stepped back, looked at the whole, included the themes derived from my peers’ feedback, reflected and followed my intuition, and used my insight to share impressions that were meaningful to me and also to a broader readership.

3. My Journey

3.1. Background: Photographs and Their Story

Everybody faces a blank piece of paper, no matter what they’ve written or painted or composed before. I can’t imagine approaching every single project without doubt.

Stephen Sondheim

In this photo (Figure 1), Henry is on the left with me on his arm with all our siblings. This picture already portrays the bond there was between us. It is clear in the photo, in the way he holds me and holding my other foot, that he cared for his little sister. I am the sixth of seven children and Henry, my oldest brother, was 17 years my senior. From a very young age, our relationship was established through music. We both studied music. I remember very well how I ran home from school to join him when he started his music teaching career at a high school in the afternoons. I was a bridesmaid at his wedding (Figure 2). This was a highlight in my young life, as it was the first time that I played such an ‘important part’ at a wedding! Getting my hair done and wearing the long dress was particularly special. To this day, I still have my mini wedding album, which my mother put together for me at the time.

When I was asked to carry his first-born son to the pulpit for his baptism (Figure 3) three years later, I felt noticed by my brother. It was only weeks after my grandmother had passed away and having this responsibility to hold a new life in my arms, was significant, and it certainly strengthened our bond.

We were brought up in a Christian home, and our bond in faith and music was strong. Our father passed away when I was 15, and because Henry was already married by then I was unaware of his intentions. He tried to fulfill the role of father to my youngest brother and me.

In 1983, I went to university, and the following year Henry was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Due to the big age gap, I was not involved in his life much at that stage and had no idea how this diagnosis impacted him. My only memories are of him in and out of institutions for years. In 2004 we fetched him from an institution when our mother passed away. Everybody was nervous and unsure about how he would behave at the funeral. It was 20 years since the diagnosis and his condition remained unchanged.

Henry got divorced at that time and after that managed to live independently in a flat. From around 2007 I became more involved in his life again. He was lonely, and as he was very creative, I bought him paint, brushes, and some canvasses.

He started painting again, and his images were all about nature. I thought that the themes of his paintings brought him peace and tranquillity (Figure 4).

Although we were living on opposite sides of the country, I visited him as often as I could. We took long walks and shared ice-creams and lunches. Figure 5 is an example of one of our walks to an ice-cream shop and just enjoying each other’s company.

We also made music together and he became the main inspiration for me to continue my studies. I qualified as a music therapist in 2013 and the same year we celebrated his 65th birthday. One year later, on my sister’s 65th birthday, Henry and I had a long conversation about him continuing his studies (Figure 6). It was another significant moment in our relationship, as now I felt that he was treating me as an adult, an equal, and not his little sister anymore. He shared a deep disappointment with me.

He wanted to pursue a new career in theology and was disappointed at having been turned down, firstly because of his age, but also because of his diagnosis. I tried to convince him that he could feel fulfilled by writing articles, or a book, or some music. Little did I know then that this conversation would lead to Henry composing his “Six Sandglass Youth Songs”. I decided to enrol for a MA degree in Positive Psychology and I completed my studies in 2018, and Henry published his book of songs (Figure 7). My focus was on the exploration of Guided Imagery and Music as a well-being intervention, and Henry described his motivation for writing the songs as the impact of shortcomings in worship dogma.

Henry was diagnosed with a brain tumour in February 2017 and three operations followed. I made every effort to visit him in the hospital each time (Figure 8). We sang together. We were reminded of the Dutch songs that our mother used to sing to us. It was possible to lift the heavy spirit of being sick through music, laughing, and praying together and there was also an opportunity for me to connect with his sons around his bed (Figure 9). Each time the doctors claimed success, but every time the tumour grew back rapidly. He had 41 radiation sessions between February and June 2018.

We gathered as a family for his 70th birthday in November 2018 and on this occasion, he gave me and each of my sisters a precious bracelet (Figure 10). The inscription is from Scripture: Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. This gesture of giving presents to your siblings on your birthday stayed with me. Also, the significance of the gift. It was simple and inexpensive, yet the message that it carried, that we were believers and that our faith in God was still binding us together, felt important. I believe it was yet another way for Henry to try and fulfil the role of my absent father, being the carer. He wanted to make sure that we would be fine without him. I believe also wanted us to know that he was fine.

On the day of his birthday celebrations, he was still playing the old family pump organ at his home (Figure 11). He played The Little Drummer Boy with the melody in the left hand, and I can recall the squeaking pedals as he was pumping away. Although it was such a simple tune, the playing gave him so much pleasure and is one of my fondest memories. I wondered in hindsight whether he chose this specific song because of its simple message. Did he relate to the poor boy? Or the fact that God expects nothing of us except our faith?

On that day, we did not know that it would be the last time that all the siblings would be together. We spent time around a good meal and took a lot of photos. I recall how I asked my brothers to gather around me with my selfie stick (Figure 12). These memories will be treasured as part of my life journey.

The last operation was performed May in 2020. This was in the depth of the pandemic, yet the surgery was unavoidable as my brother’s health was deteriorating fast. He was in ICU for 30 days, and he passed away on 4 June 2020. Although we could not visit him, his son had him listen to all our voice messages and prayers for him. He did not react, but I believe that he could hear and understand. I thought back to his birthday and the bracelets. Could it have been that he knew it might be one of his last gifts to us? The inscription on each bracelet could also have been a message from him. Did he hope that we would stay faithful and trust in God?

At his funeral, which was postponed for weeks due to the pandemic, I chose to throw seven spades full of ground into the grave (Figure 13). One spade for each sibling, but also to remember the symbolism of seven being the perfect number according to Scripture.

3.2. Fracturing and Connecting: Personal Notes during MI Training

Music, because of its specific and far-reaching metaphorical powers, can name the unnameable and communicate the unknowable.

Leonard Bernstein

3.2.1. Day 1

My first picture during the course (Figure 14), using the music: Ave Maria by Astor Piazzolla ([1984] 2014), written for oboe and piano. I chose the recording by Andrea Ridilla and Fernanda Canaud (https://youtu.be/Pe2FxyiALdM, accessed on 1 June 2020).

MI is a therapeutic method where music and imagery are used together to give insight into a specific problem/issue. The MI method was developed by Lisa Summer who was also our trainer. MI therapy is part of a continuum model where the first step is to support clients who need help in finding and developing their internal resources (Summer 2002), or personal strengths, such as patience, gratitude, leadership, etc. (Peterson and Seligman 2004). In turn, these resources can be applied in the re-educating of the client around their problem or issue. Lastly, it can lead to transformation for the client (Summer 2015).

In an MI session, the problem or issue is established first between the therapist and the client. Then a piece of meaningful and suitable music is collaboratively selected. It should be music that suits the issue, for example, if the client needs to improve patience, the music must have qualities that will enhance patience. The client then draws a picture while listening to the chosen music. The music is repeated until the image is completed, after which the process is discussed (Scott-Moncrieff et al. 2020).

As an introduction to our course, we were asked how we all were. I had to share that my brother was in ICU and that I was preoccupied with the fact that I could not visit him because of COVID-19 restrictions. Also, the fact that Henry was unexpectedly deteriorating was worrying. Being in the group of MI students and facilitators reassured me that I was not completely alone. I was surrounded by people who cared and understood. Their presence and the music connected me with an amazing tenderness. The hands I drew represent both giving and receiving support. I labelled this mandala: trusting in that balance.

The content of the first learning session included the following:

• Don’t avoid
• Get close to yourself
• Don’t try to be too smart
• Listen to others

One of my colleagues said something that resonated with me: You are in pain because you are alive. Since this was coming from an observing friend, I realised that this was a common truth and that there are many others out there also feeling pain. At the same time, it gave me hope, as I was certainly alive.

3.2.2. Day 2

On our second day of the course, we were given practical examples of how to engage in a full MI session where re-educative work needed to be done. The pre-talk (establishing the issue), transition (choosing of music), induction (preparing the client for the listening), and active listening and drawing were demonstrated after which we had to practise this after being asked to:

• Be open, be curious
• Accept whatever the music brings
• Challenge yourself to be genuinely authentic
• Don’t try to solve
• Try to see whatever is there clearer

In this instance, we all listened to music that our facilitator chose from Schumann’s ([1849] 1993) 5 Stücke im Volkston, Op. 102: No. 2 “Langsam”. The rendition by Maria Kliegel, recorded in 1993, was used. (https://open.spotify.com/track/2mEBL8vZSSrohpMETYkyVb?si=56f4bd31e02c4927, accessed on 2 June 2020).

Reflecting on the process of making this drawing (Figure 15) while listening to the music, these were my thoughts: I feel a little stuck but there is some acceptance about the universality of it. It is not only me feeling this, but everybody is stuck in COVID-19. Also, there is a sense of letting go of the tension that the music and the circumstances have provoked. Yet, it’s not gone; it’s not fixed; it’s not solved; it is there; it is real and it is even growing! I called this picture: Sostenuto.1

3.2.3. Day 3

In our first dyad, where two students worked together as client and therapist, my focus as a client was on the need to allow myself to be vulnerable and to grieve. I grew up in a social culture of always being grateful and not giving in to more challenging emotions such as sadness. In the Christian faith, this is linked to the message found in 1 Thessalonians 5:16–18: “Always be joyful. Always keep on praying. No matter what happens, always be thankful, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus” (The Living Bible 1971, p. 188). I realised that I felt frustrated because honest emotions were ‘not allowed’, ever. I remembered a similar feeling when my father died. We had to be grateful because his suffering had ended and were not allowed to cry for our loss. I realised how warped this belief was. Yet, Scripture tells us that even Jesus cried for the loss of His friend (John 11:35, The Living Bible 1971, p. 91)! I might have understood it incorrectly, but now, I felt at last, that I had the opportunity to dig into these two conflicting concepts: on the one hand, feeling vulnerable and on the other hand needing to be strong and grateful. I thus chose a concerto, as it is a dialogue between an instrument (lonely and “vulnerable”) and an orchestra (strong). The music I chose was Boccherini’s ([1770] 2017) Cello concerto in B-Flat Major: Adagio. We listened to the recording by Jacqueline du Pré from the album The Heart of the Cello. (https://open.spotify.com/track/5lWrKno3WGaPLg8hwGuzQ0?si=db5e4d02f9504a46, accessed on 3 June 2020).

In the concerto the long melodic lines, predictable, stable, cello solo, and the string orchestra supporting it with a clear metre throughout kept me safe. Although there is no piano in the music I selected, I started by drawing a piano as it is the first instrument that both my brother and I learned to play as young children. But then I felt that I had to let out some of my frustration in terms of feeling sad for him. Hence I drew the black triangles. In the end, even this feeling was quite contained, therefore I added the green half-circle with some new growth. I labelled this picture: Comfortable with the uncomfortable (Figure 16).

This realisation was, contrary to what I expected, quite strengthening and it gave me hope amidst feeling confused about my own emotions. For me, this picture meant being more genuine about my real feelings.

One of the main purposes of MI is to use music that matches closely the feeling associated with the ‘issue’. One needs to demand the emotional honesty of oneself and wait with an attitude of expectancy; a state of total receptivity. It is more important to discover that it feels great letting go of control in favour of finding a solution: Give oneself over to the music to get closer to oneself. I could get back into myself with great relief, understanding emotions, also repressed feelings, and expressing them on paper. This meant that nothing had changed, except that when I reflected on the experience, it felt much softer or kinder. It is lighter because there was a discharge of something negative. There is a new openness within you that can be filled with something positive. The difficult issue feels less overwhelming and is more tolerable. I started to enjoy accepting my inner complexity without trying to simplify it. This is in line with the concept that Romanyshyn (2021) describes as “(r)e-search with soul in mind, re-search that proceeds in-depth and from the depth, is about finding what has been lost, forgotten, neglected, marginalized, or otherwise left behind” (p. 13). In this way, we get to know ourselves and can realise who we are in our life worlds.

Through interacting with the group and facilitators, I learnt that it was important to find the tension within myself. One must own it, name it, and stay with it. One must move through the difficulty to integrate it into one’s wider experience.

3.2.4. Day 4

My brother died on this day.

Therapy is about illuminating struggle. The support of my study group was exceptional. They took a minute to send me personal messages on Zoom: This is what I got from them:

I’m sending you so much love and support. I hope you can feel it.

Sending love! It means so much that you are here today with us. Thank you, I’m here for you always.

I’m sending you my wishes to go through this time and appreciate you are here today.

I am sending you my love and my feeling of being there for you, very close! You know that my dear!

It is good that you are here.

I’m sorry for your loss. Sending you love and support to hold you through this challenging time so amazed at your strength to be here with us today. Thank you for your presence and courage.

I felt your pain in my heart so deeply! I can feel your brother is with my twin brother and my sister. I love you!

In my session on that day, I chose the original Joshua Bell version of Anna’s theme from the soundtrack of the motion picture The Red Violin. The composer is John Corigliano (1998). This choice helped me to own and accept my sadness because of the loss of my brother. I felt so alone and this is clear in the image (Figure 17). I realised that I need to take responsibility for my feelings and not try and negate them. (https://open.spotify.com/track/275rJuuD6y2ogk5HDGDjp3?si=0c9dd83d91304849, accessed on 4 June 2020).

I gained deep insight into my sadness. The fact was that I felt so isolated. The music conveyed this sense of being isolated and it felt like an allowance to grieve. The music was like a hand on my shoulder. I can compare this feeling of the music being there for me with Gabrielsson’s (2011) description of being “embraced by the music” (p. 100). The music helped me being alone by accompanying me. Gabrielsson (2011) also speaks about “identifying with the music” (p. 102). In this case, I felt like the music was identifying with me. Bonny (2010), the inspiration behind the Bonny Method of Guided Imagery and Music (BMGIM) explained how she wanted clients to have emotional experiences while listening to music which would bring healing. This is what I encountered.

3.2.5. Day 5

This was the last day of doing course work and I cannot say that I was not relieved. There was so much support for me and an insight into my grief, but I felt that I now needed time on my own. Although our last exercise was a group drawing, each participant selected their music. I chose Bottesini’s ([1870] 2020) Elegy in D major No. 1 for double bass and piano, played by Robert Oppelt, recorded in 2020. (https://open.spotify.com/track/1ytPiOSoKrKYcWOM7830iO?si=74a6165d3da94c7a, accessed on 5 June 2020).

There is something very sad and melancholy about this music. The form is predictable and safe. Yet there is some movement in the melody line which helps the listener not to get stuck. I felt similar in the drawing process to when I drew the ’Sostenuto’ picture (Day 2). However, I wanted to use colours to represent the awesome people who were with me in my isolated pain over the past few days. I labelled this image: Left up in the air because this was exactly how I felt at that moment (Figure 18).

These mixed emotions of feeling isolated and left up in the air, yet safe and surrounded by people who cared, made me realise how clients who come for therapy might feel. The need to feel heard and to experience empathy. This is a universal need, as Edwards (2010) claims that, although we are individuals, being human also means that we are subjective and social beings.

3.3. Zooming In and Zooming Out

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.

Albert Einstein

As part of qualifying as an MI therapist, one is expected to do a lot of personal MI sessions. Many of these sessions are supervised. These sessions were particularly helpful in my grieving process.

The advanced level of MI therapy is also called re-educative MI. The purpose of re-educative MI is to gain insight into, and a new perspective on, an existing internal issue such as anger, anxiety, guilt, or sadness. The purpose is not to ‘fix’ the matter, but to better understand or to deal with something that had previously been too overwhelming, and ultimately to become more honest about it personally on an emotional level (Scott-Moncrieff et al. 2020).

During this difficult time for me, personal MI sessions had a significant impact on my emotions and functioning. I called two of these sessions “Deep pain”, as I struggled to accept the fact that I could not say goodbye to Henry. The mere thought that I did not know whether he knew we cared and would have wanted to be near him was extremely painful. I needed at least two sessions to process these feelings.

It was difficult to find the right music. I realised that this feeling had very deep, almost primordial, roots, which led me to look for mythical or archetypal symbols and sounds. Finding images, symbols, myths, and stories that can open the heart, is part of the role of art, literature, and depth psychology (Paris 2016). According to Jung ([1959] 1991), archetypes represent the real roots of our consciousness. They are the links with our past. It would seem to me that the trauma played quite a part here, and I was trying, subconsciously, to protect myself. Kalsched (1996) talks about archetypal defences: “The psyche seemed to be making use of ‘historical layers’ of the unconscious to give form to otherwise unbearable suffering” (p. 77).

I found the best music for this in the old Sami tradition of Scandinavia, music that had a shamanic, healing, and understanding tone. The music that I chose was ‘Gula Gula’ from the album of the same name. This unique music is from the Sami tradition and is authentically performed by Mari Boine (2001). (https://open.spotify.com/track/2f2njgO8zpacGTBpLUg18t?si=cd8de68c53ae4dc1, accessed on 10 June 2020).

In this song, her voice has an almost moaning quality, yet an empathetic ‘I feel with you, I feel for you’ is also present. The music gave me a chance to cry deeply without feeling guilty, and I felt it was okay to feel weak. In the first session, I just worked with my raw emotions and visualised the pain in my mind. I gave myself permission to cry and cry until it literally felt better.

In a follow-up session, I chose the same music, and this time, I felt that I could draw. I already had material processed in my mind, and words like ‘cold’, ‘rooted’, ‘unrefined’, and ‘honest’ stayed with me from the previous session. I felt terribly alone and was crying again. I thought of the colours blue and water. This reminded me of the snowman session (Day 4) just after I have heard the news, but these cold colours did not seem to work. The ancient feel of the music evoked an atmosphere of sitting at a fire for me (Figure 19).

I started with the black, but soon the flames were big and bright, with sparks in the foreground, each spark starting a possible new fire. During the process, the burning fire was simulating the burning pain, and it felt like it could go on forever. Yet the small, new fires also symbolised new possibilities and different dimensions. The important message for me was that there was life! Life after death. This was a very reassuring message in the midst of my sadness.

During this time, I asked my friends who did the course with me if they would send me feedback on how they experienced my reactions after receiving the news. I analysed their feedback and coded and themed it in ATLAS.ti.23. The three themes that emerged were Empathy, Respect and the Influence of the pandemic.

Empathy, according to Dos Santos (2022) is an ability to regulate emotional responses which are flexible enough to move between another’s and one’s own perspectives. The importance of self-empathy is also empathised by Dos Santos (2022) as “it improves our capacity to be empathic towards others” (p. 8). This was clearly seen in the first theme, which included deep shock and a genuine need to support me. This was linked to understanding from those who had similar experiences. Some of the quotations in this theme include: “I remember your news and I really felt for you. I recall feeling shocked. I lost my brother suddenly and felt I had lost part of myself with his passing”; “My first feeling was one of empathy and grief for your loss. It was hard to conceive what you must have been feeling”, and “I remember you were in tears sharing the drawing you have made. It was all snow with just a few strokes. It was a freezing drawing. I remember thinking: That’s frozen pain!”. Another touching comment was “I felt a huge urgency to be with you and caring for you, supporting you, because that is what a person needs in a grieving moment”.

The second theme was about the respect many of my colleagues felt after I decided to finish the course. After the course, a substantive load of homework in the form of practising the method follows. These comments from my friends motivated me to do the personal and supervised MI sessions. One such comment was: “I do remember being amazed that you had been able to turn up for the seminar when you must have been in turmoil inside after hearing such strongly emotional news, and I knew that it would bring a very strong challenge to the dyad experience”. Another comment that meant a lot to me, and I kept going back to it was: “I was surprised that you had decided to attend the training that day. It was hard to conceive what you must have been feeling”. When reflecting on this theme of respect, I understood that it was also a significant part of my culture to always respect others. In this instance, I would never have dropped out of the course out of respect for others as well as for myself.

The third clear theme was the impact of the pandemic, and how it struck everyone harder when this news was brought into the group and the training: “I believe that the many complications during the pandemic affected my level of engagement with the training” was one of those comments that made me realise I was not alone in this difficult situation. Another comment was: “It was a first for me, to be in our group, online, with you across the other side of the world…. To witness your sudden experience of loss and grief in this way was unreal”. One of the group members reacted as follows: “I felt frustrated, and we [two group members] decided to make a video call to you to stay with you. You needed it and you deserved it”. The memory of this call stayed with me and carried me through every difficult session I had during my time of grief. I realised just how fortunate and blessed I was to have such support!

3.4. Insight, Intuition, and Impressions

Pain will leave once it has finished teaching you.

Bruce Lee

After traumatic events, many people may also experience positive psychological change, which is referred to as post-traumatic growth (Tedeschi and Calhoun 2004). Post-traumatic growth refers to a transformational change, which can be seen in one or more of five distinct domains: first, personal strengths; second, new possibilities can be seen in a changed perception of the self; third, relating to others is different; fourth, new appreciation for life; five, spiritual growth becomes clear in a changed philosophy of life (Calhoun and Tedeschi 2014). Although Carson et al. (2021) reported that post-traumatic growth was observed in very low numbers in their survey during the pandemic, this was certainly not the case with me. When I completed the Post-traumatic Growth Inventory (PTGI) (Tedeschi and Calhoun 1996), significant changes were evident in the domains of personal strengths, appreciation of life, and spiritual growth.

Some of my personal MI sessions can be described as examples of transformative growth in these three areas. Hearns (2010) describes how their client ‘s experience in MI work was transformative and transformational when the client explained how they saw themselves differently. A client who felt that their journey was difficult and that they were stuck was described by Angulo et al. (2021). In this case, the music in the MI session had such a powerful effect that it ultimately led to change for the client. A sense of growth and expansion was also experienced by a client of Paik-Maier’s (2017).

Two of my sessions, which I will be focusing on below, were connected, with the first of the two being the catalyst for change. The transformation that I experienced during and because of these two sessions became clear.

Although the tears have subsided, the sadness remained acute, and I struggled with moving forward. I felt a little bit as if I were trapped in a maze and going around in circles (Figure 20). This feeling of ‘going round in circles’ brought to mind the song ‘The windmills of my mind’, composed by Michel Legrand ([1968] 2015). When I listened to the song, it also reminded me of the snowman session, as well as the session with the fire burning. (https://open.spotify.com/track/7waSF4UCc7xkc6x87zoc2L?si=74b679271cdc4a6b, accessed on 3 July 2020).

The English lyrics of the first verse by Alan and Marilyn Bergman are as follows:

Like a circle in a spiral

Like a wheel within a wheel

Never ending or beginning

On an ever-spinning reel

Like a snowball down a mountain

Or a carnival balloon

Like a carousel that’s burning

Running rings around the moon

My supervisor then suggested that I used an instrumental version of the song, so that my images could be explored. I chose the George Scaroulis version (2015). It also contains a cello, which is the instrument that always feels like it can contain me. (https://open.spotify.com/track/1KT9l65yYWP1IoOid5sVYe?si=24c12f7c13ab4f04, accessed on 10 July 2020).

Although my image is a maze, with different broken lines and various branches from the core, I called it ‘labyrinth’. This shift happened during the process of listening and drawing. Similar experiences had been described by Summer (2011) where their client expressed how finding focus, acceptance, contentment, and hope happened while drawing during an MI session. Another example is Liu’s (2021) client describing the process as if they were taken on an adventure. A labyrinth is a continuous path which leads to the centre, as long as there is forward movement. The autumn leaves to the left turning green on the right-hand side of the image is another sign of subconscious movement. This was a direct precursor for the next session when I used Nils Frahm’s (2021) music ‘Because this must be’ from the album Graz. (https://open.spotify.com/track/4CJUL27qGiX5MfHFcFpr38?si=d8a3652fec784cd1, accessed on 20 July 2020).

The music also goes ‘in circles’, but there is an atmosphere of empathy and a soothing quality to it. It was perfect for my ‘real’ labyrinth, and my motions during the listening and drawing process changed from the turmoil of a whirlwind to acceptance (Figure 21). I started to understand the real symbolic meaning of entering and exiting a labyrinth: taking whatever felt heavy and unbearable to the centre, and leaving it there to return without it, feeling lighter and accepting what cannot be changed. Labyrinths are ancient symbols, which want to lead from the visible to an invisible or divine dimension. The ultimate goal is to reach the centre, which will make the way back lighter and completely new (Ronnberg and Martin 2010). A labyrinth takes up as little as possible space with as long and difficult as possible a path. This complicated path is symbolic of the difficulty of the journey towards the centre or end goal (Chevalier and Gheerbrant 1996).

I experienced a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation of life during this session. Gratitude for life was also an experience described by various clients, especially after the realisation of the impact of COVID-19, by various clients during MI in a study by Jerling (2023). My personal strength was recognised not only by myself but also by people close to me including my supervisor: “I was struck by the thought of how well-resourced you must be”.

These personal MI sessions and the way in which I experienced the music and my own emotions, led me to realise that I have grown on a spiritual level as well. Spiritual experiences during MI sessions were noted by Paik-Maier (2017) when the client expressed their awareness of God’s presence, as well as Creagh and Dimiceli-Mitran (2018) who’s client experienced themselves as being clothed in shimmering attire by a beautiful figure during the music listening. My relationship with God has deepened as I was accepting the loss of my brother and realising that there was so much hope for a future, even after my life on earth. I noticed this already in the session which I labelled ‘Pain burning like fire’ (Figure 19) when I discovered that, for me at least, there was life after death. This realisation came almost as a surprise to me since I have been holding on to that inner conflict that I experienced and explored on day 3 of our course. How could God expect us to ALWAYS be joyful and grateful, even when we are feeling so much pain? In spite of this conundrum, I now realised that “the myth of redemption is so ingrained in our collective psyche” (Paris 2016, p. 150) that I want to be perfect too. Through this journey of loss and finding peace, I finally realised that God does not expect me to be perfect. He only expects me to keep growing: Romans 12:2 “Be a new and different person with a fresh newness in all you do and think” (The Living Bible 1971, p. 141).

My transformation became clear when I was preparing for a session using MI as a method to explore ‘the hero within oneself’ with a group of clients who are all suffering from PTSD.

In my search for music, I came across Jennifer Thomas’s (2018) ‘Rise of the Phoenix’ from her album The fire within. The phoenix is a mythical bird, who built its nest from frankincense and myrrh in preparation for its death. But the heat of its own body set the twigs alight, and the bird was reborn (Chevalier and Gheerbrant 1996). I sat down and while listening to this music made this drawing (Figure 22). (https://open.spotify.com/track/6RifxKDKsigAuYkzjxQA0u?si=35cad8170298403c, accessed on 20 August 2020).

The introduction to this music created a pulling feeling within me, and when the piano started, it felt as if I could fly. After one minute the music changed and it was clear to me that there was a struggle, but this was resolved, again taking me higher and higher. I was soaring. Similarly, during Mi sessions, Meadow’s (2015) client described their body as flowing; a sense of release was described by a client of Dimiceli-Mitran’s (2020). There is a lightness in the second half of the music, which I drew in the sun. The music, for me, portrayed the cycle of life with its ups and downs, but my faith helped me to realise that the journey is worth all these ups and downs, as it ends well. Gabrielsson (2011) describes people’s “visions of heaven, paradise (and) eternity” (p. 191), “spiritual peace, (a) holy atmosphere and Christian community” (p. 194), “music that conveys a religious message and contact with divinity” (p. 196) and even “meeting the divine, God” (p. 201), all while experiencing music.

4. Conclusions

After working through the loss of my brother in such difficult circumstances, I look at life differently; indeed, I have more compassion for others as well as for myself. Carson et al. (2021) hypothesised that more mature aged people who lost a loved one during the pandemic would be more resilient as they have a greater repertoire of coping skills. For me, having this therapeutic tool, Music, and Imagery, was certainly very helpful in my post-traumatic growth. In almost all the personal MI sessions I have described, I found myself immersed in the music. At times I stopped drawing and closed my eyes to just ‘be in the music’. This reminded me of Helen Bonny’s (2002) own description of trembling and shaking because her experience while playing the violin was that of exquisite beauty where the music just took over.

In a collaborative autoethnography, Rodd and Cohen (2022) described how music (in their case group singing) is instrumental for reconnecting with each other. Furthermore, they experienced how the music profoundly facilitated prisoners’ transcendental experiences and reconnection to and growth in their spirituality.

They concluded that “music will continue to flourish in environments where it is most needed” (Rodd and Cohen 2022, p. 8). For me, this was also true for my journey.

Wong et al. (2021) also discuss the transformative power of suffering. Research during the pandemic showed that flourishing, transformation, and innovation are possible in a time of great sorrow and grief. Examples include personal transformation, discovering inner resources such as faith, courage, and creativity, and finding new meaning in life (Wong et al. 2021). I can relate to all these ideas, and felt that the objective for writing this autoethnography was reached. I had an answer to my question: the meaning I ascribed to my experiences during the training was clear: Although this experience does not take away the pain of the loss, it motivates me to trust in God, to move forward, and to take care of my well-being and that of others. Growth during difficult times is certainly possible.

I realise how privileged I was to have this profoundly powerful tool of Music and Imagery. Using music from my playlist in a therapeutic setting was refreshing and I was surprised at how I came to choose some pieces, as well as unexpected physiological and emotional responses! I am curious to explore more unknown music, as well as working with clients and their music. I felt so empowered and liberated. I strongly believe that this can be the case for all of us.