I have my own EMDR therapist. Even after more than a decade of using EMDR as a clinician myself, I recognize the value of having someone to walk alongside me through the stickier parts of my past—those pieces that subtly shape how I show up in the world.
Over the past few weeks, we’ve been exploring a sensation that comes without an accompanying memory. It’s intense—like standing on the edge of a vacuum, a vast nothingness, accompanied only by a deep sense of foreboding and the nails-down-a-chalkboard quality that makes your skin crawl (IYKYK).
Being the slightly disobedient client that I am, I tried to hunt down the memory connected to this sensation between sessions. I looked through time frame after time frame. Nothing. Just that feeling of teetering on the precipice. I began to experiment, simply sitting with the sensation—allowing myself to “hang out” with that edge—knowing that we would explore it more fully in session.
When session came, we approached it together. I dipped my toe into that void—and for the first time, I realized: this “nothing” wasn’t a missing memory. It was a lack of words.
What is the image? No words. What is the negative cognition? No words. Every time I stepped out of that space, I could describe my experience—but stepping back in, the words disappeared again. Observing this in myself was, quite honestly, strange and humbling.
And it made me think about my clients. What happens when language is absent—or simply insufficient—to capture the experience of a memory or sensation? What do we do when the answer is “nothing”?
Nothing might mean:
- Nothing is changing.
- I feel blank.
- I perceive no image, no colors, only a void.
- Or it might mean something entirely different—something unique to the individual’s internal landscape.
This work reminds me that EMDR is not just about uncovering memories or labeling thoughts. It’s about witnessing experience exactly as it presents itself—even when words fail. And sometimes, sitting with the “nothing” is where the most profound work happens.
For me, this edge is not something to fear—it’s something to explore, to notice, and to respect. In doing so, I honor the complexity of human experience, and I deepen my understanding not only of myself but of the clients I am privileged to accompany on their own journeys.
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