When Concerts are Your Congregation

For those of us who did not grow up going to a church or temple congregation, and for those of us who did and no longer feel at home in those spaces, the longing for connection and community can be overwhelming. How does a person find those with common interests? Those we feel comfortable enough to sing with, dance with, and cry with? As a Jewish person who did not grow up going to synagogue, a queer person who feels out of place in most religious environments, and a highly emotional and sensitive person, I feel like my place of worship is at a concert. 

On August 9th, I made my way over to SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, California for the long-awaited Era’s Tour with 70,000 strangers. As someone who had never gone to a concert alone, I was understandably anxious and afraid of getting lost, being surrounded by strangers in an otherwise overwhelming and loud environment. From the moment I got on the Metro to the station, my fellow Swifties and I started trading friendship bracelets made in advance to share our excitement and willingness to connect with these strangers all here for the same thing- to experience the joy and pain of Taylor Swift’s music through the last 17 years. During the 3 ½ hour show Swift put on, I screamed, sang, danced, and cried along with these 70,000 new best friends who sang, danced, and cried along with me. The emotional and adrenaline high lasted long before the concert began and almost a week later, I feel it still within me now looking at my pile of bracelets traded and listening to the songs performed. 

Like a place of worship, members of the “congregation” at a concert look up to the heavens/stage to watch someone deliver a service. Whether that service is playing music or giving a touching sermon, we may feel moved by those words and sounds. For myself, I feel chills when hearing certain songs or lyrics. It sometimes feels like the music touches my bones or the deepest reaches of my brain and the music lives and breathes within me. I remember many years ago, in high school, listening to the song “Carry On” by fun. and bursting into tears. I cannot recall what was happening at that time in my life, but I remember the feeling the music elicited in me- catharsis. 

While the Era’s Tour was a moment for my inner child and emotional adult self to feel and be seen, some other concert experiences are just as powerful and important. In 2017, I saw the band The Staves at the Troubadour in Los Angeles, which is a small, historic, standing-room-only venue. The Staves are a folk singer trio of sisters who I regularly describe as angels who come down to sing their haunting melodies to us common folk. Never in my life have I had a concert experience like that one. The crowd did not sing along. We stood. We listened. During one of their songs, Damn It All, there is a bass line throughout the song that feels hypnotic in the tight-knit space of the venue. I remember feeling like we were caught in a trance as the sisters played and the state only broke in the seconds after the songs’ conclusion as we all collectively went back into ourselves. 

While the love and reverence between an audience and performer cannot be understated, it is the connection between audience members that really make the experience feel holy. We stand together, sometimes for hours before a show. We experience the same performance, sometimes also for hours at a time. What makes us close is the intention of being in this shared space for a shared purpose- to enjoy; to feel; to love. The music might make us feel different things, but we all listen to the same songs and in a way, leave feeling more connected to ourselves and fellow concertgoers past the encore. 

We cannot understate the importance of community in our own healing. Connection is a cornerstone of mental health. If you're feeling alone, please reach out to find connection with myself or any of our other mental health professionals at Gather and Grow OC for support.

Disability and Pride

As both a queer and disabled therapist, I have the responsibility and privilege to be aware of how accessibility and pride intersect. I was disabled before I ever knew I was queer, and now as the Covid-19 pandemic continues thriving in our spaces, I feel inclined to speak on how I believe that there is no equality or equity until we can ALL experience pride and community in a safe environment.

 Pride would never have been possible without our most vulnerable community members speaking up. The Human Rights Campaign reports that around 36% of LGBTQ+ people identify as disabled in some way. Although disabled people have rights protected by the American with Disabilities Act, I know from personal experience and stories from friends how we can be passed up for job opportunities, experience (micro)aggressions from authority, and be plain ignored when asking for support from medical professionals. The National Institute for Health estimated the average life expectancy of someone with a registered disability that falls under governmental rights is just under 50 years while a non-disabled person is around 80. Additionally, a disabled person is more likely to struggle with their mental health due to a variety of factors including pain, monetary stress (thanks, Capitalism), discrimination, direct violence, and isolation.

 When I see another person with my disease “out in the wild,” there is an instant connection. I can let my guard down because this other person gets it– gets me in a way that people who don’t have to act as a vital organ 24/7 literally cannot. And if this other person is also queer? They basically become my best friend for however long that conversation lasts. It’s the common ground that makes these different communities feel warm and safe for me.

 I’m lucky in a sense that my diseases don’t affect my lung flow and I am physically able to work both online and in-person. I’m lucky that I survived Covid with narrowly avoiding a hospital stay. I know many people and are connected by friends who are not this lucky. Covid is a mass-disabling event and for those who were already disabled, a mass-extinction event. Depending on the news source, anywhere from 20%-60% of the people who have passed from Covid were disabled. I remember watching the news in 2021 or early 2022 and was deeply affected by the reporter who said, almost gleefully, that it’s mostly disabled people who have passed away and that’s great news. As if disabled lives are disposable. As if my life and my friends' lives are worthless. Now let's add in the hate and vitriol our elected politicians are spewing about queer people across the country. It’s horrifying/terrifying/rage inducing/despair laden/disgusting.

 So, with all that being said, what can we do?

I believe in a disease mitigation method. That means wearing masks indoors and outdoors when in densely populated areas; not going places when feeling any type of sickness; prioritizing rest over productivity to better support my immune system; asking for assistance and time off when needed; and socializing with other queer and disabled folks in my community. I do not believe it is asking too much for other people to value disabled people’s lives. I do not believe it is asking too much to value queer people's lives. The more of us there are in the world, the louder and prouder we are, the communities we live in are better for it. If not for us, we wouldn’t have a Pride celebration to begin with.

 I am disabled and proud. I am queer and proud. I show my pride by working with my community in a professional and personal space. Would you join me in making the world safer for people like me?

 —
HRC Foundation, 2023. Understanding Disability in the LGBTQ+ Community. https://www.hrc.org/resources/understanding-disabled-lgbtq-people

 LGBTQ+ Map, 2023. LGBT People with Disabilities. https://www.lgbtmap.org/file/LGBT-People-With-Disabilities.pdf

 Roberts, 2020. The Swiss Cheese Model of Pandemic Defense. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/12/05/health/coronavirus-swiss-cheese-infection-mackay.html

The Strangest Job in the World

Growing up, I had a vague idea of what I wanted to do as a career. I always thought I would end up as a doctor of some sort but never actually processed what becoming a doctor entailed. For a while, I thought I wanted to be a marine biologist because I love SCUBA diving and being outside, but I did not know anyone who was a marine biologist to explain what they really do day-to-day. It was not until after I achieved my Bachelor’s degree did it start to sink in the things I actually enjoyed doing and the things I hated.

My therapy journey started when I was 18 and newly graduated from high school. I was severely depressed and scared about the future, and the few sessions I had with that first therapist ended when I started college. I felt fine for a while, but the depressed feelings came back with a vengeance. I started seeing a school counselor who was the first person who introduced me to mindfulness. She supported me until graduating in 2017. At graduation, I was working a job I thought could be my future, but it ended up being a dead-end, which made me feel hopeless and confused about the major and career path I had chosen. After leaving that job, I started seeing a new therapist: Ashley.

 Ashley supported me through two difficult years of self-discovery after I finished undergrad and supported me on the path to becoming a therapist myself. In fact, after one particularly hard work day, I remember asking, “What do you think I should do with my life?” And she said, “Honestly, I can see you being a freaking awesome therapist.”

It was like a lightbulb lit up in my head. I did a minor in psychology, so I had the prerequisites covered for a Masters's program, but I wanted to make sure that this was the job for me, so I enrolled in an ‘Abnormal Psychology’ class at a community college to dip my toes into school again. I loved it, and for the first time in my memory, I could see a future for myself that did not feel bleak, depressing, and unfulfilling.

Now, in 2023, with a completed Master’s of Science degree in Counseling, I feel more at home in my body and in the world than ever before. That being said, I want to acknowledge that this is the strangest job in the world. Think about it…you come into a room with a near stranger and tell them about your trauma and they mostly sit and listen. They jump in with validation and thought-provoking questions, and then you leave, only to come back a week or two later. As someone who has always been a confidant for their friends and family, this is an absolute dream job. From a therapist's point of view, we have a huge privilege to share space and hold onto some of the highest highs and lowest lows of our clients every day that we work.

One hour of the day might be helping someone grieve a relationship, while the next hour is playing card games with a kiddo while talking about their favorite animals. Next, we could be supporting a couple deciding on whether to try for a child, and then meet with an individual who just needs a space to breathe in silence. Compared to all the other jobs in the world, it is very strange! We have to be able to anticipate the unexpected because we never truly know what will happen with someone over the next hour.

 I love this job. I love being able to see people how they want to be seen and celebrate them for every win that they share. I love how this job makes me think in ways I never have before. I love that I get to be fully me while I watch people learn how to be fully themselves. Starting this career felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place after a hole had been in my life for so long. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to work with so many wonderful people, and I know that I’ll be doing this for a long while.
 

Warmly,

Kasey Mandelbaum

---