Aim for Rapport, Not Favoritism

Initially, I believed that being a patient's favorite was a sign of a successful therapist. It's flattering to be wanted, right? In my early days, a young girl battling cancer taught me an important lesson. Our connection was instant, and soon, she relied exclusively on me for every medical procedure. Her eventual passing left me feeling completely burnt out, overwhelmed and contemplating whether being her 'favorite' really served her or I best. Our true role is to empower, not overshadow. We should encourage patients and families to recognize their own strengths and resilience, and to trust the wide support network around them, including other safe and capable colleagues.

True Advocacy Comes Through Earned Respect

As a novice, nestled in the 'music therapy bubble' of my internship, I was shielded from some of the harsh realities of advocacy. I now often find myself wondering what my supervisors dealt with behind the scenes. Starting my own program was an eye-opener, with some healthcare workers less enthused about music therapy than expected. When you study about advocacy in school, there is a lof of focus on crafting your elevator speech. While helpful, I've learned that advocacy isn't just about presentations or elevator pitches. It's about the daily interactions, the collaboration with colleagues, the balance between speaking and listening. It's how we conduct ourselves both at the bedside and away from it that shapes how our profession is perceived by others.

Balance Is Key

This is a lesson I'm perpetually learning. The vast and unique nature of music means its applications in a hospital setting are numerous. One day, it's playing Grateful Dead songs with a toddler and his dad, another day it might be holding a teenager's hand and breathing together through a dressing change. Recognizing that you can't be everything to every patient is crucial. Saying 'yes' to one opportunity often means saying 'no' to another. There are times for ambitious projects and research, and there are times when the best thing is to clock out on time, slow down and focus more on your life outside of MT-BC. Understanding and respecting your own limits is as important as understanding those of your patients.

Yes, the Work is Really That Beautiful

Despite the challenges, there are moments of pure, transformative beauty in music therapy. We are privileged to accompany patients and families through some of their most challenging moments. The magic in a mother's gentle hum to her dying child, the joy in a child's laughter while playing a 'fart piano' - these are moments of unspoken depth that music therapy brings to light. This magic, touches what medicine often cannot and brings humanness back to the bedside. Cherish and honor the beauty and uniqueness of your role.

As I reflect on these lessons, I realize how much music therapy has shaped not just my practice, but my understanding of life, empathy, and human connection. Here's to another decade of learning, growing, and making a difference through the power of music therapy.

Love, love, love,

Amy

When I got my first job, I was both advocating/educating a whole new hospital on what I did. I strived to build bridges of understanding and foster relationships while also finding my own footing. Along my way, I've found so many supporters. I've also heard well-intentioned words that sting and build and creep back into my ear again and again. "The fun lady is here!" "Oh, it's just music therapy!" "My daughter plays [insert instrument here] and could do this too right?"

No textbook I studied (and I’ve scoured many) prepared me for some of these unique challenges in our line of work. We can be the last to get resources, or struggle to secure a quiet space for therapy sessions. The administrative decision-making process can also feel like a silo. There are times when we’re left out of the loop, our input feels overlooked, and professional growth seems slow with limited opportunities for advancement. To quote Hamilton, "I want to be in the room where it happens!"

There can be also be a creeping feeling of stagnation, scant opportunities for growth, and, of course, the looming shadow of burnout. You’re exhausted, stressed out, with little time left for self-care. Some days, I barely have time to drink my, now, cold coffee. Over time, these layers might blend into a sobering sense of being undervalued.

Yet, in the very heart of these challenges lies our indomitable spirit. There’s no denying the hard work we put in. We create these incredible bonds with kiddos and witness palpable progress. We often stand in a stark contrast to moments when our efforts seem invisible to the wider world. Music therapists don’t always get the recognition we deserve. These words and these actions, subtle and trivial on their own, can compound to an icky feeling in our chest.

Speak Up

The hospital environment is often fast paced and your colleagues ma be juggling a number of patient needs at once. Don't wait for others to notice - speak up! Your work becomes more visible when you voice your experiences. Share your triumphs and trials. Those special moments - when a child smiled for the first time in days, or felt comfortable enough to share how they're feeling with you - they matter profoundly. Each story you tell elevates the understanding of music therapy's impact and why we have a seat at the table. It's not just the victories, though. Frustrations, too, are important. If you keep missing patient needs because of a lack of collaboration or you're feeling stuck with a difficult patient experience - your experiences are often not felt alone. Make sure your voice is heard.

Connect

I've found that the best way to show what music therapy is about is to let others see it in action. Let your colleagues in. Invite them to observe your sessions and witness firsthand the transformation that music can bring. Show them the value of what you do, dispelling the notion that it’s “just music therapy.” Over time, you can build a close-knit referral network. It’s more than just professional—it’s built on mutual trust. Trust in our shared mission to provide the best care possible.

Keep Learning

Clinical best practices evolve, and so do we. Even when you’re feeling undervalued, never stop being curious and open to learning and growing. Each course or workshop I attend is a personal commitment to refine my skills. It's about ensuring that we're armed with the latest techniques to offer the best care. Continue to learn new techniques, develop your skills, and show how indispensable you are. I also find that spending time learning lights a fire within me. It helps me stay excited for patient interactions and bring new creativity. Prove your worth, not to others, but to yourself.

Take Care of Yourself

Burnout is a real thing, and you matter just as much as the patients and families you help. It’s essential to remember that we can’t pour from an empty cup. Taking scheduled time off to recharge is crucial. Whether it's diving into a good book, spending quality time with loved ones, or simply taking a moment to breathe, these breaks ensure we return to work revitalized and fully present for my patients.. It’s not selfish, it’s self-preservation.

Music Therapy Love

One of the best forms of solace I’ve found is in the company of my fellow music therapists. Having a chat over a cup of coffee, sharing a quick laugh in between sessions, or even a nod of understanding can go a long way. Consider this your sign to reach out to a fellow MT today and send some love. I'm sure they could use it!

While our work might seem like a quiet melody in the bustling symphony of healthcare, it’s essential to remember - we are crucial. We make a difference. On those challenging days, hold on to the memories of the smiles, the breakthrough moments, and the healing that your music brought. Our work is not “just” anything. It’s powerful. It’s transformative. It’s necessary.

You're doing great work.

Love, love, love,

Amy

As a student, I remember hearing how things dramatically change when you have children of your own. More frighteningly, I heard of many music therapists choosing to leave the field entirely. It was too difficult to see and easier to understand the pain families must be feeling. I carried those worries with me throughout my pregnancy, hoping that my perspective would be different. Would I be able to continue to walk with patients and families undergoing long, medical journeys?

Mom Guilt is Real & Ever Present

I am so grateful that my hospital provided both my husband and I with generous parental leave. Becoming a mom was the biggest change I've ever gone through. After a very long and difficult labor, it took a while for Phoebe and I to find a rhythm. Finally, as we settled into a comfortable routine, it was time to go back to work. Those first few days were incredibly difficult and full of tears. I felt so guilty leaving my daughter to be with other people. I worried about the milestones I might miss and that we may never have the same type of bond.

At the same time, it felt GOOD to be back in a place where I was comfortable. Unlike my new role as mom, I knew what I was doing as a music therapist. There were no sleep regressions, teething or colic issues to navigate through. Somehow this feeling of relief and return to familiarity made me feel even more guilty. Was I being a good mother if I enjoyed time away from my daughter?

I am a worrier on the best days so navigating postpartum anxiety became a true challenge. I worried what she was doing when I wasn't there. I worried that I was spending the time wisely enough when I was with her. I worried I made the wrong decision going back to work. I worried if I quit or reduced my hours, I would resent the decision later. With support, I have learned to work with these worries and feelings of guilt - to notice the feelings but not let them consume me.

Patients Who Impact You Most, May Surprise You

Returning to work, I found myself being mindful around babies on my caseload, particularly those close to Phoebe's age. What would it be like to see those same sized hands donning IVs or hear those familiar cries during a blood draw?

Surprisingly, these little babes felt familiar and comforting. I better appreciated how amazing their growth spurts were. I celebrated new teeth popping through and teetering legs taking their first steps with a vigor that mirrored the excitement I had for my own daughter.

However, months after returning, I had the privilege of meeting a teenage boy and supported him throughout his treatment. While his prognosis was poor, his death was unexpected and left me with a deep ache for his family. It was a surprise that I had not prepared for. I found myself picturing him as a young baby, crying in a crib like the one in our nursery, or bouncing to similar rock hits that we liked to listen to together. I leaned on my interdisciplinary team and reinforced ways to balance the weight I carried home from work when I left for the day.

Your Priorities Will Shift & You May Slow Down

I've always held pride in being able to "do it all" and motherhood has humbled me in ways I had not imagined. Washing and folding (and refolding once Phoebe helps) laundry can take me three times as long. Chasing those quick little legs around the floor left me too tired to work on personal projects at the end of the day.

I considered reducing my hours or quitting the field entirely more than I care to mention. It was incredibly painful to walk out the door as my daughter reached for me. I wanted to spend more time at home, dancing around the living room with her and soaking in cuddles. I needed to reevaluate and redefine my priorities. I left work on time and took time by myself at the end of the day to reset. Processing with loved ones and others in the field has been instrumental to finding more of a balance.

It Is Possible To Wear Both Hats

I still am working and beginning to thrive again as a full-time music therapist. It's not all easy, but we're making it work.

Yesterday, my meals consisted of four different types of bread and two cups of coffee. Sometimes I go three days without showering and pull the same scrubs out of the hamper from the day before. The saying "the days are long but the years are short" is so deeply, painfully true. While merging mommy and music therapist has been demanding, I believe each role ultimately helps enhances the other. I cherish the time I have with my daughter. Each day I reminded how precious it is to see her grow, healthy and happy. Being Phoebe's mommy gives me a better perspective on what it means to care for my patients. Heck, I have trouble getting through routine immunizations, let alone lumbar punctures or dressing changes. My admiration for these families continues to grow exponentially.

Both jobs are arduous and can feel all consuming. What I want you to know is that IS possible. Find your circles of support, be realistic with what you can accomplish, and above all, be kind to yourself. You're doing a great job.

Months passed with negative test after negative test. The sinking realization came into focus that this process was going to be more difficult than I had imagined. Thus, began monthly visits with my OBGYN, transitioning to a speciality fertility clinic and finally navigating through full-blown in-vitro fertilization (IVF) treatments. Each step felt like a punch to the gut, as I had been assured time and again by my gynecologist to "just call me when you get pregnant".

I found out last year that I have a pretty intense case of polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). My fertility doctor referred to it as "super PCOS" due to my hormonal levels. In short, my body didn't ovulate like a normal person, which is kind of important from a "getting pregnant" standpoint. This made IVF our most logical choice.

If you're unfamiliar with IVF, it is a straightforward, yet daunting, process. You inject stimulating medications into your stomach to grow many eggs at once, rather than the one or two you'd grow naturally in a cycle. During this phase, you're monitored by frequent ultrasounds and blood draws. Once enough eggs have reached maturity, you undergo a sedated, surgical procedure, called an egg retrieval. This is where your fertility doctor "retrieves" these follicles. Mature eggs are fertilized with your partner or a donor's sperm sample. You wait for five days (years) to see if any of these fertilized eggs become an embryo. If you complete the cycle with embryos, these can be transferred back with, you guessed it, more medication and injections! Following transfer you wait, again, for two weeks (decades) to see if you are, indeed, pregnant. From start to finish, my process lasted about seven months with over 100 injections and needle sticks.

No part of the in-vitro fertilization process is easy or guaranteed. In fact, in the waiver signed acknowledged that this was going to be a very stressful experience. At this point, I thought I was used to stress. Research has shown that women with infertility have the same levels of anxiety and depression, as do women with cancer, heart disease and HIV. You gamble with thousands of dollars and your physical and mental health, just for the chance at having your own child. It is a waiting game with its own challenges, heartache and frustrations. It is an intensely lonely experience, especially since we are taught that talking about infertility is taboo.

Working in Pediatrics

Working in pediatrics, I am not unfamiliar with various waiting games and moments of intense heartache. We walk with patients through some of the darkest times in their lives. We spend time around others' children, using our understanding of development and bonding to support other families in difficult circumstances.

Being around children in the hospital is both a curse and a beautiful blessing. At times, being with infants was comforting. I was reminded how I enjoyed being around little ones and that if was lucky enough, I would probably be a good mom. Other days, being around children hit me like a ton of bricks. The smallest statements or actions that would catch in my throat. Hearing things like "you must have kids" or "you'd make such a good mom", said with the best of intentions, weighed heavy on my heart. A patient might reach out for a hug or to sit in my lap as we played music. I would ache for the opportunity to have an experience like that with a child of my own.

Navigating A New Role As "Patient"

Doctor appointments were now part of my "new normal". Due to the pandemic, I couldn't have my husband with me, enduring every poke, prod, ultrasound and surgery alone.

Being alone for these experiences, I vowed to be a "good" patient and to face each medical task with as much courage as I could muster. Through each challenge, a sonohysterogram, hysterosalpingography, hysteroscopy, laparoscopic surgery, egg retrieval, ultrasound, and embryo transfer, I vowed I would make it through. I tried my best to smile when I walked in for a surgical appointment, even when I was ushered to the payment booth first being assured after with only a, "Well...good luck".

My "good patient" vow eventually led me to a clinic room for an unmedicated aspiration of an ovarian cyst with no pain support or preparation. After two failed, traumatic attempts, I was left alone in the clinic room, bleeding and sweating, trying to cry quickly before anyone came back to check on me. Following this aspiration, it became difficult not to disassociate from my body for all future procedures. It was impossible to get an accurate blood pressure reading as it always read abnormally high. I went numb in my fingers and toes just sitting in the waiting area.

This experience was a defining moment in my infertility journey. I realized I would never tolerate these types of experiences for my patients. So, why was I too afraid to advocate for myself?

What Helped

When I looked at infertility under the lens of patient empowerment and advocacy, things became more clear. I wouldn't want anyone else to wish away months at a time or feel incapable of playing an active role in their treatment.

First and foremost, I went to therapy. It's crazy that going to therapy ourselves can sometimes be the hardest thing. I developed real coping mechanisms that helped me feel empowered to ask questions and be present and attuned to my own body. I kept seeing my therapist - this person in my corner who understood and specialized in infertility. It nice not having to explain the "lingo" or all that I had gone through. I didn't feel like she would judge me for my thoughts or feelings about this process.

I prioritized myself above anything else. This was especially difficult for me, as I am so dedicated and intertwined with my work. I'm used to speed walking from room to room, skipping breaks and juggling my overlapping roles as therapist, co-worker, employee and supervisor. However, both my jobs: at the hospital and on this website, needed to take a backseat. There just wasn't the same kind of room in my life that there was before. I moved a little slower. I spent more time managing pills, injections and resting for a change! I spent time managing the feelings that came with weight fluctuations, others' pregnancy announcements and the eternal feeling of waiting in limbo.

I invested in relationships that built me up and cut out those that weren't supportive or healthy. I found a sense of community with others online, which often helped me laugh and grieve this journey with people who knew it all too well. I turned back to music, finding songs that empowered me to keep going.

In some ways, the best lesson I took away from this experience was the assurance that it's okay and healthy to prioritize yourself. Wouldn't we want the same for our patients?

This prioritization even bled into how I managed my clinical care. On the days where my heart ached looking at infants, I'd ask for help. I'm lucky to be in a position where co-workers and senior interns could pick up the clinical care I was having difficulty with. Other days, I would only need the listening ear of a coworker to get into the right headspace and provide the support to these families myself. I focused in more on my role as music therapist and my specific goals laid out.

I was reminded in an intimate way what it means to be a patient, navigating a scary and foreign experience. I remembered my own (multiple) breakdowns in clinic and my inability to be my "best self" in times of stress. I remember how hurt I felt when nurses wouldn't take my concerns seriously or even make eye contact with me when I really needed the support.

I became more patient with my patients, families and colleagues. I was reminded that the little things were really the big things, like the care of an anesthesiologist I had before one of my surgeries. He sat with me while the nurse placed my IV and checked on me multiple times before I went under, just so that I knew I wasn't alone. It was the extra few minutes my doctor would spend with me, running through "mental exercises" so that I would feel confident before and after my transfer. I am reminded often how those moments of compassion made all the difference for me.

Looking Towards The Future

I was beyond lucky with my IVF cycle. We landed in the 90th percentile, retrieving 42 eggs, resulting in 12 frozen eggs and 11 genetically tested, viable embryos. Our first transfer was even successful and I am now 12 weeks pregnant with a baby girl. I still can hardly believe it.

I wish I could say that everything is great now that I am pregnant but the anxiety and uncertainty is still there. Even after watching my baby grow and seeing her little heart beat flicker on the ultrasound, I convince myself that something is going to go wrong in our next appointment. I know just like IVF, not every pregnancy is guaranteed. Up to this point, I've kept my pregnancy quiet, afraid that speaking it out loud would jinx it. However, every day I'm trying to learn to live more in an uncomfortable state of "not knowing" but also remaining hopeful. There is space for so many different emotions all at once.

Working in healthcare has also colored my experience in a complex way. On one hand, I am uniquely attached to the care of infants and young children. I am called to provide a nurturing presence while also maintain objectivity and professionalism. I am reminded of the precious role of "parent", hoping someday I can be one too. On the other hand, I have a "behind-the-scenes" perspective of what healthcare is really like. I know the pressures of this fast-paced environment, as well as how quickly burnout can manifest. Especially in environments of stress, it is important to remain empowered and confident - your own advocate.

If you're struggling with infertility, I want you to know that I am sorry. No one or nothing can fully prepare you for the pain and loneliness of this experience. However, infertility is not an uncommon phenomenon. 1 in 8 women will struggle to get pregnant naturally. You aren't alone. If you are navigating this experience, please feel to reach out. This experience doesn't have to be shouldered alone.

While this belief still somewhat holds true, I also realized that truly effective advocacy does not rely solely on the music. Rather, advocacy in music therapy requires the therapist to promote, protect and defend their work, in all aspects of their practice.

This facet of practice has been an area of growth for me in the past two years, working independently in an acute paediatric hospital setting. My previous experience in long-term residential care for adults with severe and profound neurological needs did not prepare me for this transition. In hospital, all my preconceived notions of music therapy were disrupted. How exactly does one prepare a therapeutic space when predictability, familiarity, safety, and protected time are inherently unavailable?

Music therapists are adept at being flexible in the moment, guided by the patient’s needs and preferences as they arise. However, many variables that can impact the therapeutic process are simply beyond our control. The weight of these external factors can make any music therapist feel stuck, helpless, disappointed, frustrated, overwhelmed, or stressed.

I think to my first interaction with Jesse[1], a young person with a new diagnosis of aggressive bone cancer. The family, still overwhelmed with a revolving door of multiple introductions and meetings, politely declined. I recall the session where Coen, an Aboriginal[2] boy with chronic illness, has just opened up about some very big feelings about his cultural and racial identity, recent death of a relative, and feelings of neglect from his family. While we sat with these big feelings together, the Patient Services Assistant came in to clean the last room on the ward before the end of their shift. This led to some long pauses and an uncomfortable ending. I also remember the session where I was working with Maisy, a baby on the surgical ward. During our improvised musical experience, the physiotherapist steps into the room with a student for their review and ask if they can stay to observe the remainder of the session. I note my immediate feelings of frustration at the interrupted musical exchange, and there is an unspoken sense pressure to bring the session to a close.

In paediatric music therapy, there are multiple entry points along a patient’s hospital journey where we may provide support. A fast-paced, high-pressured environment like the acute hospital setting means that sometimes we often only have a small window of opportunity to provide support. This can lead to questions about the value of our work and whether we have done a good enough job within this space.

Remember that our work exists within a larger organizational workflow. We are only responsible for our portion. Music therapists care for the whole child but are not responsible for their entire medical journey. We are a piece of a larger puzzle. Though it may seem like a small piece, every piece matters. We know we can positively impact the patient and their family’s hospital trajectory.

I think it is important to acknowledge that, in this work, therapeutic encounters can often feel unfinished. It is not a perfect cadence we experience, but an unresolved, interrupted interval. It can leave us hanging and ruminating on all the ways that the interaction could have ended not like THAT. However, these encounters can have a profound impact, no matter how it may have felt.

Jesse, whose family initially declined music therapy, was later re-referred by a doctor to support her brother, Samuel. The doctor had noted my previous interaction with the family documented in case notes. It turns out that music was a huge connecting piece between the siblings. Through a short-term music therapy intervention, Samuel and I recorded a series of instrumental pieces for his sister. After Jesse died, the family chose to play one of the recorded pieces at her funeral.

After my session with Coen, I approached the nurse unit manager to debrief and shared the themes explored in our session. Our conversation led to multiple referrals being made to Psychological Medicine and the Aboriginal Liaison teams for further support. The Spiritual Care team also contacted Coen’s family for support.

In Maisy’s case, I invited the physiotherapist and student to step closer to the cotand observe our interactions. I maintained my focus on Maisy and, in the pauses, described how I used vocalizations to match her arousal levels and observed responses. This allowed for further conversations about potential co-treating opportunities in the future.

Part of advocacy is engaging in conversations with others about our role as music therapists. We speak for the field when we initiate dialogues, ask questions, seek clarification, share observations, and provide feedback. This can sometimes feel one-sided and perhaps a little awkward. Take the risk and embrace the awkward!

Sharing music therapy with our colleagues is just as important as our interactions with patients. I am still learning how to be the best advocate but have become more accustomed to stepping into these conversations. Once I started doing this, I found myself feeling less weighed down by the limitations of being the only music therapist in a workplace with endless demands. Rather, doing more, with less, has resulted in greater workflow output.

In Coen’s case, it was taking the time to be intentional and seek out a dialogue with the nurse manager instead of documenting the session and rushing off to see the next patient. With Maisy, it was reframing an interrupted session as an unexpected opportunity for education and resource sharing. I was able to build relationships instead of protecting the space by asking the physiotherapist to leave the room[3]. The encounter with Jesse reminded me how important documentation could be. What I believed was a one-off (and unsuccessful) visit allowed a greater need to unfold. We should not discount those periods of unseen, behind-the-scenes work. It is integral to our practice.

When we begin to regard this process as a crucial component of the therapeutic encounter, we are able to speak more confidently to the non-musical aspects of clinical care involved in music therapy practice. This kind of advocacy promotes music therapy, protects the ethical principles that guide our work, and defends the boundaries of our clinical process from other forms of music-based programs facilitated by non-music therapists.

Our dialogues with colleagues can shape the experiences of a patient’s medical journey, deepen someone’s understanding of our work, and shine a light on additional opportunities for moments of meaningful change. When we initiate these conversations, we invite our colleagues to consider our piece in the larger puzzle. Amidst a fluctuating, uncertain environment, this is how music therapists, in the non-musical moments, can add value to a patient and their family’s encounter with paediatric hospital care.

[1] All case illustrations have been de-identified. [2] Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are the recognized First People nation of Australia. Since Australia’s colonization, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island people have experienced extreme racism and exclusion as a result of mainstream government policies. Most notably, these practices resulted in the forcible removal of Indigenous children from their families between 1910 and the 1970s; these children are remembered as the Stolen Generations. Aboriginal people continue to experience social, political, health and economic burdens compared with the non-Aboriginal population. It is every Australian’s responsibility to remember the past and pay respect to Aboriginal people as the Traditional Custodians of the land, and acknowledge their continuing connections to land, sea and community. [3] In some cases it may be more appropriate to protect the therapy space and have a dialogue with the clinician outside the room after the session. We should exercise sensitivity and clinical judgement in these situations.

My year started out on a beach in the Dominican Republic with my husband Bryan and two of our best friends. Our most difficult questions that week were “should I nap by the pool or the ocean?” and “how many dinners should we eat tonight?” I started each day with a coconut and finished it off with a cocktail.

2020 was going to be a year to remember. Bryan and I spent my few waking vacation hours (I napped a lot) talking about our plans for the year. It all seemed so exciting and so possible.

On the airplane ride home, we read about the coronavirus and joked that we had better be careful in the airport. Even in the early moments of the virus coming to the United States, we did our best to laugh it off, singing songs like “My Corona”. I heard rumblings of a shut-down and selfishly thought, “Wow, two weeks at home? That'd be so nice!”

We know the next part of the story. I was sent home March 23rd and those two weeks became three months. Sweatpants went from being a luxury to just about the only thing that fit. The reality of isolation gave me a deep, visceral reaction. There have been ups and downs and a heck of a lot of music that got me through each phase of the pandemic.

Taking Time for Worry & Grief

“Tryin’ to Keep It Together” by Norah Jones

“Level of Concern” by Twenty One Pilots

While I don't always enjoy feeling my feelings, I usually have a lot of them. I was told to think positive, stay positive, BE positive. I felt lost with who I was as a remote music therapist. So much of what I do is reading the room and providing an in-person presence. How was I supposed to DO MY JOB when all I had was Wi-Fi and a guitar? I remember long conversations with my boss where I chose my words carefully: “How exactly do I see patients effectively right now?”

I gave telehealth the old college try. As music therapists we adapt, right? Well, it was far from smooth sailing for me. I like to think I'm a fairly techie gal but being on screen gave me heart palpitations. It felt like someone had tied my hands behind my back as I tried my best to put a big smile and do my job.

One of my first remote experiences was with a telehealth computer being wheeled into a patient's room. They cried when they found out that I could only be on the computer screen and asked me to come in. I then watched them vomit all over themself as I called for a nurse on my phone. When I closed my laptop, I had a big cry. In fact, I cried a lot during those first few weeks.

This. Is. Hard. That's OK to acknowledge. I needed to recognize that things were not going to be normal for a very long time. I slept too much and filled up on junk food. I checked the news, watching the rise of cases day by day. I was faced with a few very uncomfortable questions like, “Who am I outside of being a music therapist?”

Accepting the "Now Normal"

“I Got So High That I Saw Jesus” by Noah Cyrus

“Bummerland” by AJR

My husband is not one to allow pity parties. It's very annoying because wallowing is so deliciously indulgent. He reminded me often of that which I knew was true: I still had so much to be grateful for – so much support and privilege, a job, my health. So, taking one out of Bryan's book, I decided to reframe my thinking.

Things are going to be weird for quite a while. What would make things even minutely better? There were a few things that popped out quickly, like focusing on others and taking care of myself. So that's what I decided to do.

Rising to the Challenge

“I Just Wanna Shine” by Fitz & Tantrums

I tapped back into my creativity – something I hadn't done for a while. My fellow music therapist, Celeste, and I decided we'd start a remote version of our early childhood group with an iPhone and a blanket in my backyard. This quickly became the highlight of the week, getting me back to feeling like a music therapist. I was doing something I loved. Those videos were covered by the Associated Press, allowing us to share our music group beyond our hospital.

I started volunteering at the hospital. Twice a week, I'd spend my day bringing groceries to patients in housing. It felt good to get out of the house and feel purposeful. I got a unique opportunity to see more of what my hospital does to support patients and families, and the extra lengths they were going to during the pandemic. I would walk back and forth across the housing grounds and got to thinking about new avenues for music.

We took up concerts on the housing lawn. Kids who couldn't leave their room waved from their windows with giant foam hands. Other sat on the lawn, enjoying popsicles and music at a distance. These continued for months until it got dark early and too cold.

While this wasn't traditional music therapy, it was a weekly reminder of how much I loved to play music.

Finding Community

“I'll Be There” by Jess Glynne

Community was never as important as it became this year. For me, community used to mean going out to dinner or hanging out with a big group of friends. This year we were forced to get more creative.

I leaned into the music therapy community in a big way. I started Pediatric Music Therapy because I wanted to connect with other medical music therapists. Though I had conceived the website before the pandemic, I never felt so alone in my career than those first few months of lockdown, and it reframed how I moved forward.

I created new friendships with music therapists I had never (or rarely) spoken to in person. I found joy and purpose in offering group supervision and resources to others. I found the time to sit down and learn from others doing amazing things in our field. “Medical Rounds with Music Therapists” is probably my favorite thing that has come from this opportunity.

I worked alongside the AMTA Pediatric Work Group and continue to find inspiration this amazing group of colleagues. Can you BELIEVE all the great things medical music therapists could do even during a global pandemic?! I’ve seen conference presentations, resources, new positions – you name it!

Leaning Into Humor

“Zen” (with K. Flay & grandson) by X Ambassadors

“Batshit” by Sofi Tukker

If you know me at all, you know I often cope through jokes. When I'm having a "feels" moment, joking tends to be the easier option for me.

This was a challenging time, especially in healthcare. Upon returning to campus, I was given some super flattering green goggles. Condensation would drip down the lenses making me feel like I wa

s out in the rain. I found a way to laugh at the challenge. I'd send flirty pictures to my husband in all my protective garb, letting us laugh about it when we needed it.

During one of my weekly grocery outings a man at Trader Joes asked how my apocalypse was going today. It made me laugh out loud. Every good joke has a hint of truth, right? I adopted the question and started to ask patients, families, and staff. It captured some of the pure insanity of the situation.

Cultivating Gratitude

"Simply the Best" by Noah Reid

The pandemic has shown a bright light on fortunate I am. Each day as I drove to work, I passed a long line of cars waiting at the food bank. I was so supported by my institution and never missed a paycheck. I know that's not the case for so many.

If this year has shown us anything, it's to value what's really important. I enjoyed the extra time with my husband. I tried to be more patient on phone calls home. And I was more present in the interactions I got to have with patients and families.

I am grateful to work alongside amazing healthcare providers who weathered this trying time with grace. I am continuously amazed by our interns who have demonstrated flexibility and openness. They learn under an ever-changing work environment with many times in which I couldn't give them clear answers.

I am grateful more than ever to be a music therapist. In times of hardship, music is something we all need. There are times when I've let myself be angry, singing songs loudly to myself in the car (hello “Zen” by X Ambassadors). There have also been times of quiet introspection, feeling my feelings in the comfort of cozy song.

Holding Onto Hope for the Future

“Head Up High” by Fitz & the Tantrums

“my future” by Billie Eilish

On December 19, I received my first COVID vaccine shot. I (as you can probably guess by this point) had a lot of feelings. I felt guilt for having this privilege when so many others are waiting for it. I felt relieved to get this process started. I felt sad for those whose year was met with loss or uncertainty. I felt gratitude approaching 2021 with a light in this long tunnel.

2021 will not be starting on a beach but my heart is full of gratitude and hope. As music therapists, we are constantly asked to be flexible and we have showed creativity and ingenuity. If we can flourish during a global pandemic, there is no stopping this field.

I can't wait to keep chugging along and building this community with all of you, no matter where you are in your music therapy journey.

Happy 2021! Let's do this.

Love you all -

Amy

I'm pretty early in my supervisory journey. I still distinctly remember what it felt like to be an intern and so I draw from that experience whenever I can. As a former intern and now supervisor, here are five things I want you to know from someone who has been there.

1. You don't have to be perfect.

No one expects you to be perfect. What would perfect even look like?

The goal of your internship is not to enter with all the knowledge and skills you'll need to become a professional. If you had those, you wouldn’t need an internship.

When I interview candidates, I am not necessarily looking for the strongest musical skills or the best answer to each interview question. I am looking for an intern who is passionate about medical music therapy. I am looking for effort, follow-through, and a positive attitude. These are attributes that I can't teach.

Remember that progress and growth come from making mistakes. One thing I find so cool about this process is its invitation to take risks. Try something that gets you out of your comfort zone. Never again in your career will you have the opportunity to make mistakes the way you'll be able to now. Your supervisor will be there to back you. I've had some of my best learning experiences from mistakes. I've had some of my most successful moments from trying new things and thinking outside the box.

2. Your supervisor isn't perfect.

When I was an intern, I looked up to my supervisor like no one else. She always seemed so calm, cool, and collected. "I can't wait to be like her," I'd think. "I'll have everything figured out, then".

Supervising my own students now, I see that she must have had moments of stress and uncertainty. It comes with the territory – the medical world is dynamic and unpredictable.

I could fill a book with all the things I am still learning and figuring out. Just like interns, I have days where things are harder. Maybe a patient died that I had close rapport with. Maybe I had a difficult moment with a member of the healthcare team. Maybe I'm dealing with something personal that has nothing to do with work.

We all need patience, grace, and understanding for one another – whether you're an intern or a supervisor. I try to be transparent with my students whenever it's appropriate. It's important to know that these tough days happen to everyone. What's most important is developing inner resiliency and asking for help – or some slack – when you need it.

3. Musical integrity is a must.

When I started my undergraduate journey, I didn't know how to read music. I had never played an instrument! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. It took a lot of work, many sleepless nights, and some crying. I still work on these musical foundations and find new ways to experience musical growth.

Consider the entry-level competencies laid out by the internship and take them seriously.

We want you to have these foundations under your belt so that we can focus on connecting all the pieces together. I don't want you worrying about the next chord in that song. I want you connecting with the patient and family and being present in the room.

We also want to provide our patients the most authentic music experience we can. This doesn’t mean we need to be musical prodigies. However, we need to work to enhance the musical experience for patients. Play introductions and conclusions of songs. Remember the importance of dynamics and varied playing styles. Look like you enjoy playing music and add some flair!

4. Treat your internship like you would a job.

Many internships are unpaid (which is a whole separate post for another day). However, internships provide a great framework for developing appropriate workplace behavior. I consider this your first step into the real world.

I expect my interns to show up to work on time. I anticipate assignments will be completed without additional reminders. I will hold you to the same standards of professional behavior that I do any other member of my team.

Internship is where I homed in on the skills that make me a successful employee today. I learned the concept of time management – coordinating several assignments at a time. I recognized the importance of keeping deadlines and following through with my promises. I found out that developing and maintaining relationships with my colleagues was just as important as the work I did at the bedside.

5. Your internship is what you make it.

As a music therapist, I am providing an opportunity for patient and family support. But I’m dependent on the patient or family member to engage in the process with me.

As an internship director and supervisor, I can only provide you OPPORTUNITIES to learn. We can only get you so far if you aren't engaging in the process.

Your internship is ultimately what you make it. Perhaps you discover a passion for a specific medical diagnosis. Maybe you find a curiosity for a specific intervention. I want you to lean into that. Pull that into your assignments and projects. Foster that passion.

I thrive off of the enthusiasm my students bring to their work. When they're excited, I get excited! I find new avenues to help them explore areas of interest. Simply put, I put in more when my students put in more.

When I look back on my days as an intern, I have mostly positive memories. I hope that you will do the same. Your internship marks an important step, bridging the gap between student and professional. Be patient with yourself, be patient with your supervisor, and trust the process.

Love you all -

Amy

If you know me at all, you know I find a lot of pride in getting stuff done. In fact, I’m typing this post out on my phone as I lie on the beach with a husband who reminds me that vacations are supposed to be for relaxing!

There’s no feeling like getting to the end of the day and ticking off my checkboxes, one by one — proof that I have accomplished what I had set out to do. At home: laundry’s done, meals are prepped, bills are paid, house is cleaned. These are neat checkboxes with a clear ending point — the laundry is either done or not done.

The problem I have always come across is completing checkboxes as a pediatric music therapist. Sure, there are some checkboxes that are neat and simple: Have I replied to that email? Have I cleaned my instruments? Have I finished attesting my intern’s notes? Check, check, check. However, there are some tasks that elude my perfect square checkboxes. Unfortunately patient care — working with people in all their complexities — doesn’t fit into these perfectly drawn squares.

This problem is two-fold. First, there are the difficulties that accompany FINDING and actually physically seeing the patient. There are many days where my top priority patients are asleep… then involved with another provider… then sedated for a scan... then inevitably sleeping again, thus completing the maddening circle. I find this incredibly frustrating as I trudge up the stairs again, thinking to myself, why can’t I just check this box? I feel lost in the sea of other healthcare providers as the box mocks me on my clipboard.

The second problem I have found is one checkbox may lead to multiplied checkboxes. I like to picture this like the Hydra from Hercules. When I finally see the patient, new information comes to light, the goals change, there’s a need for new planning, new meetings with other providers… MORE CHECKBOXES.

This problem was intensified when I was a young music therapist, just starting out that the hospital. I was, as “Hamilton” sang, young, scrappy and hungry, and I was not throwing away my shot! As a result, I felt it was appropriate to prioritize seeing twice the amount of patients I could actually get to in a day, and then kill myself trying to get that amount of work done. Everyday, I left the hospital feeling defeated and frustrated. I pictured the checkboxes in my mind as I drove home and felt a pang of guilt for all that I was unable to get to. Those damn checkboxes.

I’ve gotten a bit older (yet still scrappy and hungry) and have learned to strike a balance. Here are few things that have helped me along the way.

1: Focus on Quality over Quantity

Good interactions often take time. Individualized interventions take foresight and pre-planning. However, this planning can cut into the time we have in a day for other patient interactions. It’s important to remember that often one well-planned, effective session may have a longer lasting impact than multiple lesser-quality check-ins. Those good quality sessions can also lead to recognition by the medical staff and ultimately more music therapy referrals!

2: Celebrate Small Victories

Focus on how those well-planned interventions feel. We all know when a music therapy session is going well, but really celebrate that! Write it down or send yourself an email about the experience to yourself and keep it in a folder. Revisit these when you’re feeling less than productive — look back at all the good you’ve been able to accomplish.

3: Set Realistic Expectations

Since I was an intern, this is what I have struggled with the most. The problem is, it’s not realistic to see 8-10 patients during a given work day. It’s just not! In the morning, over coffee (obviously) I consider what my day will look like. Do I have meetings? Do I have paperwork due? I factor this into my day as I consider a realistic caseload. Sometimes that is six and sometimes that is one. Anything else I get done is just icing on top.

4: Develop Rituals to Let Go

There are days that focusing on my successes/victories or setting what seemed like a realistic caseload don’t pan out. I’m left feeling frustrated and incompetent. I imagine another nameless, faceless music therapist who would have been able to do more and just BE more — for their patients, their coworkers and their students. As I walk through the last door of the hospital, I imagine unpacking that burden and leaving it at the door. There will be new days to check more boxes, to move quicker, and to continue making a difference as a music therapist. Perhaps that door visualization isn’t for you.

What ritual could you develop to help you let go?

5: Identify Attributes That Make YOU a Success

We all have days where we may feel incompetent or unproductive. However, I promise you, there is a reason you are where you are. You didn't get here by chance. You possess a unique skill set that allows you to be an amazing music therapist — the right one for this job.

Do yourself a favor and write down three qualities or traits that make you amazing at your work.

And remember — your value is not determined by how many checkboxes you’ve checked. Recognizing your worth? Now, that's a checkbox we can get behind!

Boy, I have had some rough experiences along the way, though. I vividly remember a time when I was an intern, observing my first burn dressing. The room was kept warm, which is typical for burn dressings, as the patient’s skin is less able to regulate temperature. That was not helping me in my gloves, gown and mask, though. The smell and the heat and the visuals were all too much and I promptly left... and then briefly passed out in bathroom.

If you've worked in pediatrics, I'm sure you've had a similar experience – whether you were sick to your stomach for a while after a procedure or whether were like me – resting comfortably on a public bathroom floor.

If you're thinking about going into pediatrics, know that these moments are not the determining factor of your future success – squeamishness is common among nearly all clinicians at some point in their careers.

1. Make sure you're eating and drinking regularly.

I cannot stress this enough. Hypoglycemia, or low blood sugar, has accounted for the majority of my woozy moments. It can be easy to forget the last time you ate or drank when you're juggling clinical and administrative needs. To remedy this, I usually have a big breakfast before work and keep granola bars and water close by. If you need to, set reminders on your phone to remember to eat and drink between patient visits. Research has shown that hypoglycemia can result in feelings of anxiousness, lightheadedness, confusion and shakiness. No one wants to play guitar with shaky hands. Trust me on this one!

2. Look away when you need to.

Your job as a music therapist, intern or student is to support the patient and their ability to cope during a procedure. No one said you had to watch! In fact, becoming too focused on the medical procedure may impede your ability to be fully present with the patient. Keep your gaze fixed on the patient (or on a fixed point if the patient isn’t in view).

3. Get informed.

We are often made aware of a request for procedural support prior to being thrust into the room. Take a few moments to educate yourself if the procedure is something you know little to nothing about. If you're running low on time, try to get the answers to these three major questions: (1) what are the steps involved in the procedure, (2) what is required of the patient in order to stay safe, and (3) where should the music therapist (or student!) be to best support the patient and staff for a safe, efficient procedure.

4. Bring your focus to your breath.

Is the room starting to spin a bit? Take a moment to bring attention to your breath. If you're singing, slow down your tempo to allow enough for a nice, deep breath. You're taking some artistic license! Breath through your nose and sing (or breathe) out to a fixed point across the room.

I keep peppermint oil in my desk. If I have time before I enter a room, I dab just a tiny bit on my non-dominant wrist, where I can get a quick whiff. Studies show that peppermint oil can reduce nausea, headaches, and fatigue – a win-win-win!

5. Be patient with yourself.

Look, procedural support rarely goes perfectly. Even last week, I had a "non-textbook moment" where the child needed support from multiple staff to remain still and I ended up with vomit on my shoe. There can be multiple factors entirely out of our control – with the patient, the medical staff, and ourselves.

It's okay.

If you're feeling a little squeamish or discouraged with how a procedural support encounter went, do your best to shake it off. Next time, it'll be a little easier, and a little easier still the time after that. You'll have great experiences and then you'll have less-than-great experiences. You'll learn tips and tricks that work best for you. Hopefully, you'll realize that even if you have moments of squeamishness, you are an empathetic and caring music therapist or student who is getting better with each experience!

Love you all -

Amy

I work in a busy pediatric hospital in Queens, NY, primarily within the PICU, step-down/intermediate care unit, and medical/surgical unit. However, much of my environment, workload and responsibilities changed as the pandemic came to a climax. I no longer work on the units I provided services to regularly. Instead, I shifted to working throughout the entire hospital and providing music therapy services to every inpatient unit. My co-therapist and I split shifts. When she is at the hospital, I am working from home, working on various non-clinical projects and writing opportunities. Pediatric units, once admitted children for asthma, cystic fibrosis, and appendectomies, have become surge units for adults admitted for COVID-19. One of our units even became an adult oncology unit. We weren’t servicing these units; we were strictly to be providing in-person and virtual visits to our remaining inpatient and outpatient pediatric units.

Back to Amy’s question…what might we need right now? I can think of so many things: Stability, comfort, socialization, understanding – all of our basic needs that so often our patients and families are stripped of. It got me to thinking of my home units - our PICU. So many of our patients in the PICU are experiencing instability, discomfort, isolation, and delirium. What is this parallel process and how can I still provide optimal care to these patients, these families, and staff, while also taking care of myself as a clinician?

I have been thinking of the stressors of being one, single music therapist for an entire hospital. Sure, I have my co-therapist – who I appreciate working with beyond measure – but unfortunately, we are working split shifts. For that day, I am the lone Music Therapist in-house. I often coach and provide support to my colleagues about having two hands. You can only do as much as those two hands can hold for that moment…but why is it so darn hard to take our own advice?

I became a music therapist largely due to my desire to help and advocate for others. This time has allowed me introspection that these same desires may also resonate with my self-care needs. It’s so important to recognize how we can help and advocate for ourselves – whether that be through basic need structures like hygiene and shelter or through work structures, such as advocating for programming and organizational awareness.

One self-care duty I have in place for myself is supervision. I know it’s something we hear about and preach often as music therapists, but truly engrossing myself in the process of supervision - allowing myself to not only support my colleagues but allow support for my needs has been instrumental to my self-care. I have been attending a monthly, peer supervision group at my past professor’s residence for the past three years, where I meet with other music therapy colleagues to discuss cases, counter-transferences, and work challenges we’ve had. I truly believe that this group is the reason why I have been able to flourish and gain resiliency in our field.

You see, constant advocacy, education, and misrepresentation can take a toll on a music therapist. They can easily lead to the road of burnout and compassion fatigue, which I have experienced myself. However, through supervision, I’ve had the opportunity to express myself, flow into a deeper space of understanding and insight, and have had a container of musicianship and support through my colleagues during supervision. I can’t stress enough how important supervision can be – not only for pediatric music therapists, but to music therapists as a whole.

However, pediatric music therapists have unique challenges to face in their setting. We are healthcare leaders, as our friends at Music Therapy Ed reminds us. We are often the unsung heroes, or the unknown, healthcare professionals. Although we are loud enough (sometimes) to be heard in the hall, we are not yet at the forefront of interdisciplinary care. I am honored and blessed to be a part of a team that tends to “get” music therapy and understands the unique benefits that our profession has to offer patients in critical care. With that blessing comes a unique opportunity (and let’s face it, sometimes a challenge) to constantly advocate and educate. This is something I’ve had the opportunity to process and understand more fully through supervision.

I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you to reach out. Whether it’s through formal supervision or a stairwell conversation with a colleague (I’ve had my fair share of those pull-my-hair-out vent sessions), you can build resiliency and engage in self-care by speaking out or speaking to your challenges. Continue to ask yourself, as Amy asked her readers, what do you need? Remember that in order to take care of your patients, you must allow time to take care of yourself.

Remember that YOU matter.

Sending you peace and harmony,

Shawna

The COVID-19 pandemic has caused chaos but also moments of triumph. Each day it seems we hear new, inspiring stories of individuals who have risen above our current difficulties. The pandemic provided a sudden shift in workflow for me; from regularly seeing patients at bedside to working remotely the majority of the time - with no time to prepare or understand. The weeks seem long and the world seems heavy. Navigating how to "the next right thing" as Anna says from Frozen 2, seems like a daunting task.

We are in this together, even when the world of social distancing doesn’t always make it feel that way.

Virtual platforms have played a role in both connecting us and offering a new way to provide healthcare. As a music therapist at C.S. Mott Children’s Hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan, I quickly found myself turning to these virtual platforms to provide care.

I want to share my own experiences through the pandemic with you, in hopes that it will support your current work. The 5 C’s to COVID Care reflect my own personal journey with virtual care. I’ve included some helpful tips and considerations, case examples, and encouragement. Let’s go!

MottTube

I will be referencing MottTube throughout this post. MottTube is a playlist that is linked to the Michigan Medicine YouTube channel. The mission of this playlist is to promote comfort, coping, and education, which is directly linked to the mission statement of my department. Content submissions are open to both approved community partners and healthcare staff.

Confidence & Creation

It was difficult to manage the quick transition to virtual services. I felt a pressure to be instantly comfortable facilitating services in this new way.

I definitely was NOT comfortable. This was totally outside of my comfort zone. However, I decided, I couldn’t let this screen hold me back from the important care I provide.

Remember:

1. Stick To Your Roots: Through this time of uncertainty, I have leaned into the roots of my clinical training. When formulating my care plan, I consistently come back to assessment domains, treatment plans, and evaluations. My confidence level and creativity grew by keeping these in mind.

All of the content created for MottTube is founded on a therapeutic purpose. Keeping the goals and objectives at the forefront of my mind made this transition feel more natural. (At first, I tried to convince myself to act like a television host and I don’t recommend it!)

Although the content I’ve created is delivered in an untraditional format, it provides a sense of normalcy for patients and families. It also allows me a unique opportunity to advocate for the profession to hospital staff and administrators.

Example: I typically include an opportunity for a sing-a-long experience during groups geared towards younger patients. My goals include increased positive coping skills, sustaining attention and pre-academic skills. These goal areas are still being addressed virtually. Find an example here.

2. Teamwork: I have turned to my teammates for support. We were able to come together within respective disciplines, approaches, and clinical strengths to create a virtual experience that seemed normal even outside the pandemic.

Example: Feelings Focus is a series where we focus on the feeling of worry. Many of our patients have expressed this as a common feeling they are learning to consistently manage. The episode showcases each discipline . Check it out here.

Community

The pandemic demanded us to redefine community. In-person groups, gatherings, and celebrations, are on hold, both in and out of the hospital. This sudden, scary shift demands we answer the question: How do we promote community and connection in a time when it is needed most?

We know that music has an ability to unite and connect people. I became a music therapist because I believe in the transformative impact of music on individuals and communities. I believe music therapists can use this to define community again.

MottTube has allowed us to:

Share Music: Many community members have shared their music, in hopes of supporting pediatric patients

. We have encouraged this collaboration to create a sense of connection and comfort through shared music. Our music volunteers have also contributed, which allows patients to see a familiar, comforting face.

· Create Community: In order to create a greater sense of community, we have edited together various musicians. This has demonstrated how we can come together, share music, and uplift others. To view, click here.

Connection and Care

COVID-19 has created chaos and uncertainty in just a short amount of time. It’s hard to navigate this “new normal” in unprecedented times.

It is okay if you are struggling.

Give yourself grace, patience, and flexibility to try new things, to make mistakes, and to grow. Take care of yourself and be mindful of how much you are giving of yourself, especially in this time of crisis.

I am an advocate for self-care, and we encourage these same practices for patients, families and staff through mindfulness videos. It has been a pleasant surprise to see how these have benefitted my own practice as well as those around me.

“The simplicity of the mindfulness video actually had me really consider mindfulness for myself. If I can remember to be mindful and model this for my patients, we all can be in this together.” ~CS Motts Staff Member

Conclusion

Confidence, Creation, Community, Connection and Care: The 5 C’s to COVID Care. The pandemic has not been easy on any of us, but I hope that these tips allow to you to gain confidence and reflect on the reason you became a board-certified music therapist. Continue to be creative in creating content. Our field is inherently creative and allows us to flourish in times of crisis. Remember to stay connected to your patients/families and yourself. Empathic care can still be distinguished and felt through virtual connection. Finally, lean into your community. Involve your community. Use music to unite, to support, to motivate, to comfort during this crazy time.

-Meredith Irvine, MHA, MT-BC

Well, let's just say that's not quite how it happened. I started a new pediatric music therapy program early in my career and the learning curve was steep. I realized that there was far more to the work than just playing at the bedside. There are moments of intense joy and intense sorrow. There are complex family dynamics and new medical procedures to understand every day. There is a persistent need for continued education and pressure to advocate for our profession. There is frustration with never having enough time. There is a deep love for music therapy and its ability to humanize the medical environment.

When I started out, I was a Lone Ranger on a music therapy team of one. Often, I would wonder to myself: Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I doing enough? Am I doing this right??

I wanted to create Pediatric Music Therapy to foster a greater sense of connection in our community. Too often we are disconnected from one another, left to wonder, Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I doing enough? Am I doing this right??

This is an exciting adventure and I hope you will join me. I want this to be OUR community. I want to hear from you and want us to share with one another. How can we shape the pediatric music therapy community and how can we make the medical world more accessible for music therapists?

Love you all -

Amy