When we work with complexity of human lives – the stories, the suffering, the opportunities for change – we never want to stop learning. The day we say we know everything we need to know is the day we should retire.

We seek to discover new insights and challenge old ones. We go out of our comfort zone to hone new skills and be more responsive in the moment. We do the work to be more vulnerable, more authentic, in service of some else’s growth. We question our practice to catch our habits, biases and assumptions to develop more open awareness and shared understanding.

But sometimes we’re saturated and have taken in all the learning we can for now. We’re up to pussy’s bow, as my dad might say. Then we’re usually straight back into the work, throwing our brand new learning into the furnace of ‘do or die’.

And yet scheduling time to absorb and adjust to what we’ve just learned is just as important a part of professional development as consuming new information. We need to take a step back. Reflect. Let the learning settle and integrate. Chewing the food or having a full belly isn’t enough, we need to digest what we’ve consumed to gain the real benefit.

The work of supporting others holds us to a high standard. We need to be considered, responsive, not reactive or unkind. And it’s not just when the person is in front of us. It’s how we write our case notes, discuss experiences in team meetings, raise concerns with services engaged in shared care, debrief in the tearoom.

Yet there’s times in the work when we need a good vent. Maybe we feel frustrated, disrespected or manipulated. Maybe the person we’re trying to support consistently treats us in a way that makes us want to snap back or give up. The human within our professional skin sometimes needs to express the emotion before we can reflect on the underlying issues.

Making outbursts taboo and bottling up frustration or hurt is a good recipe for burnout or misdirecting anger toward someone in our personal lives. At the same time, a culture that tolerates snarky or degrading comments risks that disrespect leaking into the work and compromising the quality of care.

So what’s between the two? We can vent about the behaviour rather than make global statements about the person. We can own our reaction as our experience (“ I feel angry”) rather than blame (“they made me angry”). We can quarantine the vent (“I just need to get this off my chest”) and ask for support (“I’m reacting and need help to take a step back”). Personally I’m also a big fan of swearing – they are such lovely energetic, percussive words – but I appreciate it’s not for everyone or suitable for every workplace.

We can be proactive, reflecting on the situations that push our buttons when we are calm and consider how could we express ourselves in a way that honours both our experience and the other person’s dignity. We also invite our peers into a shared conversation. How do we want to handle frustration as a team? How can we allow each other a little grace when the human response gets ahead of us? How can we collectively come back to a place of balance? And then fine tune as we go.

There are certain phrases that are not complete until they are backed up with action. “I’m sorry.” “I’m here for you.” “It won’t happen again.” We can show goodwill with the words, but we need to follow through if they are to have any meaning.

Then there are phrases that need action rather than words. That even saying them can act as a step backward rather than forward. Two examples are “I understand” and “You can trust me”.

On the surface, “I understand” is reassuring. It suggests a resonance, that what the other person is saying is familiar, normal, relatable. But it is an empty gesture that costs the speaker nothing. Worse, it can imply a potential to be over-confident and make assumptions.

The only person who can judge whether we have understood is the person we are talking to. So we need to demonstrate our understanding with accurate reflections, responsive questions and attuned actions. Because understanding isn’t done until the other person feels understood.

“You can trust me” also sounds reassuring, suggesting an awareness the other person might have doubts and a desire to put those doubts at ease. The problem is that trust is earned, not given, and this puts all the risk and hard work on to the other person. We need to prove that we are worthy of trust by making sure our words match our intentions, our actions match our words, and all three are consistent over time.

If we’re not sure whether a phrase is helpful, we can ask if we are taking the easy option and leaving the other person to take the leap of faith. We can ask if it’s something we need to demonstrate rather than say. And we can reflect on how we feel when someone we don’t know yet says it to us.

We reach points in the work, in change, in the therapeutic relationship where we are between different states. Transitions are natural but they are rarely comfortable.

There’s often an urge to pull back to the status quo, or push for the next stage. It might come with an impulsive urgency or undirected restlessness, or perhaps a relentless creeping toward one or the other, the need to be somewhere rather than nowhere.

We can get curious about the nature of transition when we are in more pragmatic versions like the airport departure lounge, a confined space of enforced waiting. There’s no retreat, no moving forward, until the airport’s universe allows it. So we find a way work with it, whether willingly or reluctantly, to move within its boundaries.

Learning to sit with the discomfort of betweens is a subtly profound freedom, yet one we may need to learn many times over. We can practice being patient. We can cultivate our capacity slow down and pay attention. We can build our stamina to stay just a little longer than before. And we can learn from the smaller versions that come our way.