Martina Viktorie Voborníková Kopecká bridges two worlds that often meet with difficulty – the spiritual service of a pastor and the work of a therapist. It is precisely in this dual perspective that she seeks a balance between caring for others and protecting her own boundaries. Between faith, which provides support, and therapy, which delves into the depths of human experience. In an interview for Nevyhasni, we spoke about the pace of today's society, burnout as a signal of body and soul, and the question of "Why me?which accompanies both of us in our professional and personal lives.
How does the fast pace of today's society affect mental health?
Very specifically. I see it every day, whether I'm sitting in the pastor's or therapist's chair. People come in exhausted, but at the same time unable to stop, because stopping has become equated with failing. Stopping also frightens many because it's different than they expected; it doesn't look like Instagram photos of fabulous vacations. We've lost the ability to be in uncertainty and silence for a while, we can't be bored, we constantly need new stimuli, entertainment, action. And yet, it is precisely silence and a certain uncertainty that are the space where both spiritual life and therapeutic transformation take place. Everything can be worked on, but at the same time, nowadays it's good not to create unnecessary additional tasks for ourselves. A good start could be to get rid of our phones and other screens for a while and return to books and offline walks.
When is faith enough, and when is it necessary to seek professional therapeutic help?
Faith is a huge resource – meaning, community, transcendence. But faith itself cannot process trauma, it will not cure depression, and attending church cannot replace a safe therapeutic relationship where a person can reach things they cannot reach on their own. Spiritual life (and now each of us will insert what that means to them in a way that is satisfactory) helps us find relief when needed and at the same time to take, when the time comes to practice discipline. The liturgical year, that is, the church year, or the cycle of events in nature, teaches us patience as well as activity; everything has its time. Both spiritual life and therapy have their place in our lives. They don't have to fight each other; rather, one can support the other.
So how do you distinguish between confession and therapy?
Confession is a sacramental, spiritual, and liturgical act – an act of surrender, acceptance of God's forgiveness, and release of burdens. It is a recurring moment of grace that will make sense to a person actively living within the Church and understanding what repentance means in a spiritual sense. Therapy is a long-term dialogue where we work using methods different from those used in pastoral care, and in which we revisit, among other things, patterns, family systems, and bodily memory. I work with families, which sometimes involves meeting with a couple of parents, with divorced parents and their new partners, sometimes we even invite grandparents, and other times, conversely, parents sit in the waiting room and I talk with the children. This is a method I learned in Liberec* and from which I have often benefited as a priest. These two levels can complement each other beautifully, but they must not be confused.
*Martina Viktorie Kopecká completed training in family therapy for psychosomatic disorders there (editor's note)
Where is the line between healthy sharing and performative vulnerability?
Healthy sharing opens up space, breaks down shame, connects, and can even serve others. Performatative vulnerability, however, primarily serves the speaker – it brings relief, attention, and recognition, at the cost of the recipient becoming a spectator to someone else's processing. I write about my own life in my books and on my blog; I have openly written and spoken about my coming out, about spiritual experiences, about my hesitation as to whether I'm enough I often ask myself about sharing: Who am I writing this for now? Can my experience help others, or should I be sitting in a therapist's chair right now, sharing my thoughts with a therapist or supervisor? In many ways, returning to humility has helped me in life. Again and again.
In life, I often encounter an inner question Why me? How do you work with it?
That's a very interesting question that came to my mind as I went through the process of preparing for priestly ordination. Why should *I* be the one to go into service? Can I handle it? Isn't it too big a bite? And yet, internally, I felt that at that moment, it was the only possible path. Then, when I was approached for a project that is broadcast live and concerns a topic that has nothing to do with priestly service, that thought came again Why me?And so on. Often in life the question comes Why me?but never with the feeling of being a victim, more with a tail of imposter syndrome. What if it comes out that I can't handle it, that I don't know or can't do enough? Why me? It's a legitimate question; it's a call for meaning amidst joy and pain. The problem arises when it becomes the sole perspective and locks a person into passivity.
I've learned that high sensitivity is a gift, but at other times, it's also a rather unwanted present.
You've been listening to the pain of others for a long time. How close does one get to their own burnout in such service?
Very close. But I don't see burnout as failure. On the contrary, it's competence. Burnout is the body's and soul's ability to prevent much more serious consequences that arise from long-term neglect of our needs. My nature is dominated by the need to meet others' expectations, be maximally responsible, and all of this is accompanied by a certain natural anxiety and high sensitivity. It's a bit of a dangerous cocktail, especially in my profession, but at the same time, this equipment allows me to easily immerse myself in the stories of people who turn to me. I had to learn to work with all of this. Constantly crossing the line between necessary empathy and unhealthy absorption would not lead to a good outcome in the long run. I have to actively guard my boundaries, and yet I often fail in this task.
What do you think is the biggest risk of burnout for clergy and helping professions?
The belief that helping means being constantly available. In a church environment, there's also a strong cultural expectation of sacrifice, as if one's own needs are something to be constantly put aside. Being a pastor means choosing to serve God and people, and then it's really hard for someone to complain that it is a bit more challenging than expectedAs a therapist, I rely on supervision: a constant review of what, how, and why I am doing. In priestly service, a person is often alone. Alone with the pain of others, with injustice, with mystery, with the guilt that people entrust to us. In this regard, I am very fortunate to have a colleague who has experience and the perspective given by age. I can rely on that. But I see the greatest risk more in a person losing contact with themselves and ceasing to distinguish where their responsibility begins and ends. As a spiritual person, I am a guide, not a porter who takes on the entire burden of the person being accompanied.
What specifically helps you maintain balance?
Supervision – regular, honest. My own past therapy, which I return to when I feel something stuck needs to move. Community – both within and outside the field. And writing. Writing is life-giving for me.
What did you learn about yourself through your own therapy?
My nervousness and need be good In many meanings of the phrase, they have specific roots, and I don't just have to overcome them, but I can have a relationship with them. I've learned to distinguish what's mine and what I've adopted. And also, that being vulnerable doesn't mean being weak. That high sensitivity is sometimes a gift, but other times also a rather unwanted present. Therapy confirmed to me that I function well in a crisis, that I can sometimes be too hard on myself and too soft on others. And that every experience is ultimately useful; even the biggest crises have transformed into what shapes me now.
Martina Viktorie Voborníková Kopecká is a pastor of the Czechoslovak Hussite Church, a goodwill ambassador in 2021, psychotherapist, and crisis intervention specialist. She studied theology at Charles University, and later psychology and special education. She specializes in family therapy and is a member of SOFT (Society of Family and Systemic Therapists), ČAP (Czech Association for Psychotherapy), and the Czech Psychotherapeutic Society of the Jan Evangelista Purkyně Czech Medical Society. In the 11th season of the show Stardance, she danced all the way to the finals but (according to her own words, fortunately) did not win. She is an enthusiastic reader of all genres and the author of several books (Diary of a Pastor's Wife, Confession of a Pastor's Wife, Song of Songs, Little Spider Varhánek) and is preparing more.
