On Science, Mystery, and Full Moon Joy

I’ve been following the Artemis II mission and sitting with the fact that there are currently humans farther from Earth than anyone has ever been before, orbiting at a distance that (until recently) existed in our imagination. WOW. Awe lights up in my body when I think about it.

I’m fascinated by these four NASA astronauts. Yes, they are so accomplished, extremely competent, and rigorously trained, which is impressive. But that’s not what captures my fascination: it’s how they carry themselves with humility, awe, and wonder. And it’s how they speak about what they’re doing on this mission: they are explorers of the unknown.

NASA Astronaut Victor Glover, Artemis II pilot says: “Pushing ourselves to explore is just core to who we are, that’s a part of being a human, that’s our nature. We go out there to explore where we are, why we are. Understanding the big questions of our place in the universe.” 

There is wonder, curiosity, and aliveness in their voices. As I watch them floating in their spacecraft, they have the biggest smiles on their faces often. Full moon joy.

And I cannot stop thinking about that.

It reminds me of what the power of science actually is, at its core, is iterative. It’s hypothesis, observation, revision, and humility in the face of what we don’t know. Science and inquiry actually expand the vastness of the unknown for us. The deeper we go, the more we are asked to become discerning with what we say, more open to the likelihood that we’re wrong, and more willing to make revisions to what we thought we knew so certainly. More questions emerge alongside what we learn.

And honestly, that’s what we’re doing in the therapy room, too. We form a hypothesis about what might be happening in a client’s system and we track what unfolds.  Letting new information change what we thought we knew. And we adjust and revise again and again and again.

We’re not just applying interventions from a manual; we’re studying a living, breathing human in real time. The unexpected moments in therapy are not indications of our failures as therapists but an important data point to inform and incorporate into our hypothesis. 

That’s the work showing us where to look next.

So many of the therapists I sit with in consultation are carrying an urgency to get it right …  by saying the right thing, choosing the right intervention, doing it at the exact right time, and not missing anything important along the way. When something doesn’t go as planned, they blame themselves - “What did I miss? Where did I go wrong?” 

But remember that in science, unexpected results aren’t necessarily because something went wrong, it’s often where the most important discoveries begin.

Often underneath that urgency is that familiar hum of perfectionism, controlling, mastering. These are understandable motivations given our sociocultural context (and within our field) that seeks to fix, control, and manage.

However, my practice experience keeps me coming back to a different conclusion - certainty and control aren’t the answer. Because in some ways, I still don’t feel much closer to “figuring it out” (not in the way I once imagined anyway) even after all the trainings, certification programs, consultation, and clinical experience. Yes, I can say with some confidence that I’m a better therapist today than I was 12 years ago when I first started out after graduate school, but at the same time, I keep finding myself confronted with more complexity, mystery, and unknown.

I notice the ways in which I tried to soothe that anxious part of me by buying all the books (and maybe reading only half of them), going on a buying binge of advanced trainings, and collecting lots of consultants along the way who could teach me the next protocol or little technique that would finally make me feel like I’ve “got it figured out.”

What I realize now is that I wasn’t actually looking for more information, I was looking for relief and soothing from uncertainty and my “not enough” story.

The more I open to the unknown, the mysterious, the strange, the unexpected the more something else begins to feel possible.. What I am closer to is tolerating the unknown. Staying present when things don’t resolve neatly. Trusting that something is happening even when I can’t yet name it. 

That’s science. That’s being an explorer and not being threatened by what is unknown. 

What if you shifted your therapist identity to one of being an explorer? When we lead with attunement, curiosity, and a willingness to be shaped by what emerges in the relational field with our clients, we end up finding our way in the dark together.

Recently, I had the opportunity to present a pre-conference workshop at the International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation Annual Conference in Portland. And what struck me most wasn’t just the quality of the research or the clinical insight (though both were exceptional). It was the posture of the community. Warm. Welcoming. Deeply relational. And also unapologetically engaged with mystery, complexity, and the unknown.

This was a community that didn’t rush to collapse the unknown and mystery into something tidy or “7 Steps” to treat complex trauma. Instead, what I saw was a shared commitment to pursuing both science and compassion, side by side in collaboration.

I left feeling inspired, not because I had more answers, but because I felt reconnected to the kind of therapist I aspire to be. One who is rigorous in my pursuit of knowledge and excellence in my work, yes. But also grounded in reverence, humility, and curiosity

When I soften my grip on certainty, I can actually feel more and track better. And that’s when my work becomes more effective, even if in some moments it feels like I’m wandering in the dark with my clients.

This month, I want to leave you with the possibility that being a skilled therapist isn’t about eliminating uncertainty but about expanding our capacity to stay close to the darkness. Not all darkness is something to fear but a place to discover what will happen and a place where our clinical intuition can deepen.

And if you’re honest, if part of you is tired of feeling like you have to get it right all the time…

you’re not alone.

At IRIS, we’re creating spaces for therapists who want to practice differently with more curiosity, depth, and welcoming of the unknown.

Our trainings aren’t about memorizing protocols or being the clinician who has it all figured out. They’re about helping you think, track, and respond in real time, especially when things feel complex or unclear.

We’d genuinely love to have you in the room.

Written by: Cassie Krajewski