Thursday, July 9, 2015
Finding a new therapist always makes me think of speed dating. Probably because it is typically within a matter of minutes that I have determined the destiny of our relationship. No, I am not overly sensitive or judgmental, I simply know the type of personalities I am going to mesh with in therapy (and life, for that matter). More importantly, if I start to feel more educated than them, it's terminal.
Therapist/client relationships are essential for results. And in my span of therapists, since I start up therapy again every few years, I have only had two great ones so far. Just two.
One male and one female. Each of those relationships were concluded when I moved away.
Both evolved over the course of my sessions, both provided immense beneficial results.
One was a PhD, one was not (I am not an education elitist ALL the time).
Both set some pretty high standards for future therapists.
My latest venture into therapy I ended up in this guy's office by default, literally. I sought out his female partner because her areas of expertise seemed to fit my needs. Since she was booked she pushed me off on him. I went with it because he had some specialties that I thought might make it work. Wrong. For starters he was late, and after he finally came out to the waiting room (that was void of any human life or instructions on what to do) he handed me paperwork to complete. Needless to say our session did not actually begin until about 10 minutes past my appointment time. And he ended the session promptly 50 minutes after my appointment time.
Major fail, dude.
Way to make me feel like a paycheck for the vacation you took the VERY NEXT WEEK.
Oh yes, no follow up appointment with the new client for the following week. No. He had his vacation scheduled then. Why did he even book the first appointment? Sigh. I won't elaborate on any additional specifics as to why we didn't mesh, but it was truly disappointing. If I didn't still have to pay for the session I probably would have left sooner.
Back to the drawing board.
I am fortunate to still have insurance through August, but I loathe therapist "dating."
The real issue is: I don't like bullshit. I don't want to start a first session sitting on a couch rehashing my past with some ass that makes way more than they should per hour. We can get to my past eventually, let's start with the here and now. The reason I came in to begin with, ya know?
The hard part.
When the past rears it's ugly head we can address it then. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Insert today's session with therapist #2...15 minutes in, "What do you want?"
Cue instant tears.
15 fucking minutes. No bullshit.
Damn, looks like I found a match after all.
**Looking for a therapist in your part of the world? I found mine through Psychology Today.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
You know when you start off with a question like 'What is failure?' you are headed for murky waters. I met with my new therapist this week, and all the 'getting to know you' questions stirred up a lot of shit for me. As they always do. This has been on my mind for a minute. The truth behind what it feels like to leave my job, despite the poor fit that it and the location was for both me and my family. It's not pretty, and as I begin sifting through my past to further understand my journey to here I am left with this overwhelming sensation of déjà vu.
You think I am so brave, I walked away with my head held high. I am bold. I am a rebel, turning my back on academia to pursue my passions.
You have no idea.
I am nothing.
This façade is for me, a theatrical attempt to not drown in the depths of my failure. I failed not only myself but my family. I dragged them to a place we could not thrive. So much change, so little opportunity. Lovely people, a phenomenal baby, some life lessons sprinkled in...and here we are, so far below where we started.
And it is ALL. MY. FAULT.
I try desperately to focus on the beautiful little girl born in KY, and the amazing women that taught me all about true community. I try to see the silver linings and not focus on how my son does not have a playroom or a yard to play in. Or how or where we could send him to a few days of school this fall? So many questions, and I cannot even begin to answer them.
I am too wrapped up in failing.
This isn't the first time. It keeps reminding me of when I was 19. When I walked away from Emory University and into the arms of one shitty excuse for a human being. I failed myself so badly then. And when I got out of that they called me brave too.
I am beginning to think they do not know what bravery really is.
Failures aren't brave, they are just surviving.
To say this latest journey has humbled me would be an understatement.
I don't even know where to begin to pick up the pieces.
Maybe 20 year old me can come give me a pep talk. She survived her failure, maybe I can survive mine.