Date #1:
Local Psychotherapist with greying black hair curling half way down her back. She likes to tell me I’m right and ask me my opinion on why my live-out-hubby made the choices he made. She brings up my parents and also comments on “how amazing it is that so many couples with little kids separate unnecessarily…you can speak your mind. i’m not judging you.”
I cried, of course. I was really fucking nervous. I’ve never sat in an office with someone who was diagramming my personality in a little manila folder and expecting me to re-hash my decisions and then affirming them for me.
By the time my “hour” was up, I was crying because I was angry. She was supposed to be the one. I wasn’t supposed to have to go on a hunt for a fucking counselor. I was supposed to be able to go see this woman, we’d click, she’d help me figure out why occasionally I’m sad, why my body is in revolt, why I feel a little stuck even though I’m actively moving forward.
Instead, I got affirmations about choices I already know were right. I got a raised eyebrow when I mentioned naturopathy and yoga. I got a shocked “oh” twice when she discovered my live-out hubby and I are dating other people but neither one of us started dating other people until we’d been separated for almost a year. I got judged by the fact that I have a better relationship with my ex now that we’re separated than we ever did as a couple. And I was told repeatedly that if my husband and I ever decide to “give it another go” we should have couples counseling.
- Some people actually know who they are before therapy and just need a little help occasionally.
- Some people believe that alternative therapies are valid, important contributions to health and well-being.
- Some people end their marriage because “it’s just not working” not because we were cheating on each other. Some of us do, indeed, have honor and scruples.
- Some of us are better parents when we don’t have to spend all of our time being angry at each other.
- Some of us really are okay being separated and moving on.
Some of us = me. I can’t be that fucking unusual, people, so cut me some slack.
So now, I have to go through this whole fucking thing again with another counselor, and another, and another. If I have to fucking cry every single time, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I promised myself and several people that I will find a counselor but this is a very bad start and I’m not feeling good about it. However, I think I’d like to write the word fuck one more time. Because, oddly enough, that makes me feel better.
Fuck.
I hate doctors.
Tags: doctors, IBS, life, psychotherapist, therapy
September 15, 2008 at 9:53 pm |
Finding a therapist you click with is almost as hard as finding the right ____ (fill in the blank with your own hard to find person/thing/need/want/etc).
Good luck! I’d assume that most therapists will be thrown off by the fact that you are ok with you – most people go to find themselves, I suppose.
October 13, 2008 at 10:19 pm |
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