Me (ranting about a former client who didn’t understand or value the services I provide as a tutor): “It must be nice for you– you know, to be a doctor, and work in an established, revered field where your clients actually have respect for the work that you do.”
Therapist: “Half my clients have personality disorders. I get called the c-word and am told to go fuck myself at least three times a week.”
Oh.
Alright well I feel better now.
I shaved my legs!
Discussing possible strategies for dealing with my seasonal depression….
Therapist: “Maybe start with some small, achievable actions. For example, shave your legs– because I know you, and I know you haven’t shaved them since summer ended.”
Me: “But if I do that now, then what will I get Eric for our wedding day?”
Therapist (sighs): “The gift of knowing he is marrying someone who regularly shaves her legs?”
Me: “So…lies. You’re saying I should get him lies.”
Therapist: <head in hands >
Prompted by a storyline on a TV show, my friends and I found ourselves having the following discussion: If, god forbid, something should happen to one of our parents, would we be supportive of the other parent entering the dating world? Pretty much all of my friends agreed that they would be extremely uncomfortable and they were not sure they could be supportive.
But I think that’s pretty naive and close-minded. I’m much more realistic about these things.
In the sense that I don’t have to think about it, because my mom and dad are going to die at the same time. On the same day I do. I’ll be 90 years old and they’ll be 126, and we’ll all go peacefully in our sleep, holding hands.
I have notoriously disturbing dreams, clearly driven by my anxiety. Sometimes they’re straight up terrifying horror shows, other times they are just upsetting and leave me feeling uneasy, like last night’s.
Eric: “Did you sleep ok? You were tossing and turning.”
Me: “No. I had a dream where, for whatever reason, I was walking around a mall holding thousands of dollars in a bag. And I stopped in the mall arcade, and put a $1000 bill in the arcade machine, even though I meant to put in a $10. But then it was too late. So it ate the money and gave me tickets. But then, I actually ended up winning all these vouchers– like thousands of dollars in vouchers. All I had to do was go claim it. But then somehow I misplaced the bag with my cash and vouchers, and I ended up losing all the money I started with, plus the money I won. I started panicking, sweating, running around the mall, trying to retrace my steps. Everyone was telling me how irresponsible I am. And the more they said it, the more I panicked, but no matter what I did I couldn’t find my way back to the money, and nobody would help me.”
(silent pause)
Eric: “I dreamt that I wore my new Uggs and someone was like– ‘you don’t have to wear socks with those, they’re so soft!'”
I really need some reassurance here because I totally feel like the Grinch who stole childhood. But this was justified, right?
Background: kid across the hall constantly plays soccer in the hallway. Literally uses people’s apartment doors as goals. Now that the weather is getting colder, these indoor soccer sessions are increasing, and lasting for hours. No, I have no idea why he isn’t in school. He’s at least 11 years old.
So parents out there, it’s ok that I went and ruined this kid’s fun, correct? I’m not a mean old cranky neighbor lady, right? It was justified, don’t you think?*
*In case the leading questions didn’t make this obvious, I am seeking agreement responses only. This is not a situation where I am interested in diverse opinions. Solely looking to avoid guilt tears as I sit here typing common-sore aligned math problems beneath the glow of my therapy lamp.
That risky, terrifying moment when you break the protocol of assuming she’s a robot in order to confirm that your therapist has the same political views as you do.
She does.
“It was at 10:30. And also yesterday.”
— My therapist, when I arrived for my 11:30 appointment today.
Me: “I refuse to raise children in a Trump-led country. If I have to wait 4-8 years to start a family, then so be it.”
Therapist: “Ok but let’s be realistic. Because science.”
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