Letter #1 Terri

Dear Terri,

Lucky you! I chose you for the first “target” in my letter series. You were erroneously assigned to me in my search for some clarity, acquisition of mental tools, and guidance in my search for some sanity. AKA, my shrink.

I’ll have to say from the start that our first meeting didn’t leave me feeling especially hopeful. Of course the therapist/client relationship takes some time, but this isn’t my first encounter with professionals. Oh dear, that makes me sound like a complete lunatic, having several therapists in my past, but guess what? I know pretty much from the get-go what will work for me. Yeah, yeah, that can be interpreted as I only want you to say what I want to hear. Sort of, but not completely. Method and style I can connect to, like, right away. I’m all on board with hearing things that are difficult for me to handle, and I’m also willing to take the time to think about those things, take or leave them. Hell, I know I need to face harsh realities and am open to discovering ways to help myself. Your method and style kinda put me off.

I made it very clear (to the person who assigned you to me) I’m not looking for a touchy/feely type of therapy. I’m very fine with directness. However, there’s a difference between directness and being dismissive. In our first meeting I shared stories that were pivotal in leading me to get some help. My dad’s recent death. My mother’s response and expectations following her husband’s death. My dismissing a friend of over 40 years because of her actions toward me. The demise of my identity of an entrepreneur at the hands of a bitter shrew. My lack of motivation and indifference about every day life. That’s kind of a lot to cram into 50 minutes. What I received from you after each of my stories was a smile and shrug of the shoulders. No feedback. No compassion. No empathy. Just the body language that said to me, “yeah, well, get over it.” Instead of questioning or even trying to understand how these things have affected me, you smiled and shrugged.

What you did offer was the suggestion to search for joy. Um, okay. I’m in a dungeon of depression and anxiety right now. The motivation to search for anything is pretty much not a thing. However, you asked me “what brings you joy?” I answered, very quickly at the top of my head, “writing.” And you made the obligatory assignment. “Go to a coffee house or library with a notebook and pen and write. Get out of the house.” And so I did.

I chose to go to a library where I wouldn’t run into anyone I’d know. I can’t remember the last time I was in a public library, and it was weird. I had a very difficult time even finding the parking lot, which added to my anxiety about doing the assignment in the first place. Once I got in I realized I’ve never been to a place filled with so many people that was so quiet. Then, I found a place to sit, pulled out my notebook, and proceeded to write.

I lasted 30 minutes and wrote pretty much what I’ve been writing here. Found out I’m better with a keyboard than a pen and paper. Resented the fact that I had to put myself in an anxious situation to “find joy.” Kept visualizing that smile and shrug.

The only good thing about the “assignment” was that I decided to write again in this otherwise deserted blog. So, Terri, I guess in a round-about way the assignment proved to be somewhat effective. Yay you and yay me. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m finding “joy” in writing, but I can keep up my typing skills and get some of my feelings out. I also like my method of writing letters. There’s a focus on specific people who have affected me for good or ill.

Whether or not our professional relationship works out is yet to be seen. I don’t know if I’ll write to you again or if I’ll share any of these letters with you, but I must say it feels kind of good to call you out. I’ll see you again next week to give this endeavor another shot. Who knows? I might just call you out to your face.

The End