“No, I’m being serious,” she says as she takes a bite of some fries before tossing me the notebook. “Read through my observations while I finish my food, I think you’ll be surprised.”
“About what?”
“About me, you … hell, your prospects.”
The offer was too tantalizing to resist, So, while Dr. Felt loaded peppers onto her sandwich, I examined the notebook for the first time, wondering if I really wanted to know. My name was written across the front in her immaculate handwriting. Seeing my name and knowing it only contained observations about me gives it a personal feeling. Curiosity eventually overcame fear and I dive into her observations of Session 1:
Very punctual. Clearly skeptical, but also intrigued by the idea of what therapy has to offer. Uses humor as a way to break the ice. Quick to be witty, but able to get serious when the time calls for it. Tough facade, but quickly shows a heart of gold. Financially secure from tragedy, yet uncomfortable with the strings that were attached to it. Doesn’t seem prone to rash decision making, which makes the suicide attempt a perplexing event. Obvious love for his deceased family, possibly a deeper love in the wake of their deaths. Very protective of them. I sense his grief is magnified by his perceived mistakes while they were alive. Will explore in future sessions. Deep hatred for his father, hasn’t mentioned his mother much, but hints at a complicated bond. Definitely a topic for a future session.
“Wow,” I say, “I was not expecting that.”
“What did you think?”
“I think I couldn’t see myself more clearly if I were looking in a mirror,” I tell her.
Having someone analyze you and be so spot-on has a dizzying effect. I imagine the people who have portraits painted of themselves have the same feeling. Giving the world—or in my case a therapist—a shallow version of yourself and having her figure out who you really are, boggles the mind.
“Keep reading,” she says.
Seeing how accurate she was in describing the first session, which covered nothing, made me cringe at her observations of my childhood. If there was any recommendation about patching things up with my father, I would politely tell her to fuck off. But I read on through session 2:
More at ease this week, really letting his true self show. Feelings about his father are confirmed, reconciliation is off the table. Keen sense of how childhood trauma informs relationships later in life. Resentment toward his mother for how he was raised, but also sympathetic to her circumstances. Professes indifference on the surface, but clearly cares deeply for her.
I looked up and noticed Dr. Felt watching me, reading every twitch and movement before I continued reading:
So used to being alone, he buried the good memories of his mother to shoehorn her into a role that’s comfortable for him. Blames father for his relationship with his mother falling apart. That combined with what he experienced in being a father himself, cements his position. When pushed, Miles finds positive memories of his mother, though he struggles with articulating them. With a little encouragement, I think they can figure it out. Scared to love because everything he loves, he’s lost. So, I can only imagine how hard it is for him to keep trying. Comfortable with ignoring the flaws in people he loves as a way of holding onto them. Avoids conflict and revealing true feelings, brooding on them until it’s too late. Has a stepsister that’s estranged, a sore spot for him, but I sense this could be a potential launch point. Will explore when the time is right.
I sat the book on the table and rubbed my temples, trying to stall for time and process Dr. Felt’s analysis of me. She finished her sandwich and cleared the table, signaling that the session was about to begin.
“So, what did you think?” she asked, no doubt curious on my interpretation.
“You got a lot right, the father part, being scared to love again. That was good work on your part. But, you were wrong about my mother and sister.”
“Was I though?” she asks, and her glare is burning a hole through my soul. We sat with our eyes locked on each other for what felt like forever.
She’d hit the nail on the head, and we both knew it. Mind you, this is before we even got to the actual topic of the session.
“So, why did you ask about putting your notebook away?”
“The goal is getting you to open up, and with your paternal relationships that was easy. With you being the child, the only thing you could do was talk about how it affected you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You weren’t in a position of authority because you were the child. So, any discussion about changes would be with them, and they aren’t my client.” She tosses the book in a drawer. “You also have an antagonistic relationship with them, so it was easy for you to let the shit fly. With your children, it’s gonna be tough, and I felt writing notes while you work through some of this would be distracting.”
“I wish I could just be fixed, that this could just fix me,” I say to nobody in particular.
“Your idea of therapy is wrong. Therapy ain’t fixing people,” she explains. “It’s about finding ways of dealing with and accepting the burdens we carry.”
“Not sure I follow.”
“Think of it like this,” she sits up, relishing the moment, “fixing implies that the problem has gone away, that everything is back to normal.”
“Ok.”
“And the only thing that could ‘fix’ you Miles, would be your family coming back. Since that’s impossible, one could argue that you can never be fixed.”
“So, if I cant be fixed, shouldn’t I just save you the time and leave?”
“No. Like I said, therapy isn’t about fixing people. It’s about accounting for the trials of life and learning to cope with them. It’s also more than just meeting with me. You have therapy every morning when you wake up and decide to keep carrying on, hoping that it hurts a little less each day.”
“So, if I can do therapy at home, why do I need you then?” I asks, sounding more like an asshole than I intended.
She smiles at this. “Two reasons: one, because I have no connection to your life. It’s the same reason a spouse could never be your therapist—”
“Because she’s dead.”
“No, because they naturally project their feelings onto you, and in effect, it becomes more about their feelings than yours. The second reason is more about you. Think of every breakthrough we’ve had. It was you that came to the conclusion, I just helped you get there.”
“That’s pretty insightful Doc. So, what’s the launching point about?”
“That’s for our last session, we still have work to do.”
She rises from the chair and led me to her office, an indication that shit was about to get intense. I sink into my normal place while she washed her hands, and I realize we only have one more session after this one. The thought alone brings a sense of dread over me, but it’s not about having to face the world again.
It was knowing that Dr. Felt wouldn’t be in my life anymore. I didn’t have time to explore the thought, because soon she was back in her customary seat, without the notebook as promised.