Therapy Blues
i need therapy to deal with my therapists
I first started seeing a therapist shortly before the pandemic. It started out great. I’d go to her office and take my shoes off and sit on a cute little couch that came equipped with several pillows, a blanket, and a box of tissues. We’d talk for 45 minutes about all kinds of things and I really felt I was making headway with her. Then Covid happened.
We switched to phone calls. She said she was uncomfortable doing Zoom and even though I think body language and facial cues mean a lot in therapy, I went with it because I trusted her and we had established a good relationship.
Things went to hell pretty quick. She was calling me from home and seemed to be ever distracted by her toddler son. At first I was empathetic about it; it can’t be easy to try to do a therapy session from your house when you have a little kid running around. But then there were other things going on. She was doing dishes while she talked to me. Putting in her laundry. Walking around her block, stopping to say hi to her neighbors. Here I was, pouring out my heart to her, telling her the most damning, intimate secrets of my life, and she was emptying the dishwasher while I talked. When she did talk, she was dumping her life concerns on me, talking about her pandemic anxiety, her living situation, her boyfriend. I listened attentively, but I was paying her to listen to me, not to be a sounding board for her problems.
I felt like I was no longer important to her, like she wasn’t at all paying attention to me or my problems. She’d utter “mmhmm” or “I see” every once in a while and then tell me my feelings were valid and that would be it. 45 minutes would be up and I’d done all the talking - save for her venting - while she got her house clean and her son tended to. I felt worse when I got off the phone then I did before, and I felt in a sense that I had been abandoned.
In mid January of 2021 I told her I was ending our therapy sessions. I was honest with her to a point; I told her I felt like I was getting nowhere, and that I was just talking in circles. Because I’m non-confrontational - something I was trying to work on through therapy - I didn’t bring up her washing the dishes or dumping her problems on me. I did a “it’s not you, it’s me” thing and broke up with her.
Two weeks later my husband, my partner of fourteen years, surprised the hell out of me by asking for a separation. What a time to be without a therapist! I was an emotional wreck, despondent, out of my mind. It would have been great to have someone to talk to, a professional who would help me sort out my feelings. My timing for dumping my therapist was bad, but who knows how helpful she would have been.
I started looking for another therapist. I finally found one in my town who took my insurance. She wasn’t yet ready to do in person sessions, but she would do Zoom and that had to be ok. She was young and eager and fresh and I thought we’d be a good fit.
The first few sessions went ok. I told her about the impending divorce, about our entire relationship, about my previous relationships. She wasn’t really giving me any tools to work with, nothing actionable, but at first I just wanted someone to talk to so this was fine. But as time went on I wanted something more. I told her I needed to work on myself, to figure out what to do with my feelings, particularly my anger, and that I needed ways to ease my anxiety. She didn’t offer much beyond the phrases “I hear you” and “that’s valid.” Each session became agonizing at there would be long stretches of silence. She would end the sessions sometimes ten minutes early. This was becoming all to familiar and I freaked out.
What if it was me? Was I boring? Tedious? OH MY GOD I AM A TEDIOUS PATIENT is something I woke up one night at 3am screaming at myself. My problems are boring. My issues are run of the mill. She was probably stifling yawns as we spoke. She probably hated Wednesday nights as much as I was beginning to hate them.
I decided to let her off the hook, in a way. Because I had convinced myself this was all my fault, I figured it would be easier for both of us if I just stopped seeing her. So I texted her. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I passively told her that I needed a break from talking about my divorce because it was winding me up instead of making me feel better and maybe we could pick up after the holidays and I could get some ways to work on myself from her. My text was very thoughtful and long and apologetic on my part.
That was November 17th. I never heard back from her. Not a simple “ok,” not a “let’s keep working,” not even, “have a happy Thanksgiving.” Nothing. She completely ghosted me. As the days went on without a response, I felt increasingly bad about sending the text. Maybe I should have spoken to her about it at the next session. Maybe I should have given her more time. Maybe I was too tedious and I should talk about the myriad other problems I have.
I know it sometimes takes a while to find a therapist who is the right fit for you. Like with depression meds, it might take a few tries to get it right. But I’m tired. I don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want to work at getting a therapist to do their work. Maybe I’m going about it all wrong and I’m expecting more that I should. The insistence I have on blaming myself for everything is really something I need to work on.
If only I had a good therapist.