One of the best things about being not quite right mentally, is therapy. I love my therapist. We've been working together for almost five years. I initially hated her guts, thought she might be just a bit that side of malpractice. Predictably, it was my alcoholic's mind that made me think she was out of her tree, and I had put my mental eggs in the wrong basket.
Her major transgression? Suggesting I needed AA. I remember, clear as a bell, telling a friend "doesn't she realize I have REAL problems going on?". I laugh at my brazen, stupid self of yesteryear.
Another great thing about therapy is that I get a quiet break of at least 30 minutes in the waiting room. No whining child. No husband prattling away on a work call that you can hear at any spot in our tiny townhouse. Blissful peace.
So I break out a book while waiting my turn, and start to realize my appointment time is nearing. My senses perk up for the telltale signs of another client quietly leaving my therapist's office. Ten more minutes passes, and my time is officially past. Normally, when someone exits, I do the therapy office bit of neighborliness, by averting my eyes and ignoring the person. No way I could do that to the lady leaving today.
She was guffawing before the door even cracked. I could hear my therapist return the laughter, and then the lady started talking LOUDLY about decisions she had to make. She broke therapy etiquette by pretty much airing her business. I had to look. So I took her full in. Because I am learning to deal with my character defects, I admit I am quick to judge. I also have a hair-trigger for loudness. My immediate thoughts were not kind, and erred on the side of brutal.
E, my therapist, whispers for me to come in. Promptly I march in and plop myself on the sofa, and reach over to the other end to feel the warmth on the seat from the braying woman who just vacated. Mind you, I am not ticking off the many ways I am being crazy.
I have been really anxious and irritable the last three weeks since my last appointment. I chalked part of it up to my menstrual cycle. Then I tried to mentally scroll through all the things that could be causing my mood upset: motherhood? Nope. Husband? Not really? Mother? I had to admit that even that hot-button was not it. So for the next 50 minutes E and I worked our way through what it could be.
Well, seems I am very much fearful of getting licensed to be a foster parent. Right under my nose the whole time, something I SHOULD have picked up on, but didn't. Felt great to get that load off, and now the fear is manageable.
I left E's office feeling light and bouncy. Then I thought, "man, she must be emotionally drained from dealing with crazies all day long!". And I am pretty humbled to admit, I was barely thinking of ME being part of that equation. The braying woman came right to mind. Then I though how awful of me to diminish my own crazy and it's effect on others. Light bulb!
Still, that braying woman has some shit to work out. Heh.
Her major transgression? Suggesting I needed AA. I remember, clear as a bell, telling a friend "doesn't she realize I have REAL problems going on?". I laugh at my brazen, stupid self of yesteryear.
Another great thing about therapy is that I get a quiet break of at least 30 minutes in the waiting room. No whining child. No husband prattling away on a work call that you can hear at any spot in our tiny townhouse. Blissful peace.
So I break out a book while waiting my turn, and start to realize my appointment time is nearing. My senses perk up for the telltale signs of another client quietly leaving my therapist's office. Ten more minutes passes, and my time is officially past. Normally, when someone exits, I do the therapy office bit of neighborliness, by averting my eyes and ignoring the person. No way I could do that to the lady leaving today.
She was guffawing before the door even cracked. I could hear my therapist return the laughter, and then the lady started talking LOUDLY about decisions she had to make. She broke therapy etiquette by pretty much airing her business. I had to look. So I took her full in. Because I am learning to deal with my character defects, I admit I am quick to judge. I also have a hair-trigger for loudness. My immediate thoughts were not kind, and erred on the side of brutal.
E, my therapist, whispers for me to come in. Promptly I march in and plop myself on the sofa, and reach over to the other end to feel the warmth on the seat from the braying woman who just vacated. Mind you, I am not ticking off the many ways I am being crazy.
I have been really anxious and irritable the last three weeks since my last appointment. I chalked part of it up to my menstrual cycle. Then I tried to mentally scroll through all the things that could be causing my mood upset: motherhood? Nope. Husband? Not really? Mother? I had to admit that even that hot-button was not it. So for the next 50 minutes E and I worked our way through what it could be.
Well, seems I am very much fearful of getting licensed to be a foster parent. Right under my nose the whole time, something I SHOULD have picked up on, but didn't. Felt great to get that load off, and now the fear is manageable.
I left E's office feeling light and bouncy. Then I thought, "man, she must be emotionally drained from dealing with crazies all day long!". And I am pretty humbled to admit, I was barely thinking of ME being part of that equation. The braying woman came right to mind. Then I though how awful of me to diminish my own crazy and it's effect on others. Light bulb!
Still, that braying woman has some shit to work out. Heh.
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