I have started therapy again. Let’s see, this is the sixth time I’ve gone. Sometimes it sort of helps, but many times it doesn’t. Two of therapists were marriage counselors, only one of them did us any good. And of the four individual therapists, only one of them ever helped. I wonder why that is? The current one I like ok so far, and I am trying really hard to work with her.
One of the good things about therapy, though, is I think it provides me with lots of opportunity to laugh at myself. When you stop and look back and analyze your life, your decisions, your reactions – well, sometimes you realize that perhaps your really didn’t need to tell your mom you pierced your nose.
Another thing – and this is just SO WRONG of me – but I love to observe the other people in the waiting room. Last week there was a woman in her 60’s. White hair, red purse, blue jeans from Sears, white tennis shoes. I thought she looked so prim – so put together. What could she need therapy for? Because her son is gay? Because her sister married outside of the church? That sounds really mean, I know. Seriously, I think it is cool that she wants to do something for herself, which ultimately is what therapy is.
Today I sat in the lobby, in the corner chair. There are ten chairs in there. I count them obsessively. Four have arms, six do not. There was one other person in there, a young, gangly guy maybe in his early 20’s. He had on a sideways baseball cap, and two arms full of tattoos. Do you suppose HE is into working on his issues? Do you think I have many judgements based on appearances?
Then another guy walked in. One of those guys who is probably in his early 40’s but looked much older. A very large man. So where do you suppose he sat? Ten chairs, I’m in the corner… Yes! He sat RIGHT next to me! why? Why? No wonder I need therapy.
