This fantastic statement was made to me by a therapist the one and only time I went to see one. Several of the agencies I have been referred to have suggested, cajoled and eventually coerced into speaking to a therapist. Apparently they felt it would be good for me, and consequently good for my fae. The famous “you can’t pour from an empty jug” analogy was dragged out (as swiftly downgraded to a metaphor when I pointed out I’m not a jug) as well as other nuggets of wisdom such as “your stress bucket is full, you can’t cope with much more” (again, not a bucket – stop comparing me to inanimate fluid receptacles).
At any event, that’s how I ended up in the therapist’s office. From the get go, I didn’t get on with the therapist I was assigned: I was told by the receptionist to go up to the office and knock, which I did. He opened the door and informed me that I was 2 minutes early, and in future I should wait on the seats at the other end of the corridor. Right, fine, but I’m not sure how I was supposed to know that. Put out that I was inconceivably early, I was abruptly directed to a seat, read a (compulsory) GDPR statement to sign, informed of the (few) expectations of privacy, and basically told anything I said would be used in evidence. After this inauspicious start, as though a switch was flicked, said therapist changed personalities from administrator to full on ‘I’m here to listen’ stereotype mark 2 (the one with the crossed legs, head tilt and long pauses between blinks). I find this type of thing rather disconcerting, and (whilst counting how many cliches he went through) mostly studied how many interesting patterns could be found in the paint on the wall. There was an array of paint drops that looked strikingly similar to the Great Bear constellation.
Throughout the next hour, I was asked some questions. Not as many as I thought I would be, and each was followed by a protracted silence. For those who don’t know, this is an overused and very irritating technique, designed to ‘allow room for answers’. It’s supposed to give you time to think & reply, and also develop an awkward atmosphere to encourage the other person to speak. The problem is, when you are aware that it’s going on, all it does is irritate. Frankly, I don’t find silence that awkward (it’s only disturbing if I haven’t got eyes on my daughter as it means she’s up to something) and in this context, I can stay silent indefinitely. I had already decided that this therapist was not going to offer anything useful, so I used the time to mentally write a shopping list, design a few blog posts, and debate if he would be offended if I pointed out that his clock ticked second slightly out of time.
At one point he did say “if you want to use this time to sit quietly, that’s fine.” This amused me, as it obviously wasn’t fine, and he was trying – and failing – not to show his irritation. Which probably wasn’t helped when I then asked him to repeat the question. When he asked about my troubles with my daughter, the answer “It is what it is” apparently wasn’t what he was looking for. His exasperated “But how do you feel about it?” I thought I answered appropriately by listing the fact that the situation can be frustrating, and those frustrations can lead to despair and anger, which is why it was important to tap out on occasions and keep lines of communications with my husband open. He told me to stop analysing. I told him I didn’t know what he expected, he said that was the problem. When I said I thought the problem was how to manage the impacts on me of the behaviours linked to my daughter’s autism, he rolled his eyes and came out with the “I can’t help you when you’re being this logical!”
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Well that was informative. I thanked him for his time as he back-peddled desperately and tried to explain that what he meant was I needed MUCH more therapy and I should come back next week. Right, ok, we’ll agree to disagree on that.
So apparently I’m too logical for counselling. I’m not too sure where to go with that. Anyone know a good therapist?
Raising the Modern Fae 