Tag Archives: therapy

On Starting Therapy

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I met with a new therapist today, and I was only halfway through my first sentence when my voice cracked for the first time.

I felt I had to pause what I’d been saying, (which was undoubtedly something incredibly emotional and revealing, such as “I have been depressed for a while now,”) and explain what was going on, as if I was the first person who has ever cried during therapy. “I’m a crier,” I said, “You should know that about me. I’m going to cry the whole time I talk to you, and that’s just how it’s going to be.” She laughed and said that was fine, of course, and she would grab me all the tissues I could possibly need. “Oh, it’s alright,” I explained, as I reached around to my back pocket to grab the handkerchief I’d knowingly brought along with me. I told her, “I came prepared.”

I’m not sure why I even thought it would be possible, but I had convinced myself that I was going to be able to discuss my life with this therapist without snotting all over her couch and crying the whole time. I was so, so wrong. Before we even started talking about me, I knew I was wrong. I was sitting on the couch listening to her explain the legal forms that I’d signed–disclosure statements, right to privacy explanations, etc.– when I started to feel the inside of my sinus cavities start to tingle as if I’d just snorted a giant pile of crushed lifesaver Wint-O-Greens. I’m sure a lot of people cry during therapy, but I’m willing to bet that not everyone gets choked up while their therapist is running through her personal education background. But I do. Ooooh, I certainly do.

Before I picked up where I left off, I told her that I’d basically just shown her everything she’d need to know about me. I know that I’ve got a lot of stuff going on in my life, I know that I have problems. And even though I haven’t figured out how to fix them yet, I have learned to compensate fairly well. I understand my particular collection of -isms, and I prepare accordingly.

Then I blew my nose into the handkerchief that I’d brought, and we dove right in.

On Washing The Dishes

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Just after I graduated college (the first time), I moved to Waco to live with some of my friends there. They already had an apartment, so I just moved into the place where they lived, after I’d found a job in town. I, through my roommates, came to be friends with a girl named Katherine. When I left our cozy apartment in Waco to move to Camp Eagle (in order to convince Zack to marry me, which totally worked), Katherine wound up taking my place in the apartment.

Katherine had one particular quirk about her that made her a fantastic roommate. After I moved out, I learned that my ‘replacement’ liked to wash dishes to relieve stress. She was a pre-med student at Baylor, and her life was crazy busy. Any time it all got to be too much for her, she would get up from her studying, walk into the kitchen, and wash the dishes. The roommates told her that she was crazy. They didn’t complain, because nobody complains about having the dishes always done, but they thought she was crazy.

I’m not saying that Cold Turkey Day didn’t go well. It was fine. It really was. I will say, however, that I just found myself getting up from my studying, walking into the kitchen, and washing the dishes. I don’t know how I got there, nor do I know why I chose to start doing them. I just did. And while I was in the middle of spot checking my wine glasses, I remembered Katherine and her strange affection for hand-washing the plates, and I finally got it. Dish washing is therapy.