Should I show her this blog sometime?
She asked all the normal admittance questions like “were you abused,” “do you have hallucinations,” and “do you do drugs.”
I felt kind of embarrassed answering no to all of them because it reminded me what a blessed life I lead. Literally, I can’t think of a legitimate complaint I can make about my life situation. Everything is going well for me, and everything has always gone well for me. I have no history of trauma, I never got into any (big) trouble, and I had an upbringing which on all accounts should have turned me into a super awesome mentally stable woman. I was wondering whether the therapist was thinking I shouldn’t be there because nothing bad had happened to me.
In my head here’s how the session could have gone:
Therapist: Well, Emily, I don’t know what good therapy can do you.
Me: What do you mean?
Therapist: You say you know all the skills I could teach you. There are no horrible experiences in your past to revisit and get over. You say you’re making progress and I don’t think therapy will be able to help you further than you’ve been helping yourself.
Me: I thought there was never such a thing as too much therapy. I thought therapy could always help even if the problem was small.
Therapist: There’s only so much therapy can do. You’ve done everything and it hasn’t gotten you any better in a long time. Besides, these are just normal stresses. You really think you need a therapist just because you stayed up all night worrying about your new job?
Therapist: I don’t want to waste my time on you. No offense, but what you need is someone to talk to, not insight. I could help you, but there are only so many hours in the day and a lot of patients to comfort.
Me: Ok. (leaves dejected)
It didn’t go like that, obviously. But it was only the first session. There’s plenty of time for her to see that it’s no use trying to help me.