Therapy notes: That’s a stupid shirt
There is a certain amount of intimacy, created in spilling all of your shit to another human being. It’s years of relationship building, smashed into a matter of months. There are few things that I have, few thoughts that litter the internal landscape of me, that this man does not know.
In some ways it is petrifying. In other ways, liberating. I am not here to impress this person, rather to be the most authentic version of me. I don’t have to spare feelings, I don’t have to worry about the structure of a relationship. These hours I spend, open wide and bare are purely for my benefit.
Yet, there is connection here. Admittedly I’d tried therapy before him. She was a kind woman. She was a kind woman with a beautiful office, with a tree outside of her office, with no windows. The tree had about a million birds in it, all of which would shit on my car, no matter which parking space I chose. It wasn’t so different than what took place in her office. Where she liked to try to blame everything on my father. I can say a lot of things about my dad (and do) but it isn’t his fault that I was raped. It isn’t his fault I have nightmares. I spent more time fighting this point with her, than I did healing. I was paying her for the favor.
Shit for shit.
It wasn’t helping me, not in my head, not in my home. Not in my life. So, the search began anew for someone different to help. Somewhere, in the recesses of me, I decided that I needed to seek a man. My life had, at that point, change indelibly by two men. One tore me to shreds and the other was fighting with all of his cells to help me rebuild. Interspersed between the two, were shades of men who left their mark in one way or another, painted a belief, erased another. While I find strength and support and courage in the women of my family, my closest friends have always been men. Blogging has been an exercise in complete shock for me. Finding commonality, support, and comfort in women.
It is not common for female rape victims to seek male therapists. When I called to talk to the Shrink, something in his demeanor struck me.
What do you hope to gain from coming to see me, Christine?
“I think I would like to be able to sleep without nightmares, and to gain a better understanding of why I make some of the stupid decisions I make.”
I could almost hear a smile over the phone.
That’s a very well thought out answer. Now if I were your friend, what would you say?
“Fix me, so I stop fucking everything up.”
I’ll see you on Wednesday.
Months have passed. Wednesdays or Fridays, the errant Monday. I have seen him mostly in evenings, sometimes in an afternoon, and one wayward morning. He brought me coffee.
This day was not so unlike the others I’ve spent in his care. Some days the work is grueling and intense and leaves me raw and tired. Some days it is light and funny. But it is never a game of blame. It is never a room without windows. It is always a balance of comfort and growth.
Have I ever told you the story of the little boy who drew a picture?
“No, we’ve never had story time.”
That’s because you talk too much. He laughed, and handed me a bottle of water. I’m kidding, don’t internalize that, you are supposed to talk here. I stuck my tongue out at him.
There was a little boy, and he drew a picture of his house and his family. He was about 5 and the dog was purple, the house was the same size as the people, the flowers had no stems. But he was proud of it and thought ‘I should take this to the one person who I know has knowledge of everything artistic’. By that, he meant his 7 year old sister, whose artwork was all over the house.
When he took the picture to his sister, she told him it was all wrong and that he was stupid. He thought, well maybe she doesn’t know everything, but my older brother, who is a freshman in highschool, does. So he took the picture to his brother who said. ‘Well, the dog isn’t purple and dad isn’t as big as the house…so this isn’t all that good.’
The little boy decided, he was not good at art. He avoided it at all costs. When he was in 2nd grade they made him fingerpaint and the teacher picked 5 pictures to show at parent night. The little boy wanted his to get picked, but it wasn’t. He decided, again ‘I am no good at art, and I hate it.’
As time progressed anything having to do with art, the boy avoided. As he got older, things artistic began to offend him. Music, live performance, literature, was all offensive and hurtful to him. So he never fell in love with the hot girl in art class, he never traveled and went to great museums. He never knew why it all offended him so, but his entire life he wore his ” I hate art, I am not artistic” shirt. It stunted his wardrobe.
“So he needed Garanimals?”
As is often the way when I say something sarcastic in response to a long and sage diatribe, he stopped and smiled and shook his head.
No, he needed to change his shirt.
“How about one that says “I’m with stupid.”?”
He ignored me and continued. Like the one you wear, that says ” I am defective”. That’s a stupid shirt, Christine. It doesn’t flatter you. Maybe it’s time you started building a new wardrobe.
I felt my lip twitch and looked down, and realized that I was, indeed, wearing a new shirt. Leave it to a male therapist to point out the obvious.
March 8th, 2008 at 8:02 pm
that is a stupid shirt. but, we’ve been down this road before.
i like this better:
i was not made wrong.
deja vu, madamoiselle?
check. and mate.
March 8th, 2008 at 8:11 pm
garanimals! snort.
yeah. stupid shirt, all right.
March 8th, 2008 at 8:18 pm
I like your shrink better than mine…
March 8th, 2008 at 8:45 pm
How did you know I can’t coordinate clothes worth a damn. Wait, I missed the point didn’t I?
Fables are a long-winded, excruciating way to learn a lesson…and yet we listen anyway.
March 8th, 2008 at 9:33 pm
But this shirt is so comfortable. Guess it’s probably starting to smell though.
March 8th, 2008 at 9:50 pm
I want a shirt that says Have a Better Sense of Self.
March 8th, 2008 at 10:19 pm
Of course to change your shirt the first step is exposing yourself — so this is really the perfect analogy for therapy.
Oooh. We have so much in common: I’ve always had more male friends than female ones. For me the female centric blogosphere had been eye opening. I’d probably be inclined to have a male therapist — both of my boys were delivered by male doctors.
March 8th, 2008 at 11:22 pm
It’s paying someone to be your friend. And that’s what makes it a safe relationship. I know that relationship.
That you can be funny, and appreciated for your funny, speaks very well of this man.
March 8th, 2008 at 11:33 pm
My husband wishes they made Garanimals for grown ups (shaking my head…)
I LOVE this guy! It’s totally fascinating to be a fly on the wall during pieces of your sessions. I am SO glad you found this guy – he is the real deal doctor – but I’m sure you know that already!
March 9th, 2008 at 5:20 am
gawd, I hate that word “defective.” I couldn’t even take your questionnaire because of it. definitely toss that shirt.
March 9th, 2008 at 6:08 am
Nice shirt, hon.
March 9th, 2008 at 6:56 am
What a story. Oh how I’d love to deconstruct it. But the point. Yeah, it’s a shirt that does not flatter. New shirt time.
March 9th, 2008 at 7:25 am
I’m with liv on this one, sister.
March 9th, 2008 at 7:28 am
how lucky you are to have found your therapist. i had a good therapist once — now she owns a pizza place. seriously. i’m so blogging about that someday. oh, this was about you…..
wonderful wonderful post. i hope you have several new shirts: “i am free” “I am beautiful” “I am flying” “i am perfectly, wonderfully, ME”
March 9th, 2008 at 7:55 am
I was working up to a great comment, then I saw Slow Panic’s…and hers says it already, and better.
I’m glad you found this therapist.
March 9th, 2008 at 7:55 am
You took the coffee? You took the water? This is interesting to me. I’m always offered the coffee and the water. I never take it. Maybe it’s time I start accepting these things….I never do. I don’t want to “owe” her anything in return. Still fucked up and in need of fixing, I’m thinking. Oh and hey? I love that new shirt you are wearing. You look totally HOT in it ; )
March 9th, 2008 at 9:15 am
Sounds like somebody was watching over you when you found this guy. And I’m glad. I thought of you yesterday. An image popped into my head, a young woman, raped and bleeding, lying on the floor and I thought, if it had been be me, I think I would have died. You are a strong woman Christine, don’t forget that.
March 9th, 2008 at 9:31 am
you write beautifully ~ so clear & rich.
i am interested that you felt able / safe enough (tho’ of course, you and i are different people!) to go to a male therapist to work this piece out.
interested, becos. i didn’t.
it sounds like you have a good therapist.
with clear boundaries
who creates a safe space ( he MUST if you feel like you can be your tOtal real self there).
RIGHT On.
i’ve been to many different therapists.
for various (frustrating!) reasons; most have lasted about a year & then I either leave or they move/their status changes (i.e. not able to see clients anymore).
One thing I’ve gleaned from this array of exp. is:
It doesn’t matter WHAT diplomas they have on their wall.
I can SmeLL a GOOD, Healthy~boundaried, PROfessional one a miLe away!!
ANYhoo.
’nuff about me.
I come here to see a sister doing similar work.
I really love your aUTHenticity.
Here’s to ALWAYS (i’m moooving towards this) bein’ our jREAL selves!!
March 9th, 2008 at 10:31 am
I am so proud of you, Flutter. You are doing the work. Keep going, you need a shirt with Fluttercrafts on it.
March 9th, 2008 at 11:54 am
i’d wear that shirt if it had like a firetruck on it with strippers riding on the back of the truck with flame throwers or rocket launchers. that would kick ass
March 9th, 2008 at 2:28 pm
Yeah, you’d look much better in a Threadless T, maybe the “A Field With a Dream” one. In green? Green, yup.
March 9th, 2008 at 3:03 pm
I need to see your shrink.
March 9th, 2008 at 5:33 pm
i’m so glad you found the therapist that works for you.
March 9th, 2008 at 5:48 pm
i have this perfect picture in my head of this this guy. and i think he sounds amazing.
i’m glad you have him.
March 9th, 2008 at 6:20 pm
It really is a shame there is no such thing as mental health Garanimals.
Once again I am floored by how much this therapist “gets it”.
March 9th, 2008 at 7:09 pm
I like this therapist of yours. The stories you tell about him are so fun, so insightful. I find myself wanting to invite him over to dinner to hear his stories.
March 9th, 2008 at 7:57 pm
Good, smart man. So good. And smart. Soooooo right.
and you describe it all so brilliantly.
March 9th, 2008 at 10:46 pm
he brought you coffee. again and again, i like this guy.
March 10th, 2008 at 6:12 am
yes. this sounds like a seriously solid man to me, and I would be really wrestling with transference issues, methinks.
totally ditch the t-shirt and put a bad-ass bunny on it instead. (brilliantly recounted, btw)
March 10th, 2008 at 8:11 am
My old shirt?
I am not good at math.
It’s a silly shirt, but I’ve worn it for so long that it’s hard to get rid of it. Most of my wardrobe coordinates, after all.
So, I’m not an engineer. But I am a teacher and work hard at helping kids remove those shirts that they’ve worn for so long. Besides. A purple dog? The kid could have grown up not only to become an artist but a famous one at that.
March 10th, 2008 at 9:57 am
I just wanted to let you know that your posts really get me thinking. They get me thinking about my own choices and I like the results.
Thanks for having the balls to put all of this stuff out there. I think and I hope that it is helpful to you. I hope you know that it’s helpful for a lot of us too.
Hugs.
Foop
March 10th, 2008 at 10:03 am
Your shrink makes me want one, too.
I think you should get a Dark & Divine shirt.
March 10th, 2008 at 11:13 am
A good shrink is able to break down a person’s walls and erroneous self labels and equip that patient with the tools to rebuild themselves into something more authentic. Such shrinks are rare, so you are lucky to have found one.
March 10th, 2008 at 1:27 pm
How about a t-shirt with your beautiful butterfly on it?
He does sound like a rare therapist indeed…
Oh, and I only just now saw the bunny picture!
March 10th, 2008 at 1:31 pm
ah Fooped struck a chord with me. Something I was trying to put my finger on. The shirt. choices. As difficult as it is to accept that even though we did not choose the shirt we’re wearing originally – we are choosing to wear it still. (whatever that shirt is). choice. and choice is the hardest thing to change in a way, because we have to be so proactive about it.
March 10th, 2008 at 1:40 pm
Oh…is he giving you permission to shop for a new shirt? Cause’ I’d totally be up for that any day…
March 10th, 2008 at 1:46 pm
You’re so witty, I bet you are the highlight of his week.
If you don’t want to buy a whole new shirt, maybe you can just add “NOT” to the current one with a Sharpie, you think?
March 10th, 2008 at 2:43 pm
See, this is why I always make sure that my shirt either matches my underwear or my socks.
So I can say, “Well at least I match, jerkface!”
And I get the bonus of everyone being kinda put off about me pulling down my pants to show them my underwear. Talk about my shirt will ya.
March 10th, 2008 at 4:25 pm
I want to see your therapist. I feel safe just reading about him. My favorite shirt right now says ‘Just Breathe.’ It’s about all I can do somedays. Sums it up nicely.
And I can definitely relate to your thoughts about friendships with men. See my post tomorrow and you’ll see what I mean.
March 10th, 2008 at 6:18 pm
I kind of love your therapist. I wonder if he does conference calls…
March 10th, 2008 at 11:56 pm
My first therapist tried to blame everything on my parents. I hate those kind. We’re they get their degrees.. cracker jacks international?
Please tell me your therapist is ugly as hell. He’s so brilliant that I’m starting to have fantasies about him.
March 11th, 2008 at 9:56 am
Not that I’m telling you anything that you DON’T know, but your therapist is a very wise man. I’m so glad you found him!
March 11th, 2008 at 10:17 am
I have always disliked male therapists, and yet you were absolutely right that you needed one.
March 11th, 2008 at 12:11 pm
You’re writing is amazing! I could read forever!
I agree. I think I need to meet this therapist!
March 11th, 2008 at 3:22 pm
Dearest Flutter– I have just caught up on a bevy of posts and find myself again all taken in by the beauty of your writing, of your soul. I am sorry to have been so absent for so long. Plus, I’d totally go shopping with you for some of that new wardrobe you need….
But, I don’t think they sell those things in stores….
March 19th, 2008 at 9:03 pm
Best blog post I’ve read in ages.