Appointment #2, Turtle Sandwich
Editor's Note: To read Appointment #1, Tell Me a Little About Yourself, click here.
Appointment #2. 10:30 am.
I’m ready to pick up where we left off. He needs to know all my history before he can help me right?
Instead he tells me how adorable my son is.
I know I can’t possibly get healed up if I don’t make use of the time we have but I find myself filling up with this warm feeling and talking about the relationship I have with my first born child and how already it’s grown to something bigger than I ever imagined.
Perhaps the therapist is up to something. Maybe he’s in a rush to fix me and wants me to look forward instead of back. I’m on to him. I took a load of psychology courses.
It’s weird talking to a male therapist.
He asks about childbirth. He doesn’t nod and tell me about his own birthing experience. He listens as though in awe of women – acknowledging that the sacrifice of body, mind and soul is something miraculous and wondrous.
Talking about my son puts me in a much better head space than the one I was in. I had been going over details from the past since the last appointment. I see what he’s doing. We start out on something positive and ease into the harder stuff. Nice trick. It’s a negativity sandwich. I learned all about that in my marketing program. If you’re going to deliver bad news, like a credit rejection or firing someone, start with something good, slip in the bad and go out on a high note.
He’s reassuring me that the boundaries I’ve set up are healthy and just because people haven’t agreed to respect them doesn’t mean I should change or modify the things I ask for.
We’re still in the middle part of the bad meat sandwich and I’m seeing that white sheet of nothing in front of me that pops up when I don’t want to talk anymore. My brain’s way of telling me that’s enough for one day. I’ve been talking about….yeah, there it is again. White sheet. Is the hour up yet?
This new therapist wears leather loafers that I cannot stop staring at.
He says I’m on the right track but I argue that it’s very lonely.
He says turtles are lonely too when they pull their heads in to protect themselves.
I might make another appointment.