The delicate art of psychotherapy

I've been back in therapy since May of last year. It was time to go back.

I'd not been in therapy for a long time, and I'd given myself the impression that I'd never have to go back again, until the whole "emotionally unavailable" thing reared its head again in a particularly emotionally unhealthy way, not that dealing with anyone who is emotionally unavailable for more than a very short period of time is healthy. Oops.

No one makes you dance the dance of whatever it is you're dancing unless you decide to do so. It was time to come off the dance floor and learn another way of dancing.

So, back into therapy I went. Celeste, as I'll call her, got my phone number wrong the first time the agency she works for contacted her with my name and number. I'd called the supervisor at the agency again to find out why I'd not heard anything, and later on that night, the phone rings.
I liked Celeste on the phone right away when she called me. She was open and friendly and enthusiastic. Good. Her office is literally down the street from my house, too. I can walk there in 10 minutes or so.

We're about the same age; she is a little younger than I. She has a terrific figure--tiny waist, and boobs she was born with that lots of women would place a catalog order with on plasticsurgeonsrus.com. She's bright and articulate, and empathetic and likes me a lot as a person, not just as a client. I am very grateful to her for that.

She is also really good at pushing some of my buttons. Really good.

She has been late for several sessions--she was late about eight or 10 times in a row. I finally decided enough was enough, and called her on it. It's been a problem of hers for a long time, she confessed. For the most part, she's done a good job of being on time since then.

Some of her button pushing has been without her even knowing she's pushed them. Sometimes I don't even know those buttons have been pushed until after our session has ended, and I've had time to think about what we've covered earlier that day, or that week.

Before I was able to finally figure out that it was the whole adrenal burnout/hormonal imbalance thing with me, my moods were swinging back and forth like a seesaw, and sometimes Celeste got to bear the brunt of my getting jerked around.

I took a break from her last fall for about a month while I fell back and regrouped. There was something missing from our sessions that I couldn't put my finger on, and I was feeling like nothing was being done in the way of constructive therapy, so why go?

After much researching on my own about my emotional foibles, both with her and without her, I was able to get a clearer picture of myself and what it was I needed from her. We're still working on that, but we're both able to see what it is that I do and what it is that she does that both supports each other and doesn't.

She understands that the client/therapist relationship is truly symbiotic.

She was late for our last session and didn't call me while en route to let me know she was stuck in traffic but on the way. I was upset by this, especially since her lateness is something that I'd addressed to her before. It also bothered me that she hadn't called me, as a point of professional courtesy. I'd called her to ask where she was, and she told me she was on her way, but by then, the damage was done. I should have addressed it as soon as she showed up and we were in her office, but I pushed it aside, thinking it might not matter later on.

It did. As our upcoming session drew closer, I began to get more anxious about the possibility of another showdown, and resentful that it would take away from my time talking about me. We've spent time talking about our rapport, and it seemed like when I finally felt like she knew what was going on, and what caused my hackles to rise, something would happen again.

She called me early this morning after I'd left her a message with my concerns a couple of days ago on her office voicemail, and I told her how what she'd done by not calling me made me pull back from trusting her. Trusting her is the litmus test for trusting everyone else, for better or for worse. Trust is a big issue with me. I've trusted those I shouldn't have trusted, and haven't trusted my own good judgement, to my detriment. I'm getting much better at trusting myself and going with my true feelings, no matter what someone else might think. It's a good thing, and too long in coming, but because it's new, it also feels strange, and a bit scary at times.

I don't know how much sense I made this morning, as she called early, and I wasn't really awake, having gotten to bed at 1:30 last night, but I know she's more able to ascertain how I process things, as am I. Good for the both of us.

My next session with her is Monday afternoon, and it will have been two weeks after I've last seen her. I'm sure the whole "you didn't phone me" issue will be brought up, but for the sake of closure so I can move onto the other issues I'm dealing with right now.

Good psychotherapists are like good car mechanics. Hard to find, but worth building a good relationship with. I'm lucky to have both. I hate having to find either one.