Hug Your Therapist-Well, Not Literally, As That May Lead to a Restraining Order

I have often wondered what it is like to be a therapist. I figure it must be one of the hardest jobs in the world. All day long they listen to people's problems. Some are giant, horrific problems; others are petty and trite. Somehow these gifted individuals have to show the same level of concern for someone who is complaining about their husband never doing the laundry as they did to the person who just confessed being a childhood victim of incest. I wonder how many individuals admit to feeling suicidal on any given day, or how many actually describe a plan to die in full detail, and the therapist has to convince those people of reasons to stay alive, or else make the decision to have them hospitalized for their safety. I wonder how often they have to learn that one of their patients has already killed themselves. I wonder how many blatantly criticize their therapist, or blame them for something, or just stop showing up so the therapist has to wonder what happened to them. I wonder how therapists shut off all the to be continued stories they have heard throughout the day and go home to their own lives and enjoy their evenings after knowing so much about what others are going through. I wonder how they sleep at night.

I wonder if  therapists have to have therapists of their own just to keep from going crazy themselves. 

I have had four different therapists since I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.  My first one, V, will always remain my favorite. She was easy to open up to, and she had a very kind and wise aura about her. It was not unheard of for her to give me a reassuring hug at the end of an emotional session, and once she even prayed with me. I liked her because she didn't give advice, but simply listened and gave me enough guidance to figure things out on my own. There were times when I would go to her office in such a state of depression that I said nothing the whole session. She would soothe me with the simplicity of silence; it's hard to explain, but she had a way of radiating peace to me, and I would always leave feeling better than when I came in. Other times, she would help me through panic attacks (brought on by all the people in the waiting room). I would be in a wonderful state of calm by the end of my session. I saw V on a weekly basis for three years, until she left for Boston because her husband received a job offer there. The grief I felt when she left was as if she had died. How was I to carry on without her? After all, she had helped me through one of the most difficult eras of my life. I still miss her to this day.

The therapist who came to take V's place after she left was...different. She actually reminded me a lot of a friend I once had, and that was not a good thing, as this particular friend had been very critical and condescending. I did like how she made a point of me writing down my dreams each morning and sharing them with her at my sessions. She felt that dreams revealed a lot about our subconscious, and I tend to agree. Yet, through no true fault of her own, this therapist and I just didn't mesh well. I only saw her a few times before I asked about seeing someone else.

R was next in line. I liked R fairly well since at the time I was a smoker, and we would often go outside and smoke during my session. It made me feel like I was leisurely talking to a friend rather than being cooped up in a stuffy office forced to tell my secrets. She helped me through the grief I was feeling for losing V, and through an even harder grief when later I lost my dad to cancer. During many sessions she would give me a pen and paper and leave the room so I could write out letters to my dad, and then she would come back in and I would read what I had written. This was very helpful to me, and it brought out pent up emotions I had about things that I didn't even realize. At some points I didn't like her, because I didn't like admitting any negative feelings toward my deceased father, and I didn't like her telling me I needed to leave my verbally abusive husband (though, let's face it, she was right).  R was not a coaxer. She was more blunt and to the point. Sometimes this was good; sometimes bad. Whatever the case, after a couple of years I stopped seeing her for a while, only to return and find out she was gone. I never found out why she left, but I never grieved her absence like I did that of V. By then, I had come to expect it. Therapists are not a constant. They come and go just like patients do.

My next therapist was L. She was just so cute! So young and innocent. At first, I didn't want to admit anything too harsh to her, for fear of deflowering her of all that supposed innocence. Eventually, I did start opening up more about the less-than-pretty parts of my life. She was a very good listener, and she liked writing things down in lists and charts-like pros and cons, for instance-and she was very organized so she pleased my OCD tendencies for order. Her guidance helped me safely leave my abusive marriage and gain confidence in my ability to take care of myself. I randomly stopped going to see her, as well as my psychiatrist, for a couple of years because (as I tend to do occasionally) I felt "healed" and didn't think I needed any more help. As we all know, we are never completely healed from Bipolar Disorder; we just think we are sometimes. As symptoms started creeping back up I realized I needed to get back in therapy, so I have returned to L and am seeing her cute (and now pregnant) self on a weekly basis again. I was amazed at how much she remembered about me since two years had passed, which brings me to another pondering of mine: how do therapists keep up with all the personal details about their patients so well??  L will be going on maternity leave in a couple of months, if not sooner, so I will have the fabulous joy of seeing whoever is going to fill in for her. It's a scary thought, seeing someone new again, but hopefully L will return eventually.

While each of my therapists were vastly different in personalities and methods of psychiatry, I gained something of interest from all of them. It is difficult to endure starting all over with a new therapist if your old one leaves; all that history, mixed with the apprehension of getting used to someone else, plus the chore of retelling your story all over again...it's enough to make you want to give up going to therapy at all. I do believe that the benefits of therapy are worth the trial of turnover, however, as each new therapist will have a brand new perspective on your circumstances. If you keep an open mind, you are sure to gain something useful from each encounter.

I am sure there are really terrible therapists out there. Perhaps they have become burned out from all the non-stop melancholy of their patients, or perhaps they never truly cared to begin with. If you are seeing such a character, I recommend finding someone else. It won't do you any good to talk into a dead phone. If you have a good therapist, though-and I certainly hope you do!-how about letting them know how much you appreciate them. It can be something as simple as saying "thanks for listening". Remember, most are not allowed to accept gifts, and many have personal or legal reserves on physical contact such as hugging, so a heartfelt "thank you" will suffice. Maybe some gratitude will brighten their day and give them a little confidence and feeling of purpose to carry them through the rest of their day.