Take a knock on our door

This post is brought to you by the phrase “doorknob therapy,” and the word “FUCK.”

Y’know, recognizing that something has a psychological term, and knowing that it’s incredibly common, does not allow me to not fall into doing that very goddamned thing.

Doorknob therapy is when the client waits until the very end of the session, sometimes even with their hand literally on the doorknob, to say something difficult or important or whatever.  Basically: I really want to talk about this, but it’s really hard, so I’m going to wait until the last minute.

DON’T DO IT.  It’s a fucking terrible idea.  I did it tonight totally without meaning to, well maybe subconsciously I did it intentionally, but yeah. 

When I had to confess something (Facebook stalking) I said, “I don’t know if there’s something that’s the opposite of ‘doorknob therapy,’ but here goes.”  Dropping the bomb at the beginning of the session, so that then there was adequate time to discuss it and process those feelings.

Now, initially I wanted to write this post about a week ago.  I was kind of proud of something I did, pretty much literally with my hand on the doorknob, two sessions ago.

For MONTHS I’ve been trying to work up to sitting down, and starting off a session with, “Hi, Sid,” calling him by name.  It always comes out, “hi.”  I realized that I don’t really call people by name, to their face, hardly ever.  Especially with Seth… I assumed it was a kind of intimacy that I didn’t even need to call him by name.  Well, I’m thinking it’s actually the opposite, it stems from my fear of intimacy.

Two sessions ago was no different.  But, BUT!  I made myself do it, as I’m leaving the office, I’m steeling myself knowing it’s my last chance, so as I walk past, I said, “Thanks, Sid.”  He noticed, there was a pause before he said, “you’re welcome.”  But of course I couldn’t make eye contact, and as soon as the door closed I had the same reaction as I do when I’m trying to let Emma “cry it out.”  I scrunched up real tight, not quite in pain, but in a “that was really fucking hard, but I did!” kind of way.

Well, there has been no name calling since.  But I can at least make eye contact when I say, “thank you.”  So… little by little, progress?

ANYWAY.  To my point.  I honestly forgot until the end of the session that I’d wanted to share my “blog voice” with him.  I’d been so busy talking about how excited I am to have figured out what I want to be when I grow up.

So I read him an excerpt from my first post, “How Candy Crush Saga ruined my marriage.”

Next up?  You guessed it.  Was an excerpt from the post on transference.

Y’know, recognizing that something has a psychological term, and knowing that it’s incredibly common, does not allow me to not fall into doing that very goddamned thing.

Fuck.  Fuck transference.  Seriously.  DO NOT WANT.

I read him the part about how I want to ask more about counter-transference, but that makes me anxious that he’s going to think I’m trying to get information about me.

So you’re struggling because you don’t know where you stand with me.
Yeah.  And I don’t get to know that.

He grimaced at that.  He usually has a very good poker face.  But yeah.  He fucking grimaced?!  What does that mean?!  Yes, I do get to know, but he’s disappointed/what’s wrong with me that makes me think I don’t deserve to know?  No, I don’t get to know, and that sucks?

And that’s where shame took over.  Not only did I want to put the breaks on, I wanted to go full reverse and GTFO ASAP.  I even said I wanted to take the last 5 minutes back.

Usually when I’m looking for validation, happy with either positive or negative, I’m able to at least not back down from whatever I said.  Which leads to following a lot of what I say with, “y’know?” or “does that make sense?” etc. etc.  But here?  I just wanted to run and hide, and rewind 5 minutes and not say ANY of that shit.

And that’s pretty much where we left off.  He did bust out the crayons and tell me to draw my feelings.  I complained, but I think it helped.

But, yeah.  And of course, this was the first session where I’m trying to go back to once a week.  So now I get to sit with that shame for a whole goddamned week.

Because I fucking doorknobbed it.


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