Ending Before We'd Barely Begun

"We have something to talk about," my therapist said to me as we started our session in her clinical yet oddly cozy office.

"My family's moving to Pennsylvania," she said, "and I'll be closing my practice on October 20."

I listened quietly, trying not to become emotional, as she explained how this would affect my treatment.

"There are a couple of doctors I can refer you to that specialize in eating disorders. One of them lives in your area. Would you like me to give you her name?"

After briefly entertaining the idea of going it alone, I took the doctor up on her offer.

"How do you feel about this?", she asked.

"Well," I said, "finding a therapist that you connect with can be really difficult."

My soon-to-be ex-therapist nodded her head in agreement.

"So I'm a bit disappointed to be losing someone who really got me."

Without me having to explain further, the doctor acknowledged my concern that my next counseling relationship would be inferior to this one. And though she spoke highly of the woman she was referring me to, she admitted there was no guarantee that the new counselor and I will work out. She encouraged me to give it a try anyway and I agreed.

We then went on to have one of our best sessions ever. She counseled with abandon, giving me all the psychological insight she could muster . She was even more open than usual, offering personal information she'd never shared before, like her husband's occupation -- a Presbyterian minister -- and the reason for their move --a job offer as a senior pastor.

After our time was up, she expressed her gratitude for having had the opportunity to work with me and I did the same. After wishing me well, she sent me on my way to start all over again with someone else.

Actively Imagining, Part 1

Heeeey! (she reaches out her arms to hug me)

Could you step back please?

Why?

Because you’re dirty and you smell.

That’s not nice.

Why are you here?

I like it here.

Why?

It feels comfy.

But I don’t want you here. This is not your place. You don’t belong.

But it’s comfy.

I don’t care how comfortable you feel here. You are not welcome. You're trespassing.

You’re not being nice to me.

Are those your dogs?

Yes, don’t you like them?

No, they are mangy and unkempt, like you. Why can’t your dogs look like mine? They’re cute and pristine.

My dogs keep me company. We may not be well taken care of (or “cute and pristine”) but we are always there for each other.

Can you be there for each other somewhere else?

Why can’t we be here?

Why do you keep coming back? What is it that you need or want?

I want to be taken care of like you take care of your dogs. I want to be cute and pristine too.

A Labor-Free Day

Today has been a great day! It's been equal parts lazy and productive.

The productive part of the day is the Labor Day meal my roommate and I were able to create: honey mustard grilled chicken, broccoli salad, and cooked potatoes mixed with butter, sour cream and cheddar cheese. Simply divine.




Last night, I also whipped up (It felt as effortless as the phrase suggests) a from-scratch chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream frosting.




Normally, when I do this much cooking (like when The Fiance's in town), I am absolutely pooped afterward, but not this time. I've had a relaxing and refreshing day -- exactly what a Labor Day should be.

Finding Out What She Needs

So I told my therapist about the dream that I had. You know, the one where this homeless woman keeps breaking into my house to live in my pantry. I also mentioned to her that, after taking some time to process the dream, I thought the dream was about self-acceptance.

She neither agreed nor disagreed.

What she did do was ask a question: "What does this woman need?"

I stared at her blankly.

She went on to explain that obviously this woman, who is a representation of myself (that much my therapist seemed to acknowledge), needs something which is why she keeps coming back. It would behoove me, my therapist said, to find out what that something is.

To aid in this process, she suggested I engage in a practice created by Carl Jung called active imagination where I enter into a conversation with the homeless woman to find out what it is she's looking for and why she thinks she'll find it in my pantry.

I pondered the good doctor's question as I lay in bed one morning when it was too early to get up but too late to go back to sleep. What could this woman possibly want or need? And why is she looking for it in my pantry? Then I remembered a scene from my dream where, on one of the many occasions where she'd found her way back into my house after being kicked out, the homeless woman hugged me. At first I thought that spoke to her mental instability (seeking hugs from perfect strangers) but now I began to wonder if it meant something more. Could it be that the old lady is looking for love? And if so, from whom? From me?

Because I haven't had a chance to sit down and properly engage in active imagination, I'm not marrying myself to any conclusions just yet, but it's definitely something to think about. I'll be sure to let you in on any tidbits of self-discovery.