young woman with long, dirty blonde hair hanging loose, wearing black pants and a white button down shirt, opens the door and calls me in.
Two framed degrees hang above her desk against the back wall. To the right of her desk is a floor to ceiling window; and a solitary four-drawer black metal file cabinet, along with a bookshelf full of books, is on the left. A circle of padded, metal-framed chairs fill one corner and a tray of sand sits in another corner. The wall next to the sandtray is lined with bookshelves packed with toys, games, puppets, puzzles, and dolls of all sizes.
“Hello, Sara. My name is Sam.” Her voice is light and she offers her hand with a radiant smile.
I take her hand and she gives a gentle, but firm squeeze before letting go. “Hi,” I respond shyly, making eye contact with her for a second. “Nice to meet you.”
Her hand sweeps around the office. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.”
I survey the room, tempted to sit on the floor with the toys because I never had my own. I decide on a chair, sitting with my hands squeezed between my knees. Sam chooses a chair next to me, spaced far enough from mine that I don’t feel too close.
“Do you have any questions before we start?” she asks.
I stare at her, dumbfounded. I get to ask questions?
She laughs heartily. “You’re not the first to be surprised at that question. How about I tell you a few things and then you can ask questions.”
“Okay.” My voice is meek with discomfort.
“This office will be a safe place for you. What we talk about, I have to keep in confidence unless you have a plan to hurt yourself or someone else; you tell me someone has hurt you; or I am ordered to in court by a judge.
“So no one has to know?”
“Unless it is one of the exceptions I just told you.”
“Okay.” My muscles loosen and I splay my hands over my thighs. It’s like an official Secrets game. I can tell my secrets and she has to keep them. But I won’t tell her about the rapes or the pregnancy. That one is mine and mine alone.
“I’ve been in practice for four years. Before that, I worked in a psychiatric hospital for three years.
“Most of what will help you in therapy is your willingness to make changes, especially difficult ones.”
“How often will I see you?”
“I like to start with once a week. It all depends on your needs and what you are agreeable to doing.”
My knees fall open slightly. This won’t be so bad. “Will I have to take medication?”
“I prefer my clients not take medication if they don’t really need it.”
“How will you know if I do?”
“You’ll have symptoms that indicate you might need it.”
“Symptoms?”
She smiles and continues patiently. “Some of the symptoms will be physical problems you tell me about, almost like when you’re sick or injured. Other symptoms will be behaviors you exhibit. So, if I see a certain combination of these and if what we work on in sessions isn’t helping you when you apply it outside of here, I will refer you to a psychiatrist.”
“What’s the difference between you and a psychiatrist?” I lean against the chair back.
“A psychiatrist has to go to medical school and can prescribe medication. I went to graduate school instead of med school and can’t prescribe meds.”
“Why do you have all those toys?” I ask, nodding towards them.
“Ah, the real fun begins,” she responds, smiling. “I use those in sessions.”’
“You use toys in therapy?”
“They can help you express yourself or tell a story when you have difficulty telling me directly.”
We spend the rest of the session talking about my likes and dislikes and I’m laughing by the time Rose and Andrew arrive.
I can do this.
I take my empty plate and glass to the sink after dinner, turning on the faucet to wash them.
“Sara, sweetie,” Rose says. “Leave them. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
I return to the table and pick up the platter of roasted chicken.
Rose wraps her hand around my wrist with tenderness. “I’ll take care of the food and clearing the table.” Her smile that usually warms me, rubs me the wrong way.
“Hmph,” I grunt. I head for my room and curl up on the bed, hugging my pillow.
Andrew and Rose packed up my clothes and books and brought them over yesterday. I don’t have much, so my room still looks like a guest room.