Maybe You Should Talk to Someon - Lori Gottlieb Page 0,181
twice and stands but doesn’t say his usual “See you next week” at the door.
“Bye,” I say.
“Bye,” he says and he reaches his hand out to shake mine.
When I release his hand, I turn and walk through the waiting room with the funky chairs and black-and-white photos and humming noise machine, then head down the corridor toward the building’s exit. As I approach the main door, a woman enters from the street. She’s holding her phone to her ear with one hand, pulling the door open with the other.
“I have to go. Can I call you in an hour?” she says into her phone. I hang back, watching her move down the hall. Sure enough, she opens the door to Wendell’s office. I wonder what they’ll talk about. I wonder if they’ll ever dance.
I think about our conversation, wondering how the pause will hold.
Once outside, I quicken my step as I head to my car. I have patients to see at the office, people like me, all of us trying our best to get out of our own ways. The light on the corner is about to change so I run to catch it, but then I notice the warmth on my skin and I stop at the curb, tilting my face to the sun, soaking it in, lifting my eyes to the world.
Actually, I’ve got plenty of time.
Acknowledgments
There’s a reason I ask patients early on how their lives are peopled—if I’ve said it a million times, I’ll say it a million and one: we grow in connection with others. It turns out that books grow in the same way. I am so grateful to the following people:
First and foremost, my patients are the reason I do what I do and my admiration for them is endless. Each week, they push themselves harder than Olympic athletes, and it’s a privilege to be a part of that process. I hope that I’ve done justice to their stories, and honored their lives in these pages. They teach me so much.
Wendell—thank you for seeing my neshama, even (and especially) when I couldn’t. It’s an understatement to say that I feel so lucky to have landed in your office when I did.
Therapy is so many things, including a craft that’s honed over the years. I’ve had the great fortune to learn from the best. Harold Young, Astrid Schwartz, Lorraine Rose, Lori Karny, and Richard Dunn helped me from the very beginning. Lori Grapes has been a wise mentor and generous supporter, always making herself available for a quick consult between sessions. My consultation group has provided the most supportive place to do the hard work of examining myself as well as my patients.
Gail Ross made this entire thing possible, launching me into the capable hands of Lauren Wein, a serendipitous match for many reasons, just one of which is that she also happens to be the daughter-in-law of a therapist, so she understood exactly what I was trying to do in these pages. Her “in conversation with” comment was the inspiration that made it all click and, in innumerable ways, she has guided this project with an enthusiasm that authors only dream of. Bruce Nichols and Ellen Archer have been wonderfully encouraging and hands-on from up on high, and have supported and championed this project literally every step of the way. Pilar Garcia-Brown was a wizard behind the scenes; I wish I were half as capable and efficient at making things happen as she is. When it came time to work with the rest of the HMH team, I couldn’t believe how much talent there was under one roof. My immense gratitude goes to Lori Glazer, Maire Gorman, Taryn Roeder, Leila Meglio, Liz Anderson, Hannah Harlow, Lisa Glover, Debbie Engel, and Loren Isenberg. Their brilliance and creativity astound me. Martha Kennedy (thank you for the gorgeous cover design) and Arthur Mount (thank you for the office illustrations) made the book look beautiful, inside and out.
Tracy Roe, MD, wasn’t just an exacting copyeditor who saved me (and my readers) from countless grammatical disasters. We also discovered many parallel experiences, and her hilarious comments in the margins made this process a delight (for me; my lax pronoun use might have driven her right back to her patients in the ER). Dara Kaye helped navigate the maze of international paperwork for our foreign editions, and here in Los Angeles, Olivia Blaustein’s and Michelle Weiner’s expert care at CAA has been icing on the cake.
When Scott Stossel first told me about Alice Truax, he used the word “legendary,” and he was right. Her clarity, guidance, and wisdom were indeed legendary. She saw connections between my life and my patients’ lives that even I hadn’t; answered emails at all hours of the night; and like a good therapist, asked discerning questions, pushed me to go deeper, and encouraged me to reveal myself more fully than I ever intended. Alice is, quite simply, all over this book.
Back when my first draft was an obscene 600 pages, a small army of very honest and very generous souls volunteered to offer feedback. Each of one of them helped to improve the book dramatically, and if I had the ability to hand out good karma for life, I’d give it to them: Kelli Auerbach, Carolyn Carlson, Amanda Fortini, Sarah Hepola, David Hochman, Judith Newman, Brett Paesel, Kate Phillips, David Rensin, Bethany Saltman, Kyle Smith, and Miven Trageser.
Anat Baron, Amy Bloom, Taffy Brodesser-Akner, Meghan Daum, Rachel Kauder-Nalebuff, Barry Nalebuff, Peggy Orenstein, Faith Salie, Joel Stein, and Heather Turgeon all provided moral and practical support and/or hilarious title ideas (There’s Dust Under That Couch; My Couch, or Yours?). Taffy also launched her truth bombs my way when I needed them most. The savvy Jim Levine encouraged me at a key moment, and his support meant the world. Emily Perl Kingsley offered her gracious blessing when I asked to reprint her beautiful essay “Welcome to Holland” in these pages. Carolyn Bronstein listened . . . and listened . . . and listened.
When you’re writing a book, it takes a long time before you have the privilege of connecting with readers, but when you write a weekly column, your readers are right there with you. Huge thanks to my “Dear Therapist” readers, and to the Atlantic’s Jeffrey Goldberg, Scott Stossel, Kate Julian, Adrienne LaFrance, and Becca Rosen for giving me the opportunity and trusting me to have candid conversations with the brave readers who write in for that candor. Thanks to Joe Pinsker, a dream editor in every way, for making sure that what I write makes sense and sounds so much better. It’s always a joy to work with all of you.
My greatest thanks go to my family. Wendell only had to see me once a week; you have to see me all the time. Your love, support, and understanding are everything. Extra special thanks to the “whole package,” Zach, for adding daily magic to all of our lives, and for your helpful thoughts on what to say in my advice column and what to title my book. It’s not easy having a mom who’s a therapist, and it’s not easy having a mom who’s a writer. You got a double dose, ZJ, and have handled it all with astonishing grace. You give meaning to the word meaning, and, as always, I love you “infinity to the infinity power.”