Maybe You Should Talk to Someon - Lori Gottlieb Page 0,20
so much. At least, he seemed fine when we coordinated my returning his belongings this morning. Had he gotten through his sadness months ago, knowing that eventually he was going to end things? If so, how could he have kept talking about our future together? How could he send I love you emails just hours before what was to become our last conversation, at the start of which we made movie plans for the weekend? (Did he go see the movie? I wonder.)
I start to stew again on the drive to the office. By the time I pull into my building’s parking garage, I’m thinking about the fact that not only has Boyfriend wasted two years of my life, but now I’m going to have to deal with the fallout by going to therapy, and I don’t have time for any of this because I’m in my forties now and half my life is over and . . . oh my God, there it is again! Half my life is over. I’ve never said that to myself or anyone else before. Why does it keep popping up?
You’re grieving something bigger, Wendell had said.
But I forget all about this as soon as I step into the elevator at work.
8
Rosie
“Well, it’s official,” John says after slipping off his shoes and sitting cross-legged on the sofa. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
His phone vibrates. As he reaches for it, I raise my eyebrows. In return, John gives me an exaggerated eye roll.
It’s our fourth session together, and I’ve started to form some initial impressions. I get the sense that, despite all the people surrounding him, John is desperately isolated—and that this is by design. Something in his life has made getting close seem dangerous, so dangerous that he does everything in his power to prevent it. His arsenal is effective: He insults me, goes on long tangents, changes the subject, and interrupts whenever I attempt to speak. But unless I can find a way to get past his defenses, we’ll have no chance of making headway.
One of these defenses is his cell phone.
Last week, after John began texting in session, I brought his attention to my experience of feeling dismissed when he texts. This is called working in the here-and-now. Instead of focusing on a patient’s stories from the outside world, the here-and-now is about what’s occurring in the room. You can bet that whatever a patient does with his therapist, he also does with others, and I wanted John to begin to see the impact he had on people. I knew I ran the risk of pushing too far too soon, but I remembered a detail about his earlier therapy: It had lasted just three sessions, exactly where we were. I didn’t know how long I’d have with him.
I was guessing that John had left his previous therapist for one of two reasons: either she didn’t call him on his bullshit, which makes patients feel unsafe, like children whose parents don’t hold them accountable; or she did call him on his bullshit, but she moved too fast and committed the same mistake I was potentially about to make. I was willing to risk it, though. I wanted John to feel comfortable in therapy but not so comfortable that I wasn’t helping him.
Above all, I didn’t want to fall into the trap that Buddhists call idiot compassion—an apt phrase, given John’s worldview. In idiot compassion, you avoid rocking the boat to spare people’s feelings, even though the boat needs rocking and your compassion ends up being more harmful than your honesty. People do this with teenagers, spouses, addicts, even themselves. Its opposite is wise compassion, which means caring about the person but also giving him or her a loving truth bomb when needed.
“You know, John,” I’d said the week before as he texted away, “I’m curious if you have any reaction to my feeling dismissed when you do this.”
He held up a finger—Hang on—but continued to text. When he finished, he looked up at me. “Sorry, what was I saying?”
I loved that. Not “What were you saying” but “What was I saying.”
“Well—” I began, but his phone pinged, and off he went, responding to another text.
“See, this is what I mean,” he grumbled. “I can’t delegate anything if I want it done right. Just a sec.”
Judging by the pings coming in, he seemed to be having multiple conversations. I wondered if we were reenacting a scene that played out with his wife.