Maybe You Should Talk to Someon - Lori Gottlieb Page 0,88
if Gabe was somebody significant in his life—one of his brothers, a childhood friend? The name of his father?
“This is an idiotic conversation,” John said, looking away. “I meant Grace. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Dr. Freud.”
We both sat there.
“Who’s Gabe?” I asked gently.
John was quiet for a long while. His face went through a series of expressions in rapid succession, like a time-lapse video of a storm. This was new; he generally had two modes, angry and jokey. Eventually he looked at his shoes—the same checkered sneakers I’d seen on our Skype call—and shifted into the safest gear, neutral.
“Gabe is my son,” John said so quietly that I could barely hear him. “How’s that for a twist in the case, Sherlock?”
Then he grabbed his phone, walked out the door, and shut it behind him.
Now here I am, a week later, standing in the empty waiting room, and I’m not sure what to make of the fact that our lunches have arrived but John hasn’t. I haven’t heard from him since the revelation, but I’ve been thinking about him. Gabe is my son rang through my mind at the most random of moments, especially at bedtime.
This felt like a classic example of projective identification. In projection, a patient attributes his beliefs to another person; in projective identification, he sends them into another person. For instance, a man may feel angry at his boss at work, then come home and say to his spouse, “You seem angry.” He’s projecting, because the spouse isn’t angry. In projective identification, on the other hand, the man may feel angry at his boss, return home, and essentially insert his anger into his partner, actually making the partner feel angry. Projective identification is like tossing a hot potato to the other person. The man no longer has to feel his anger, since it’s now living inside his partner.
I talked about John’s session in my Friday consultation group. Just as he had been lying in bed with a metaphorical circus in his mind, I told the group that now I’d been doing the same thing—and since I was holding all of his anxiety, he was probably sleeping like a baby.
Meanwhile, my mind reeled. What to do with this bomb that John had detonated before walking out the door? John has a son? From his youth? Is he living a double life? Does Margo know? I flashed back to our session after the Lakers game when he’d commented on the handholding with my son. Enjoy it while it lasts.
What John did—the walking-out part, at least—isn’t uncommon. Especially in couples therapy, patients occasionally walk out if they feel besieged by intense feelings. Sometimes that person benefits from a phone call from the therapist, particularly if the reason he or she bolted had to do with feeling misunderstood or injured. Often, though, it’s best to let patients sit with their feelings, get their bearings, and then work through it with them the following session.
My consultation group believed that if John was already feeling cornered by the people around him, a call from me might be too much. Everyone agreed: Back off. Don’t push him. Wait for him to come back.
Except today he’s not here.
I pick up the unmarked takeout bag in the waiting room and look to make sure it’s ours. Inside are two Chinese chicken salads and John’s soda. Did he forget to cancel the order, or is he using the food to communicate with me, making his absence known? Sometimes when people don’t show, they do it to punish the therapist and send a message: You’ve upset me. And sometimes they do it to avoid not just the therapist but themselves, to avoid confronting their shame or pain or the truth they know they need to tell. People communicate through their attendance—whether they’re prompt or late, cancel an hour beforehand, or don’t show up at all.
I walk back into our suite, place the food bag in the fridge, and decide to use the hour to catch up on chart notes. When I get to my desk, I notice that I have some voicemails.
The first is from John.
“Hi, it’s me,” his message begins. “Shit, I completely forgot to cancel until my phone beeped just now with our, um, appointment. Usually my assistant schedules everything but since I do the shrink thing myself . . . anyway, I can’t make it today. Work is insane and I can’t get away. Sorry about that.”