I sat in my doctor’s office yesterday… in a tuxedo. It was windy and rainy, and I didn’t have a jacket because it is at the tailor’s getting taken in. I was going to the company holiday party immediately following, so there I sat. Purple paisley bow-tie and pocket square to match. My cuff-links from David peaking out from the sleeve. And I thought to myself, how surreal.
We’re going to discuss your feelings now, Mr. Bond.
If the therapist had a German accent and was petting a “vittle vhite cat,” I would not have been surprised.
He asked/made a comment about my tendency to use intellectual rationalizing over emotion to deal with challenging things. It was a curious comment to me. I get mad, I cry, I have feelings, don’t I? I mean, I think I do. But for the most part, I think before I “emote.”
Is that normal? What is normal? I felt momentarily like the Tin Man or the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz—am I missing a heart, brain, or courage? As with all things therapy, there was no wrong answer.
I’m not sure what I expect out of the sessions, but it seemed that everybody around me was like, “You’re seeing somebody, right?” and I was like, “Ummm, yeah?” So I did me some homework, dialed up a “shrinker,” and we chat once a week. A lot of people, doctor included, ask me how it’s going. My answer is “I don’t know.” I haven’t set any expectations outside of “ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
So we skipped merrily down the yellow brick road of therapy on our way to Oz, or SPECTRE’s Evil Lair. Either way, we were doing it in style.
