I’ve got a story to tell you. Don’t worry; it’s a short one.
When I was growing up, my parents had a dishwasher. They were in the habit of leaving its door open all day and taking clean dishes and silverware when they needed them. I myself had to stretch over the open door to reach cereal or salt or canned vegetables. This annoyed me slightly.
After my parents died, I went to a therapist and eventually came to see that open door as a symbol of how my parents made even the smallest thing difficult. (Like millions of other offspring, I loved my parents deeply even though they drove me nuts.)
A few years passed. I was still in therapy, but I’d stopped talking about the door, of course. Then one day, the thought came out of nowhere: I could have closed the door myself.
If you got to the end of that story ahead of me, or if you think you would have automatically closed the door the first time you saw it, you probably would have. But I can guarantee you that in your life there is some other kind of open door or closed door or door that you don’t even see that is preventing you from knowing yourself more deeply or realizing that there’s some big change you need to make.
And often, the only way you can come to that realization is to go to therapy, which has to be one of the all-time most joked about, most misunderstood processes ever. Even people who should know better have a vision of a therapy client endlessly complaining and getting nowhere, or trying to make herself perfect before she actually starts living, or staying in therapy for years beyond the point where she should have left.
There’s actually a grain of truth in that first theory. When you start therapy, you do tend to complain a lot. But that’s because no one has ever really listened to your troubles or difficulties without either walking away or saying you’re too sensitive or arguing with you. You’re got years of anger inside you. So you tell your therapist that you’re put upon, you’re a martyr – why does everyone act so badly toward a saint such as yourself? Eventually, you’ll move beyond that and start seeing how you have contributed to your problems.
It’s the word “eventually” that many people seem to find objectionable. We want instant,simple solutions in every area of our lives. Drill, baby, drill. Bring the troops home now. Lose seven pounds in seven days. Unfortunately, nothing is ever that simple, and change doesn’t come automatically. It takes time , effort and a good therapist. And by “time” I mean possibly years—not until you get perfect, but until you have enough of an understanding of yourself to successfully navigate your life. In the meantime, you live your life; you don’t put it off.
I went to a few therapists before I found my present one. She’s patient, kind, intelligent and unflappable; she’s witnessed my outbursts of rage and tears. She offers advice and observations, and I’ve learned not to automatically accept them but to think whether they’ll really work for me.
I’ve learned that I don’t have to try to charm her or impress her with my masterful analysis of my most serious problems. I’ve learned not to care if I bore her. Of course, she never says she’s bored (a good therapist doesn’t say that), but I imagine that she is, occasionally. Or maybe frequently, I don’t know.
She tells me nothing about herself, and far from being a restriction, it makes for an honest relationship on my part. I don’t tailor my conversation to what I think are her likes and dislikes. I say what I think, and contrary to what happens in the world outside, there are no repercussions.
Saying what you feel is more than just venting; over time, that technique enables you to know what you really are feeling. That’s more important than people think. You don’t want to say everything you’re thinking or feeling, but at least you know it. You wouldn’t say to a coworker that her new hairstyle is ugly; but you would know that you’re criticizing her because you’re jealous of her promotion. The unaware among us might really think she’s just got an ugly hairstyle and that’s the end of it. But it’s not. It almost never is.
I’ve been very lucky to be able to afford therapy. I know a lot of people don’t have the money or the time, even though they have the inclination. If what I’ve described is of interest to you, I recommend just one book, When Things Fall Apart, by the Buddhist nun Pema Chodron. It teaches equilibrium, self-understanding and kindness toward oneself and other beings.
She doesn’t talk about therapy, but this passage certainly describes it: “It’s a lifetime’s journey to relate honestly to the immediacy of our experience and to respect ourself enough not to judge it.”
