Light bulb moment #4: Therapy should probably make you feel weird

I've been through my share of therapists over the past 10+ years -- cognitive behavioral, psychodynamic, unspecified-but-paid-for-by-Blue-Shield. I've always done a fairly good job of "keeping it together." I don't like to cry in session, though this has happened before. And I like to come in knowing what I'm going to talk about. Preferably, it'll be some event that happened during the week, a focal point of sorts, something easy to compartmentalize and check off my list (seriously, I've gone to therapy appointments with a list. On a post-it. Affixed to my check). It's usually a surface issue, a passing drama, and by the time the session is over (they always go fast, don't they?), I've scratched that surface, but not gone beneath. I feel accomplished and happy, maybe even relieved that we didn't get too far. I'm starting to see that it's pretty essential to get too far.

I don't know what it is about Dr. C, but he brings out parts of myself I'd prefer he didn't. He's a bit unorthodox, I guess. He calls it like he sees it, no holds barred. In my last session (the one that has inspired all these light bulb moments... I swear they're almost done... one more max), I was talking about how it's hard for me to daydream. I almost immediately start worrying about realities, logistics, practicalities. Larry and I just talk about the idea of buying a home, for example, and I have heart palpitations. Dr. C said something along the lines of, "That's very obsessive compulsive, crazy thinking." Ha.

My initial response was not "ha." My initial response was a little pissed off and defensive. Crazy? Don't call me crazy! But, then, I don't know, I felt kind of relieved. I've always felt like some of my thoughts are crazy (not that I'm crazy, but that some thoughts are). I've had many therapists deny this (in an attempt to comfort me?), which only made me feel weirder. I don't think Dr. C is a pussy-footer, which is nice. During the same session, he said, "For someone so meek and mild, you have incredibly high control needs" (I guess controlling people are supposed to be loud, overbearing and obnoxious? I am, I assure you, but usually within the confines of my own head). Again, my first response was uneasiness and discomfort, like, "Oh, shit, this guy totally sees me for the glaringly imperfect person I am." But, again, the overwhelming feeling was relief.

For most of my life, if you asked people two adjectives to describe me, they'd throw out something like, "Sweet and calm." To this, I would always feel totally befuddled. Sweet and calm? Are you f-ing kidding me? Someone once called me "bohemian." I'm fairly certain that if you look up "bohemian" in the dictionary, my face shows up as the antonym. I am not bohemian. I do not spend weekends in San Francisco with flowers in my hair. On a spectrum of stress, I am not even within shouting distance of "care-free." Knowing this, I've always felt a little lonely, like I must be fooling people, like I'm not really "known." My previous therapist said that anorexia seems to be this paradox of wanting to be seen, but unseen. We want to be known, desperately, but we're afraid of what this involves, of what judgments we'll withstand. Dr. C seems to "get" me after just a few sessions. I admit it makes me feel vulnerable. I do worry if he's judging me. It's weird to have someone crack the facade. But, really, I think if therapy doesn't make you feel a little weird, it's not really working.

Thoughts?

How do you think people would describe you? Do you think this aligns with how you see yourself?

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Today's gratitude:

1. Hump day.

2. A little California rain.

3. www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com -- always makes me laugh.

4. Conan O'Brien's classiness. I don't even watch late night TV, but I think NBC and Jay Leno are such tools.

5. One of my 3-minute readings ("A Corporate Quack") is up on the DimeStories Web site, if you're interested :)