I see a therapist once a week. And while nobody would describe me as “nuts” (Well, maybe a few people would. Like Steve. But Steve’s the one who’s nuts. You hear me Steve? You’re nuts!! Nuts!!!), I still have a number of issues. Everyone who knows me would most likely agree. I mean, I write a blog, for chrissakes. Nobody without issues writes a blog. Sorry to every other blogger who reads this. You’re included.
The waiting room of a therapist’s office is an interesting place. Therapists are professionals that people tend to see regularly. And if you’re committed to getting better, you’re in that waiting area a lot. Most likely a several minutes every week.
I walked into the office this morning and I saw Denise. She was sitting and her head was hunched over nearly parallel to the ground. I could feel the energy. Denise was having a rough time. She was sad.
Now, I don’t know her real name as she’s just another bozo like me who goes to see a shrink. But to me she’s Denise. And we have a relationship.
I’ve seen Denise for about a year, every single Tuesday from 10:10am to 10:15am. And yet, we’ve never uttered a word. We don’t even nod. But I notice her and she me.
A few weeks ago Denise was not there and I felt anxious. I hoped she was okay.
I already know her life story. Her parents gave her sister more attention. She cut her hair in March but she hates it. She is dissatisfied at work and would like to leave the non-profit sector. Her boyfriend is a hipster and she loves him. She hopes to be married before thirty.
After seeing her hunched over, I did something. Even though the waiting room was empty, I sat down right next to Denise. This is unheard of in the waiting area. Nobody has ever sat next to me. Denise and I are always opposite each other. We’re the only regulars. The rest come and go, but not us. We’re there every week.
I sat next to her because it felt like the sort of thing you would do a friend who was struggling. It was the only intimately appropriate thing to do. Most likely we’ll continue our no-talking streak and only glance at each other for a moment as per usual.
Sitting near her, I tried to first sense if she was getting spooked by the closeness. We’re in wide fabric chairs, so it’s not like I’m on top of her, but still. She seemed detached and not to have noticed this bold move. It didn’t matter.
I could have had it all wrong. Denise might have been on cloud nine and was celebrating internally. She could have been having cramps and that’s why she was doubled over.
I’m not sure why I find myself saying this, but I’m glad I see her every week. I guess it’s because we both struggle and we both get help. We’re doing the work. And it is a relationship.
