When I was in my 20’s, I was going through a rocky time so I decided to seek out a therapist. Oh, boy, was that a mistake. Here, listen in:
Me: So that’s the deal. What do you think I should do?
Therapist: What do YOU think you should do?
Me: Uh, I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. What should I do?
Therapist: My role, MOV, is to help you find the answers within yourself. What path are you leaning toward?
Me: No idea. What are the choices?
Therapist: What do YOU think the choices are?
Me: Uh, I dunno. Can you give me a hint?
Therapist: (long uncomfortable silence while she looks at her watch)
Me: I said, I’m not sure what to do. What would you do?
Therapist: What I would do is irrelevant. It’s what you will do that matters.
Me: I want to know what you would do.
Therapist: We all make our own choices.
Me: Sure … but I want to make the choice you recommend.
Therapist: I recommend following your heart.
Me: As opposed to my head?
Therapist: Follow your head, too.
Me: My heart and head are saying different things.
Therapist: Follow both.
Me: Then I will be cheating on my head with my heart?
Therapist: (shifts in seat, shifts back)
Me: So what should I do?
Therapist: What do you want to do?
Me: I want to strangle you for charging me 100 bucks an hour and not giving me an answer!
Therapist: What are you so angry about?
Me: I’m angry that I don’t know what to do!
Therapist: Oh, look, time’s up. That will be $100 cash or check, please. No insurance plans accepted.
I felt like I was on some sort of reality show where they answer every question with a fortune cookie: “The key is within your line of vision—you know what you should do.”
Duh! I don’t know what I should do! If I knew what to do, would I be in therapy?
In an effort to reduce expenditures, I eliminated therapy from my budget. I replaced it with alcohol. My new mantra: “A great bottle of wine is still cheaper than an hour of bad therapy.”
(“Mistress Of Vino”)