Jess is learning a new therapy called EMDR, and she had to try it out on three people. One night she knocked on my bedroom door at 10 p.m. and asked if I was available.
Casual acquaintances might not know this about me, but I've been dying to go to counseling for a long while. One of the highlights of studying counseling is that in my second year I undergo free (HAHA by which I mean $1,000 per class) therapy sessions. So naturally, when Jess asked, I leaped down the stairs and took the second of our fancy chairs.
She explained what we were going to do, just an introductory session, just kind of walking the surface of some problem I wanted to discuss. What did I want to talk about, she asked?
And y'all. I got so nervous. I shifted in my seat. I felt unbearably underdressed in my pajamas. Why wasn't I wearing proper clothes? Why couldn't I stop touching my mouth?
So I picked something easy--my perfectionist tendencies. We talked for maybe fifteen minutes, but really only I talked. Turns out counselors mostly say things like, "Alright. What else? That's good. Keep going." I wanted to say, "FIX ME," but you're supposed to learn to fix yourself.
We finished and then chatted about our lives, but all I could think about were the insecurities and the am-I-weird-for-feeling-this and the failings. I wanted to blurt them out, but I couldn't tell her unless she asked me to, and why was I wearing pajamas?
Anyway, I'm still looking forward to proper consistent counseling sessions. But I realize now that it's uh, not going to be easy. Baring your soul rarely is.
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