I had lunch today with my friend MB, who is visiting this week. I met him about six years ago when we worked for a software development company in the west end. He is kind of a granola type and it came as little surprise to me when he moved to the west coast three years ago. Despite moving away he seems to make it back quite frequently and I am as always enjoying his visit. We were talking about relationships, and about intimacy, when I remembered and recounted for him the definition of intimacy which my wonderful psychotherapist WC shared with me during one of my first sessions with him.
Intimacy, he said, is the willingness to be close enough to another person to be vulnerable to being changed by him or her.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Home
I tracked down WC, the therapist who had been recommended to me by my financial planner LT, and made an appointment for a session. His office turned out to be in a cheery and leafy neighbourhood in the west end of town with which I was quite familiar and in which I had long longed to live.
I remember arriving for my appointment feeling very low, very lost, and very far outside my comfort zone. I forget the details but I had been provided with a sophisticated (or so it seemed to me at the time) arrival and door protocol - his practice is in a large, elevated corner house, with front and side doors commanding imposing concrete stairways. The main floor seemed to be given over to a hair studio, or two, and the door to which I had been sent was locked. I was a couple minutes early, but that comfort soon melted away and I found myself outside in the cold after the appointed time. Every bone in my body was aching to cut my losses and get out of there, as if someone was keeping score and I could have my cake and eat it too, by showing up on time yet not subjecting myself to the session. "Oh well, I tried, not my fault if no one showed up. See, there is no point in trying."
Before I could make my escape however, he appeared and welcomed me in. His office turned out to be a cosy room on the second floor.
I settled in and started to tell him my story, why I was there. It was a story of depression and hopelessness, about feeling that the decisions I had made in my life and particularly my recent past had been a series of horrible mistakes. I had only just begun the litany for him when he interrupted me by saying "OK, that gives me a fair idea of where you _are_, so now tell me where you want to _be_.
I told him that I wanted to be happy, that I wanted to experience the happiness of which I knew I was capable. He asked me for a particular example and I told him the story about when I discovered how joyful it could be to genuinely share my pleasure at seeing friends as I described in my previous post. It was nearing the end of our session but by the time I had finished explaining what had happened to me that time I found myself shaking my friend's hand, he had some very encouraging news for me. "W", he said, "I am happy to tell you that you do not have very far to go". He explained that so many of the people he sees are not only lost, but they have no sense of where they want to be. I was lost, he said, but I knew what it was like to be home, and he just had to help me get there.
I remember arriving for my appointment feeling very low, very lost, and very far outside my comfort zone. I forget the details but I had been provided with a sophisticated (or so it seemed to me at the time) arrival and door protocol - his practice is in a large, elevated corner house, with front and side doors commanding imposing concrete stairways. The main floor seemed to be given over to a hair studio, or two, and the door to which I had been sent was locked. I was a couple minutes early, but that comfort soon melted away and I found myself outside in the cold after the appointed time. Every bone in my body was aching to cut my losses and get out of there, as if someone was keeping score and I could have my cake and eat it too, by showing up on time yet not subjecting myself to the session. "Oh well, I tried, not my fault if no one showed up. See, there is no point in trying."
Before I could make my escape however, he appeared and welcomed me in. His office turned out to be a cosy room on the second floor.
I settled in and started to tell him my story, why I was there. It was a story of depression and hopelessness, about feeling that the decisions I had made in my life and particularly my recent past had been a series of horrible mistakes. I had only just begun the litany for him when he interrupted me by saying "OK, that gives me a fair idea of where you _are_, so now tell me where you want to _be_.
I told him that I wanted to be happy, that I wanted to experience the happiness of which I knew I was capable. He asked me for a particular example and I told him the story about when I discovered how joyful it could be to genuinely share my pleasure at seeing friends as I described in my previous post. It was nearing the end of our session but by the time I had finished explaining what had happened to me that time I found myself shaking my friend's hand, he had some very encouraging news for me. "W", he said, "I am happy to tell you that you do not have very far to go". He explained that so many of the people he sees are not only lost, but they have no sense of where they want to be. I was lost, he said, but I knew what it was like to be home, and he just had to help me get there.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
It is Always Great to be with you
A few years ago I started listening to a particular morning radio show which featured a likeable host and a cheery business correspondent who would come on for a few minutes at the end of each hour and give a stock market report and engage in a witty exchange with the host. I noticed that the guest unfailingly greeted the host with "good morning" and something along the lines of "it is always great to be with you". When I first heard it I thought it sounded a bit contrived, but as I continued to listen to the show and get to know the host I came to realise how sincere it was, and that its repetition made it not trite but authentic. And then one day I tried it myself, when I was shaking hands and parting ways with an acquaintance who was not exactly a close friend but someone whose company I nonetheless invariably enjoyed. "It is always a pleasure to see you" I said, and as I was saying it I felt it, every syllable slowly played out and for the first time in my life I realised that I really meant the words I was saying as I bade this man farewell, that it really had been a pleasure to see him and that it always was, and that is was my joy and pleasure to share that fact with him at that moment.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Struggle
I struggled last year after I sold my house. I kind of felt like I knew it was the right thing to do, but nonetheless I felt lost and unsure. I thought I might use the proceeds to buy a new one, but I did not. I moved in to my sister's basement, I rented a furnished place, I rented a condo-alternative kind of flat, and I suffered miserably in all of the above.
At the same time I struggled through a series of therapies and therapists, hoping to find the magic bullet which would snap me out of the misery and self-loathing in which I was trapped. I went to my GP and among several recommendations I found myself seeing a rather obtuse Freudian-style psychoanalyst for several months. I remember riding to our appointments on my motorcycle, and then sitting in his office and bawling my eyes out and feeling completely lost, and gone, and done.
I tried some other random therapists, CBT, IPT, I was open to anything. I looked them up in the yellow pages and paid them cash.
I spent hours and hours at the local outlet of my chosen bookstore chain. I bought dozens of books and yet kept going back for more and more. I remember one time realising that the only place in the world I felt comfortable was in the self-help section of my bookstore, and I would go there every night for hours on end.
When I realised that I was not going to reinvest in a house any time soon, I asked my bank manager to set me up with a financial advisor. I remember my first visit with LT, I was miserable and self-loathing. After she had organised my investments and whatnot she asked me "is there anything else I can help you with?", to which I replied that I was very depressed and asked her if she could recommend a therapist. That turned out to be one of the more fortuitous spontaneous outbursts for me in recent memory, as it turned out she had a very solid recommendation for me. LT told me that she was going through a divorce, and she recommended that I see WC, someone who had been very helpful for her.
At the same time I struggled through a series of therapies and therapists, hoping to find the magic bullet which would snap me out of the misery and self-loathing in which I was trapped. I went to my GP and among several recommendations I found myself seeing a rather obtuse Freudian-style psychoanalyst for several months. I remember riding to our appointments on my motorcycle, and then sitting in his office and bawling my eyes out and feeling completely lost, and gone, and done.
I tried some other random therapists, CBT, IPT, I was open to anything. I looked them up in the yellow pages and paid them cash.
I spent hours and hours at the local outlet of my chosen bookstore chain. I bought dozens of books and yet kept going back for more and more. I remember one time realising that the only place in the world I felt comfortable was in the self-help section of my bookstore, and I would go there every night for hours on end.
When I realised that I was not going to reinvest in a house any time soon, I asked my bank manager to set me up with a financial advisor. I remember my first visit with LT, I was miserable and self-loathing. After she had organised my investments and whatnot she asked me "is there anything else I can help you with?", to which I replied that I was very depressed and asked her if she could recommend a therapist. That turned out to be one of the more fortuitous spontaneous outbursts for me in recent memory, as it turned out she had a very solid recommendation for me. LT told me that she was going through a divorce, and she recommended that I see WC, someone who had been very helpful for her.