December, 1966.
SESSION FOUR
“Why are you more nervous today?” the therapist asked. This isn’t an assumption, though it would be a fair one. Her body language is more closed than usual. She has given little to no direct eye contact and seems to be fascinated with the patterns her nails make whilst pressed tightly into her palm. One of the very few statements she has made during this session is that she is more nervous than usual.
After a considerable pause to which the therapist silently wondered whether she had even heard the question, she replied, “When you initially got back to me about setting up our first appointment your first question was to ask if the reason I was seeking therapy was because of a break-up.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
Her words are distracted and slow, but her face has an archaeologist’s concentration on the little pink crescents forming on her palm.
“But it’s got me concerned that I can’t discuss past break-ups, which have played a role in why I am here.”
“No content is off-limits” is the way the therapist described the reassurance that proceeding with this and any topic is fine. Still, this initial assumption had irked her. There are other events in life that can create cavities in a person’s mental well-being. More going on behind the scenes. She wondered if that was the first thing they asked a man. Possibly, but she doubted it. It is the middle of the sixties and a woman’s biggest woe still seems to be regarded as anything that infringes on her primitive desire to be a mother and homemaker.
“No content is off-limits.” she murmured, with a small smile. Still no eye-contact.
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