SESSIONS: ‘Establishing Roles’

SESSION 6:

Late December, 1966

“I wanted to discuss the controversial relationship stuff today,” she says with a small grin, as if the two of them share a private joke. He makes a note on a notepad before looking up and offering a nod of encouragement.

“Did I tell you I’m writing a book?” she continues.

“You have mentioned it, yes.”

He is not only learning to tolerate the role reversal in the form of her quizzical bombardments but has come to understand this as a sign that barriers are dropping. Most clients are passive; allow the therapist to control the conversation and are goaded easily away from asking questions. Not her. Questions asked on her part are an establishment of trust. During the early sessions when she was too frightened to ask questions, she was moody and withdrawn. Her body language tight and closed, her mind elsewhere. Very little progress was made in these sessions. He is youngish and fairly new, with a practice that has been open for just shy of eighteen months. Psychoanalysis is moving steadily out of fashion, particularly with female clients of a modern nature, and a standardised talking therapy was slowly being introduced; leaving plenty of room for learning curves for young, new-to-the-game therapists wishing to move away from dated Freudian approaches.

“Did I tell you what it was about?”

“You mentioned suicide. Something to do with coping with the loss of a loved one by their own hand,” he says in the usual monotone. A voice trained to have no highs or flats that could influence a client’s answer or thought process. Quite a skill to speak fluently in monotone and not appear disinterested.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Generally.”

“Is the relationship you wish to discuss connected to someone who has killed his or herself?”

“No.” She shifts in her seat and looks momentarily guilty. She drops her eyes away and to an untrained eye this might suggest dishonesty, but to a psychologist it often leads to a revelation, and often one all too sharp and jagged in its honesty. She carefully collects her words in her mind, no longer wary of the therapist’s eyes upon her, waiting for this painful birth, and no longer pressured to hurry an answer, thus dampening all the facts and clarity behind it.

Christ, where to begin?

SESSIONS: ‘Initial Assumptions’

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.