I’m glad that Daisy wrote: “I was proud of myself for not hanging around for more abuse...I think I've learned that my decisions (and instincts) are usually right”. It fits right in with my own therapist story this morning. Daisy’s point is exactly the point I want to make by telling this one. It’s extremely personal for me, but, hey, I’m an open book now, right?!

Dr Reynolds had continued to see me as an outpatient for many years after my release from the hospital in 1984. When he switched jobs and was no longer able to accommodate clients on an on-going outpatient basis, we both decided I was ready to “fly on my own” again.

I lasted for a couple of years, but then started having panic attacks and decided to go back for a few more sessions. Dr R was not available, so I went to this new therapist on the recommendation of a good friend of mine. I didn’t really like this guy (we’ll call him Dr J) right from the beginning (which is a warning sign we should listen to but often don’t), but hung in there because I didn’t want to disappoint the friend who had recommended Dr J to me. But over the weeks, I felt increasingly uncomfortable with Dr J, but couldn’t quite put my finger on why not.

To the exclusion of everything else, Dr J was fascinated with my relationship with Father Basil, a Catholic priest who had been my first therapist at the very beginning of my breakdown. Someone should write a book about Fr. Basil, he’s an awesome person…but that’s another story. In my mind and heart, there will never be any doubt that Fr. Basil saved my life. And it was Fr. Basil who finally convinced me to get more help than he could provide. Which is why I checked myself into the hospital. Once I was under someone else’s care there, Fr. Basil stepped out of my life, out of professional courtesy. While I understood that, it also hurt, because by that time Fr. Basil had become a major fixture in my life. He was not only my therapist, but had become a good friend as well. I was very involved in the church and we had many mutual friends and spiritual gatherings, which had us traveling in the same circles on a fairly regular basis. I had a hard time letting go, not so much Fr. Basil the therapist, but Fr. Basil the friend; but I quickly became immersed in my recovery, and was diligently moving myself onward and upward.

Dr. J however, latched onto this relationship and INSISTED that I was in love with Fr. Basil. It was not the first time I had dealt with that question but had been brutally honest with myself when it had first come up with Dr Reynolds. Dr R and I worked it through and both decided that the answer was no; while I had a profound respect and genuine affection for Fr. Basil, I was not, nor ever had been, in love with him. So I told this to Dr J, but he refused to accept that answer. He egged me on, insisting that I was wrong.

So I went home, very confused, thinking he must have seen something in me to make him so convinced. Maybe he was right. I sat with it, stewed over it, turned it over and over and over in my head, but it just didn’t click or fit. So I finally came to the same conclusion that Dr R and I had reached earlier. My answer WAS right then and was still right now. So in my next session with Dr J, he again immediately started in on this. I repeated myself. But again he refused to accept. Then I started to get angry. He immediately jumped out of his chair, red in the face, and YELLED: “See? I WAS right. Otherwise you wouldn’t be getting so angry!”

Well, by then I was extremely confused, (and upset by his yelling) because I knew that being angry often did mean that someone had hit a nerve. I figured he must be right. So I went back home and stewed some more. Then the light bulb went on in my head. I was angry, not because he was right, but because I WAS RIGHT, and he was refusing to accept and respect me. He was calling me a liar. He was manipulating my confusion and anger to prove his point, which was to prove himself right and me wrong. It was another one of those “aha” moments.

So I kept my next appointment, and told him what I thought. He was so angry with me that he scared me. I walked out and never went back. But it was the turning point for me in realizing exactly what Daisy said: I was so proud of myself for standing up for myself and not hanging around for more abuse and manipulation. I KNEW myself well enough now, and I knew to the core of my being that I had been brutally honest with myself. I knew I could – and did finally, perhaps for the first time in my life - trust that my own instincts and decisions WERE RIGHT.

That was a very exhilarating walk home that day!

[ September 29, 2005, 03:00 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]