(Originally Posted on Facebook 1/21/10)
I'm in therapy, or counseling I think is what it's officially labeled. Call it what you will, but I actually sit on a leather couch (so very Hollywood) while spilling my guts to a professional listener. Most people I know don't openly admit they are in therapy, some social stigma I think, but I'm not really sure...maybe I'll consult my therapist. If you haven't been in therapy at some point in your life, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you should be.
I've been to therapists and psychologists who wanted to me to draw pictures of smilely faces to tell them how I felt (try stupid). I have a psychiatrist who wanted me on a healthy dose of medication. For the record, I am not Tom Cruise. I feel there are people who desperately need and benefit from meds, just turns out I'm not one of them. I actually had one shrink tell me that I should try hypnosis to see if I had a poor experience in a past life.... I recommended her to a great therapist. Therapy done right, in my humble and slightly off balance opinion, should do something in your life that everyone needs. Clean.
I have a wonderful counselor right now. She simply asks questions and then listens. Listenes in a way that few people in my life do. Not because they don't care or don't want to, but because people just don't tend to hang on our every word all the time. She does. She notices when I repeat certain phrases or a pattern in my storytelling that lead her to the next question. She helps me unpack. Think of your brain as your house. There are parts of your brain you don't think about (hopefully) the parts that remind the lungs to inhale, the heart to beat, the legs to move. Think of those as the walls of your house. You probably don't pay much attention to your drywall, but you notice your paintcolor, your pictures, artwork, furniture. Those things are the big moments in our lives. Your couch is your very first solid memory of you and your mom baking cookies, the TV is the first friend you had that died, The picture frame over the mantle is your wedding day or first kiss. The big things that we look at everyday and can recall with clarity in an instant.
One day you walk into your house and notice a smell. It's not horrible, just noticable. Like maybe something's rotting somewhere. You look around but find nothing. Eventually your nose gets used to it. As time goes on the smell gets stronger, but again, you can't find anything and the amazing olfactory febreeze helps you forgets its there for a while until the day finally arrives that you can't even walk in the door because of the stench. You can't mask it anymore. Problem is, your nose has gotten so used to the smell you can't tell where it's coming from, so you have to ask someone who's never been in your house to help. You put on your gloves and start moving the big stuff.
Your new friend notices the smells right away and leads you around the rooms. You move the couch (the memory of you and your mom) and behind it you find the thing you wished she'd say and the memory of thing you wish she hadn't. It's rotting there, festering. Behind your wedding photo you find your first heartache. It got stuck behind the photo and it's begining to tear the paint off the wall.
Why do I think everyone should be in therapy at least once in their life? Because we've all got furniture, and even if you're a neat freak you don't clean everything all the time. WHen was the last time you looked behind your fridge, or worse, your dryer. I'm not ashamed to tell you I'm in therapy because I'm finally getting to a place where I'm not ashamed to have people into "my house". They can hang out and not be offended by smells of painful memories, hurtful words, guilt, or past regrets.
If you need someone to talk to, I know some great folks, and at least one who believes in past lives if you're into that. Maybe your perfect. If so, forgive my assumption, and stop listening to crazy people.
