Earlier this week, I had my last session with Billy, my therapist through my college’s counselling center (name changed), since the school year is ending and he’s graduating (Congratulations, dude!).
I know he’s a person. Obviously. I wondered about things in his life and wanted to ask about them, but I felt like I wasn’t supposed to. That I was supposed to talk to him only about my problems in the same clinical way you tell a medical doctor that your ears are ringing or your knee is broken or your spleen is falling out your belly button. And maybe for some therapy-goers, this is the perfect kind of communication for their specific cases. But not so for me. For my intake meeting with someone besides Billy, I felt like I didn’t have enough time to answer questions because there were so many, as the center uses this to determine the best kind of therapy they can offer. For my first session with Billy, I felt like I had too much time to answer his questions. I scrambled to find the “right” answers so we could keep moving, get to the route of the problem, again, like with a medical doctor when they ask questions trying to pinpoint and diagnose you. That’s what I thought I wanted from my experience at first.
But after my second session, I hadn’t been given a diagnosis or treatment plan or anything you would expect from doctor’s visits. I wondered why, am I worse than I thought? Or are my perceived problems just me being whiny? Would I seem like a drug-seeker if I asked about if there was medication I should be taking? Despite these thoughts though, I also kept thinking this is helping me and I realized that this, going to counselling, was my treatment plan. I got more comfortable talking in our sessions, and wasn’t always looking for the “right” answer. In our last session, only our 4th or 5th, unfortunately, we reflected on our short time together. I told him I thought he had helped me, that I was doing better and looking at things more positively. I told him about the shirt I have that reminds me of my grandfather, which I wear when I’m having a hard, sad day, but I haven’t worn it probably since I started seeing him. I told him about why I started therapy and my influences and support. Toward the end, I asked if I could ask about his real life. What followed was just an organic conversation, which was completely mutual and the most happy and comfortable I’ve been in a session. At the end, he told me, “You were courageous to sign up and start therapy for the first time, and you’ve shown a lot of commitment to making your life better.”
When I left, I was feeling genuinely the most happy I have in literal months, and I drove around, taking the day off, and driving around, doing some shopping, and working on setting up my new apartment.
I took this picture after leaving my appointment and posted it on social media with the caption “Today is a very good day.” And it was.