It’s true. Somehow, I’ve got the hots for Healer Lady.
Not my therapist.
When I recognized it, I told myself it’s that she’s easy on the eyes, good at her job, has a friendly personality and a southern accent – so what’s not to like.
The attempt to minimize it failed and I completely freaked.
There is one problematic layer after another with this. Let me name the top issues:
She’s my therapist. Statement of the obvious, but I still need to put it on the record.
I haven’t had the hots for anybody since Sweetie came into my life. No, I’m not asexual. Sweetie can attest to that. And there’s really not a day that goes by that I don’t check somebody out. Sweetie can also attest to that. But having the hots is different.
I see Healer Lady twice a week. There’s no escape.
So I talked to a friend about this situation. She was completely blasé, and laughed as I squirmed. Speaking in an utterly amused tone, she informed me that it’s a common occurrence in therapy and that it actually has a name called transference. As relief began to settle in she dropped this doozy: “If it’s interfering with therapy, you gotta tell her.”
Picture of a confession.
The prospect of sitting across from Healer Lady and casually dropping that I’m preoccupied with thoughts of her helped me readily determine that everything was copacetic and it would all pass like a bad cold.
The unfortunate revelation that the hots were indeed impeding therapy forced me to reconsider telling her.
Here’s the problem: for a couple of weeks, I’ve struggled to talk about the teacher in therapy. Shame manages to overwhelm any ounce of courage and suppress language. I literally can’t speak at times, and I’m uncertain how to say what needs to be said.
Throughout therapy, this has always been the case when discussions have led to the teacher, but the difference now is that there is something that feels oddly similar about my relationship with Healer Lady and the teacher. I can’t articulate it. It’s just a feeling.
I’m in a group once a week that focuses on interpersonal relationships or something like that. Healer Lady thought it would be good for me and I suppose she’s right. Really, it’s my big night out for the week.
On occasion, because of busy schedules, we hire a babysitter to watch Nugget. Most people hire babysitters for a romantic dinner or cocktails with friends, but we hire babysitters because I’m wacked and a weekly infusion of group therapy is necessary.
A couple of weeks ago, we hired one of Nugget’s favorite babysitters who doubles as a teacher at her daycare. Nugget LOVES her. So much so, she called her Mama once. I was like WTF! Taming my Mama Bear, I reasoned that it clearly happened only once and it was because she had low blood sugar. That settled that.
Does anyone find it strange that you can hold two vibrators to rewire things in your brain? I can’t shake this thought as my therapist hands over the mouse-like vibrators used for EMDR. I know there’s a headphone option and some eye thing that you can do, but I started with the vibrators and I’m a creature of habit.
Still, I couldn’t help but to think about the person who thought “Eureka! Vibrators are the answer for trauma survivors!” I googled EMDR and voilà, up came www.emdr.com. How easy they made it. Apparently the brilliant person is Francine Shapiro, Ph.D. She looks nice enough.
Healer Lady talked to me about EMDR several times before I finally took the leap. I was chicken about the whole thing. Mostly it was because I just didn’t get it. It was a little too hippie-dippie for my taste. I couldn’t imagine how rolling my eyes around, listening to an annoying beep or holding a vibrator in the wrong spot was going to do me any good. But Healer Lady pressed on in that therapeutic way she does and I finally caved.
One EMDR session later and I was a believer. It was amazing. I thought I was damn near close to Continue reading