Session 1
There are times when restraint is helpful and necessary. And then, there are the infrequent times when wadding up that giant ball of self-control and tossing it out of the window is the one thing that might allow us to make it through the next twenty or thirty years with some measure of sanity. This story is about one of those times. Which one, you may ask? Honestly, I haven't decided yet. But it's a tale worth telling, nonetheless.
In my long career as a psychotherapist, I've had my share of exciting situations. After working in nearly every conceivable environment, from hospital to drug rehab to in-home therapy, the chances of running into interesting situations increases every day. It's part of what keeps me in the job. It sure ain't the money. I once had a guy swear up and down that his name was not Frank Woodman, but instead was Joseph Billingsly, even though his hospital transfer paperwork indicated clearly that he was "Frank Woodman." He became so upset and angry that the doctor gave him a tranquilizer and carted him off to his room on the locked unit while slapping a delusional disorder diagnosis on him and placing him on a 72 hour hold. Turns out he really was Joseph Billingsly and the hospital had sent over the wrong guy. We got a kick out of telling that story for months. Then there was the drunk guy that walked into a client's home while I'm conducting a session and fell asleep on their sofa. Yeah, he didn't live there - just some guy from the neighborhood. Needless to say, I've seen some shit.
Among all the many fascinating things about the practice of psychology, there's the mysterious concept known as "transference." Every therapist experiences it, whether they address it or not. In simple terms, transference occurs when a client begins to "transfer" their feelings about someone or something in their past onto the therapist. Probably the most commonly discussed form of this is when a client begins to feel emotional or sexual attraction toward the therapist. Clients will express this in many ways. I had one client that began to wear blouses that grew tighter and lower cut every session over the course of several weeks. The later tops barely contained her shapely breasts. It took every ounce of willpower I had to maintain eye contact throughout our hour long sessions.
Then there was the one that drove drunk to my office late at night, wearing a form-fitting dress, to express how much she loved me. Somewhere along the way from her home to my office, she must have struck something with her car, because her airbags had been inflated and she had to climb over the center console and exit the car from the passenger side, all the while showing me her glistening goods between her legs. Luckily for me, I'm not aroused by drunk women, so I let her sleep it off for a few hours in my waiting room and sent her home safely later that evening. And I'll never forget the one time where a client manufactured a "crisis" in order to get me to come to her home and attempt to seduce me. The look of hunger in her eyes as she stared at my crotch when I told her to "sit wherever you'd like" followed by a deep moan will be enough to keep me thinking about what "might have been" for many years to come. But here's the thing about transference: it's not really about therapist. It can happen to anyone, good looking or plain. Fat or skinny. Young or old.
At the end of the day, the client is only attracted to this IDEA of who you are, not really to who you actually are. I'm not an ugly guy by any stretch, but I'm also not naturally attractive. I'm a 6 that punches above his weight class due to a sense of humor and being something of a mystery and confident with women. I'm getting up there in years and my hair is graying, but still mostly there, at least. I don't work out much, but good genetics and a healthy diet allow me to maintain a pleasant physique, especially for my age. The drunk driving client used to tell me repeatedly that I have "the most amazing ass." Also, I'm very happily married to an amazing, sexy lady, which tends to discourage people from truly expressing what they are feeling toward me. Most people, at least.
Then there's Gina. I had spoken to Gina on the phone to schedule our first session and thought she sounded cute, but then again that happens often enough that I've started to take how a person sounds on the phone with a big grain of salt. The reality is often nowhere near what you imagine. What I saw when she came in the door caused me to do a double-take. Gina was wearing a pair of skin-tight charcoal leggings that accentuated her best feature: a perfectly shaped ass to die for. Honestly, I had no idea what was going on above the waist and below the neck, because I was mesmerized by her rear end. She had just-past shoulder length blonde hair. REAL blonde hair. Not the bleached type that has subtle shades of other colors. Just full, natural, pretty blonde hair. She was pretty in a "I'd really like to get to know her better" kind of way. Not jaw-droppingly beautiful, but pretty enough that she could probably have her way with just about any man that she wanted. Except me. There's rules against that, you know. I introduced myself and walked her through the paperwork packet and left her in the waiting area to verify her insurance and input her into the computer system. Every couple minutes, I would peek out of the blinds on the windows in my double office doors, to check on her progress with the paperwork. I couldn't wait to get her alone in my office to get to know her better.
After about 15 minutes or so, she appeared to be done with completing the intake forms, so I walked back out and said, "Hi Gina, are you all set?"
"Yes. I wasn't sure about a couple of these questions, though."
"Not a problem. Why don't you come on back and we can go over them together?" I suggested.
Gina's intake started off in much the same way as most. We chit-chatted about the weather and if she had been able to find the office okay. I usually begin first sessions by asking clients if they have any questions for me. Gina smiled and shyly asked, "I dunno... maybe tell me a little about yourself?"
"What would you like to know?" I asked.
"You know, like how long you've been doing this, why do you do this job, that kind of thing...?"
"I've been a therapist since the early 90's when I graduated from my Master's program."
"Oh. You don't look that old," Gina said, while trying to appear to divert her eyes and simultaneously looking at me to gauge my reactions to her compliment.
"Thanks. It's always nice to hear that," I said.
"How about your sign?" she asked with eyebrows raised.
"You mean like my astrological sign?"
She nodded.
