The Motivated Employee

Jo's lips were stuck between a grimace and a smile. "I'm watching myself from the outside. Objectively, I know what's happening. And I know it's not fair, but I don't feel relief until I push. I need to win even though its not a fight."

Jo sat on the white couch across from her therapist, Laura, who was perched in a low, grey armchair on the other side of the coffee table, tablet resting lightly in her hands. The office was quiet and neat, with white walls and a pale pink jug of water resting on the table between them. A few small plants dotted the room--succulents in ceramic pots, a peace lily on the windowsill. The bookshelf was modern, pale wood, and slightly overstuffed. Titles like You Are Enough and The Body Keeps the Score leaned against heavier academic volumes.

Earlier, as they'd walked into the office together, Jo had complimented Laura's trousers - wide-legged, sharply tailored, a deep burgundy from a brand Jo knew well. She'd noticed Laura's polished style from the start of their therapeutic relationship.

Laura had softly laughed, admitting that therapists were supposedly dressing more casually these days, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of a well-cut outfit. In their very first session, she'd gently steered Jo toward the realization that she felt more at ease around people who seemed wealthy--who carried that quiet, effortless affluence. Jo had grinned and told her not to change, but the insight stayed with her. It wasn't shameful or surprising--just true. And maybe for the first time, she was noticing herself from the outside without assigning blame or praise. Just paying attention.

It also left her wondering how she'd connected so deeply with Celina, who had never come from money at all.

Laura kept her honey blonde hair pulled back in a sleek pony tail, and her presence was calm but no-nonsense. Jo had been seeing her for almost two years, ever since the panic attacks started. Laura didn't coddle--she asked hard questions and waited out the silences--but she was kind, and she'd earned Jo's trust a long time ago

They were discussing the weekend with Celina. "The second she walked in, all happy from being with Dani, I just--" She shook her head. "I needed her to need me. I don't know--just... more. More than usual."

Laura watched her carefully, then asked, "Was it really when she walked in the door? Or do you think it started earlier than that?"

Jo's gaze dropoed to her lap. "Maybe... yeah. Maybe earlier." Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve. "I had been stuck in my head all day. Tried to distract myself with so many different things." She went on to describe how she read, cleaned, went to the gym, baked and reorganised the pantry.

"And what made you realise those things weren't working?"

"Well, the heaviness remained. I did not chill out."

Laura crossed one leg over the other. "So your body didn't buy it, even if your brain tried to. That weight didn't lift, no matter what you did."

Jo let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her sleeve.

"I talked to Celina," she said quietly. "But not without resisting it first. I couldn't even look at her when she asked what was wrong--I just kept rinsing dishes like that would somehow keep it all in."

She paused, eyes flicking to the side.

"When I finally admitted it... she was kind. Said all the right things. And then... she stopped. Stopped trying to soothe me. And that - God, that felt worse. She just, kind of, stood there, and I was running my hands through my hair like that would help--like trying to tug out the bad feelings, maybe."

She let out a dry breath, close to a laugh.

"And then... we fucked." Her voice had gone quiet again. "I think that was... yeah. The only way I knew how to ask. Like - do I still matter to you? That kind of thing."

Laura's response was measured. "Part of you might've hoped that doing something physical would cut through the weight of everything else."

Jo nodded faintly. "When I fell asleep, I had that dream again."

She didn't need to explain it - it was always the same. The one in which she lay on the laundry floor, cold tiles under her stomach and face, the quiet hum of an expensive dryer, a crack of light under the door. It was a dream pulled from memory--though Jo was never sure if she'd gone there to hide, or if she'd been sent there. Maybe both. Maybe neither. She just remembered the feeling: being out of sight, small and quiet, trying not to make it worse.

"Did anything new show up in this dream?" Laura asked.

"No." Jo said frustrated. There were a few memories like this, where she remembered she couldn't stop crying, but not exactly what had prompted it. "Just that... I kept waking up in Celina's arms. And then I'd close my eyes and the dream would resume."

Laura watched Jo's face shift--how still she'd gone.

"It sounds like the dream's not done with you yet," she said softly. "And maybe waking with Celina there was your mind trying to bring in something safer."

Jo didn't respond, her jaw tight.

Laura gave it a moment, then shifted gently, "Let's leave the dream for now. You mentioned Dani earlier - what's she like?"

Jo shrugged. "She's nice. A little younger than us. Just came out recently. We met the other weekend. I'm trying to do everything right--follow all the advice about keeping open relationships healthy. It's just..." She hesitated. "It's the way Celina is with her. So gentle. So careful. Like she's a teenager in love again. And I think--" She paused.

A memory was coming alive. "Go on, say what feels present," Laura encouraged.

"When I told my parents I was gay, Richard kicked me out." Richard. He didn't deserve the title dad. That was too generous. "Just for a week--my aunts talked him down eventually--but still. I was bouncing between their guest rooms, you know? Technically homeless. But also... sleeping under designer sheets in million-dollar homes. So, like--who's really crying, right?"

Laura looked over her glasses. "That's still abuse, Jo."

"I know, I know. But you have to admit, it's not the worst situation in the world."

"It's still a devastating breach of trust. Your pain is still valid even if you got to stay in a nice house."

Jo sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I know what you're saying. I've heard it a million times. And you're right." She trailed off, searching for the right words. "It's just, on some level I still feel as though using the word "abuse" is appropriating a word that belongs to others."

Laura nodded, and tapped something in to her tablet. She's bookmarking this, Jo thought.

Jo continued. "And that same week, the girl from school I was seeing at the time-- Becca - dumped me over text. Said I was too clingy."

Laura looked up. "Right when you needed her."

Jo nodded. "But she still wanted to stay friends. And maybe keep hooking up - if I was into it, she said." A dry laugh escaped her. "A few years later, one of my friends told me they heard her say, 'the crazier the girl, the hotter the pussy.'"

"Was she talking about you?"

"Yeah. She was definitely talking about me." She smiled sadly. "Attachment issues make you better at fucking, apparently. That's the silver lining, I guess."

"Why did she think you were crazy?"

"I just wanted to be around her. Thought about her constantly, planned my day around when I might see her. I think that scared her off. And my friends back then... They're great now, but at the time... they didn't know how to talk to me about it. Like we could talk for hours if it was a boy who broke one of our hearts." She shook her head. "But when I told them about Becca... I don't know. They just got weird. Like, totally awkward. Didn't know what to say."

She blinked, voice quieter now. "So yeah. I guess I'm jealous. Dani - her first partner... or whatever you call it... in all of this gets to be Celina. It took me years."

Her thoughts drifted to the women she'd been with. How she hadn't believed anyone when they said Meg was cheating. And when she'd seen the texts - plain as day - she didn't say a word. Just kept performing. Kept smiling like an idiot, playing the loyal girlfriend until she could come up with a reason to leave that didn't make her look pathetic.

Something better than "I knew and stayed anyway."

"That sounds like more than jealousy, Jo. That sounds like grief."

Jo let out a breath. "Yeah, I guess... I just wish I didn't have to go through so much heartache to figure out what a good partner looks like. Dani's nailed it on her first try."

Laura raised an eyebrow, not unkindly. "Is that what's happened? Or are you getting ahead of yourself?"

Jo blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Dani isn't Celina's partner," Laura said simply. "At least, not in any confirmed or permanent sense. You're filling in blanks. Projecting, maybe."

Jo opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I mean... yeah."

"And Dani just came out. This realisation about herself is new, is it not?"

Jo was quiet for a second. "Yep."

Laura leaned back slightly. "And coming out in your late twenties? That's often a sign things haven't been all that easy. People don't hold that part of themselves back unless they've learned--somewhere along the way--that it's safer not to feel certain things."

Jo's jaw shifted slightly. She thought of Jess, who didn't come out until twenty-eight. Who used to flinch when people hugged her for too long and said she'd "never really been into labels." But Jo remembered the night Jess got drunk enough to cry in her lap, whispering that if God was real, she'd already been damned by twelve.

It wasn't the same story--but Jo knew the shape of it.

Laura continued, gently, "You're not the only one who's been through something to get here." She paused and took a breath in. "I need to ask: do you feel emotionally safe in the open relationship, as it is right now?"

There was a long pause.

"I mean, I asked for this. The open thing. I thought it would make things clearer somehow."

Laura nodded gently. "I remember the conversations we had before you asked Celina for this. You weren't chasing freedom for the sake of it, Jo. You were trying to make room--for the parts of yourself you'd kept quiet for a long time."

Jo let out a breath. She remembered. "Yeah. I thought if I made that space, maybe I wouldn't feel like I was burdening her with everything I am." A dry, humourless laugh escaped. "But instead, it's brought out this version of me I barely recognize. If anything, I've just ended up placing more weight on her."

Laura continued, her voice steady. "You opened a door you thought would give you space. But space doesn't always feel safe at first--especially when you're used to holding things tightly together. This might not be you falling apart, Jo. It might be you feeling everything you've never really had permission to feel."

Jo didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on Laura, searching for something--maybe reassurance, maybe just a place to land.

After a moment, she gave a small nod. Not agreement, exactly, but something close.

"You've said before that one of your fears is that you are who you are because people always give you what you want." Her tone was careful.

She tapped the rim of her tablet once, then looked up. "So - did you get what you wanted on the weekend?"

Jo readjusted. "No. But..."

She leaned back and pulled out her phone, almost sheepish. "Okay, this sounds so superficial, but--when we were redoing the kitchen, Celina wanted something really simple. Light, neutral. I pushed for charcoal marble." She held up the photo, then let it fall back into her lap without showing it.

Laura was amused. "So now you have charcoal marble countertops."

"Yes we do and everyone compliments them." Jo sighed, but her smirk lingered. "Beach trips too. She always wants some remote, quiet spot where we read books and nap. I find a beach that seems secluded but just happens to be five minutes from great people-watching and cocktails. She never notices until she's already having fun."

Laura tapped her stylus lightly. "You're used to steering the ship."

"Or when we were planning a trip last year. Celina was set on Japan. I said, 'Sure, totally, that sounds amazing.' Then I spent a week sending her videos of Lisbon--tiles, architecture, custard tarts. Suddenly Japan didn't seem so special anymore. Guess where we went?"

"Did she like Lisbon?"

"Loved it," Jo said, smug. "I didn't say I told you so, but I was pretty close."

The therapist smiled faintly. "Was there something about Japan you didn't like?"

Jo looked away, thoughtful. "Not really. I mean, it's beautiful, obviously. I've seen all the same travel blogs. But it felt... big. Fast. Like we'd be on trains and in crowds and trying to see a million things. I think I wanted something slower."

"But you like being around people, don't you? You said you chose beaches with bars and people over reading and napping."

Jo let out a breath, caught off guard. "True. I did." She paused, frowning slightly. "But that's different. Beaches are open. You can dip in and out, do your own thing. You're not stuck on a train with a hundred strangers breathing down your neck."

"Or," Laura said gently, "maybe the crowds in Japan weren't the problem."

Jo's fingers tightened around the pillow in her lap. "Maybe not," she admitted. "Maybe it was about not being the one who set the tone. If we'd gone to Japan, I would've been following her lead. And I didn't want to. So instead I made Lisbon the obvious choice. Made it feel like the shared decision, even though I'd steered us there the whole time."

The therapist let the pause linger. "Do you think it felt like a shared decision to Celina?"

Jo winced. "I mean... probably? I don't know. She didn't push back. She said Lisbon looked amazing. She had a good time."

Laura gave her a knowing look. "That's not quite what I asked."

Jo crossed her legs and let out a sharp half-laugh. "God. No. Of course not. She's not stupid. She saw through it - through me. Just... let me have it anyway."

"And how does that sit with you?"

Jo was quiet for a moment. "It's... it feels weird. I normally feel clever when I get my way. But right now I just feel kind of -manipulative?"

Laura nodded once. "I haven't heard you use that word before."

Jo said softly. Had Laura been leading her to this the whole time? "Do you think I'm manipulative?"

Laura took a moment before responding. "Manipulation is often unintentional."

Jo leaned forward slightly, heat rising in her chest. That's not an answer, she thought. That's a dodge. Her eyes locked on Laura's. "That's not quite what I asked."

Laura's expression didn't flinch, but the room seemed to still. "No, I don't think you're manipulative--not in the way you're asking. I think you're incredibly strategic. You know how to read people, and you use that. That's not the same as being manipulative - it's survival."

She let a pause hang, giving Jo space. "But sometimes, that survival instinct can blur into choices that aren't about survival anymore. It becomes habit. And habits can start running the show, even when the threat is gone." Her voice remained calm, but direct. "The brain learns patterns. It can be reprogrammed, too--but only if we notice when it's still stuck in the old ones."

Jo didn't respond right away. Her fingers twisted in her lap.

The brain learns patterns. And hers had been learning early.

Smile in public. Speak clearly. Sit up straight. Make him proud. That was the rule in her father's house--look good, don't make a scene. Everything had to seem fine, even when it wasn't. Especially when it wasn't.

So she learned to perform. Not just for him, but for everyone. Bright, funny, a little sharp--just enough to keep people from looking too closely. And when things got too real, she'd pivot: a joke, a drink, a well-timed story that said nothing at all.

"This weekend, Celina did something that was beyond your control, and you reacted. You didn't like it--it made you uncomfortable. But you didn't stop it, like you might have in the past. You let it happen. You let yourself feel that discomfort for her sake. That's not nothing, Jo. That's growth. You should feel proud of that."

She let her hands separate and drop into her lap. "It didn't feel like growth. It felt like being skinned alive."

Laura nodded gently, her expression unwavering. "Growth usually doesn't feel good while it's happening. It can feel like something's being stripped away before anything new has had a chance to settle in. Being like youre being skinned alive - that's a powerful image. What part of you do you think felt most exposed in that moment?"

Jo exhaled through her nose, eyes fixed on a point just past Laura's shoulder.

"My pride, maybe," she said quietly. "Or control. I don't know. I think--I think I've gotten really good at managing how people see me. Even when I'm upset, I can kind of... package it."

Laura nodded, her voice low. "That sounds excruciating. But it was honest. You didn't perform - you let yourself be seen, and you stayed. That's not just vulnerable, Jo. That's brave."

She paused. "It makes sense it felt unbearable, especially if being put-together is how you've felt safe."

Jo breathed out deeply, realising her arms were folded.

Laura smoothed out an invisible wrinkle on her trousers. "Guiding someone toward a dynamic that makes you feel safe is not evil. That's protective. The question is--do you recognize when you're doing it?"

"I don't always know when I'm doing it... not in the moment, anyway. But afterward--yeah. I can see it."

"If you let her make the decisions--if you step back and let her choose without you leading--maybe you'll find the reassurance you're searching for. You'll know, without question, that she loves you. That she's still that person, even without the framework you set up."

A small smile played at the corner of Jo's lips. "You're asking the impossible."

Laura smiled back. "Am I? You've already done it--on a larger scale, no less. I think you're just not calling it by the right name yet."

When Jo got home that evening, Celina was at the stove, in socks and slides, stirring risotto with the kind of slow focus that meant she was in a good mood. The sleeves of her grey sweatshirt were pushed up to her elbows. Kenny, her mother's scruffy terrier, snored softly on the rug nearby, belly-up and utterly unbothered by the occasional sizzle from the pan.

Jo stepped in behind her and slid her arms around her waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the space between her shoulder blades.

"Hey," she murmured.

Celina leaned back slightly into her. "Hi, babe. How was thera--"

"I'm sorry we didn't go to Japan."

Celina paused, spoon still in the pot. She didn't speak for a moment, just let Jo's words hang there, the steam rising between them.

Then, softly: "Where did that come from?"

Jo rested her chin on Celina's shoulder. "Just thinking about how I pushed us toward Lisbon. How easy it is for me to push. And how maybe you didn't even notice it happening."

Celina turned down the heat, set the spoon down, and slowly turned in Jo's arms. Her expression wasn't angry, just alert. "I noticed."

"You did?"

Celina put her arms around Jo. "You think you're subtle, but when you want something, it's like being caught in a current. I just stopped fighting the tide."

Jo's throat tightened.

"Lisbon was beautiful," Celina said, gently twisting the ends of Jo's hair in her fingers. "I loved every minute of it. But yeah--Japan is my dream destination."

Jo swallowed. "I want to get better at letting you take the lead. And making sure they're your choices."

Celina leaned in and kissed her, slow and certain. And when she pulled back, her brown eyes held something playful on them. "Then you can start by setting the table."