This week I approached my therapy appointment with some trepidation.
Yes, I see a therapist. I live in NYC – you get assigned one along with your ConEd ID. Don’t judge.
My anxiety about the appointment arose mostly from my most recent encounter with the opposite sex – see here for the details of adultery. My appointments with my therapist often follow a predictable path: job apathy, dating apathy, NYC apathy. Of the three subjects, my shrink has more than once suggested that if I could just solve the middle issue then all of my problems would be solved. For example, earlier this summer when I was getting the wanderlust that so many New Yorkers experience as the drenching humidity descended on the city, I was trying to decide between moving to Asheville NC, San Francisco or one of the cities my siblings live in. My psychologist segued into asking me how my dating life was and when I was slightly put off he suggested that perhaps if I found someone who was special to me that I might find some guidance as to the next step to take in my life.
Ummm, EXCUSE ME?
I believe the next words out of my mouth had something to do with not needing a prince on a white horse, and how the hell was a man coming into my life going to help me define for me what next steps to take in my career or what area of the country in which I would be most happy?!?! He saw my point (or at least desisted), but that is when I began to question his advice – at least on dating.
One other thing had set my alarm bells ringing: Mr. Married had made contact. Texted me later in the evening. I had to make the decision to respond…or not.
So I was highly anticipating a bit of a difficult session discussing my new dalliance with the married set. As I consulted with two friends earlier in the day, I could only imagine how appalled my shrink was going to be that I was yet again engaging in relations with someone whom I had NO opportunity for longevity. My friends, as friends do, had my back and told me over and over again that I did not want to engage in an affair – even if it wasn’t immoral, it was a sure heart-breaker. As much as I insisted this was purely physical, my friends were just as fervent in their argument that, as a woman, such a relationship is nearly impossible.
At therapy, I immediately delved into the easy stuff: my job leaves me unfulfilled, blahdy, blahdy, blah blah. I could only fill about 10 minutes with those particular issues, and thus found myself sitting in silence, searching for the right words. In the end it was easier than I thought to say it: “I went out with an old friend last week and slept with him. Oh, and he’s married.” 17 words and DONE.
This is when I expected some sage words stemming from years of study and psychological observation about boundaries, morals and commitment phobias. I was flabbergasted when, instead of guiding me to desist, my shrink told me he thought it was a good idea for me to continue this “relationship.” As he saw it, as long as I was able to keep my emotional feelings seperate from the physical relationship then there was no reason I should not enjoy the, ahem, pleasures of that relationship.
We had already spent some time that day discussing my difficulty being emotionally and physically vulnerable at the same time with the same person, so his analysis that this relationship was actually quite appropriate for me seemed to have some merit. In the end, he really just thought it would be good for me to explore having a physically satisfying relationship – which I struggle to develop – with out having to worry about having an emotional relationship (because I guess married people don’t have emotional relationships aside from their spouse?)
Basically, my therapist made the argument that I shouldn’t worry about the mushy stuff – date like a guy and get laid. I think I’ve done that before. So old hat here. I walked away from the session feeling just fine texting Mr. Married back.
Later over drinks, I shared my shrinks views with the friends I had spoken with before my session. They were appalled, but I was really surprised with what they asked next. “Do you think he wants to sleep with you?” Now, I would just take this as the catty girl-ravings of estrogen gone awry over drinks, but when I relayed my shrink story twice more over the weekend, the same question was asked each time. Each friend seemed to think that my psychologists pre-occupation with my dating life was not only excessive, but disturbing. Every one has told me to ditch him – oh, and the married guy.
So, whereas I thought the purpose of therapy was to help clarify my perspective, I feel like I left this week with more questions than I went in with.
I went in with “Should I consider continuing to see Mr. Married?”
I left with “Is my therapist a creep who wants to sleep with me? And even if he isn’t, is he really all that helpful?”
Opinions?
