Do You Have a Plan?

I've been there. That one thing you said, when the therapist suddenly sits up in a chair and asks  "Do you have a plan?"

For those who may not know how this question goes, it's when the therapist starts to ask you some really tough questions about your level of depression and do you have a plan for self-harm?  For those of us on the other side of the desk, it's sort of baffling. Not only had we wandered into "uh-oh-land" we were now suppose to spill the truth, make something up on the spot, or walk out of the office in tears.

It seems like this is the point where if the therapist had an emergency button at their side, they would have pushed it. But now here comes the test, a good therapist, the one that you have developed a strong relationship with will be able to tell if this is a serious threat, or your sharing of a very private pain that got you to their office in the first place. In many cases, it is a break-through moment.

I probably needed a therapist for my depression since the summer I was thirteen. I didn't know I needed a therapist, but my depression ran deep. My obstacle at the moment was that as an eight grader moving on to high school I was totally afraid of the transition. My parents encouraged me to go to high school night orientation, but I refused acting like it wasn't something I would be interested in. I was deep into my rebellious stage and high school didn't seem like a good time.

I should add that I was highly creative and artistic at this time. I was taking extra art classes outside of school because I couldn't get enough art. My avenues were Saturday classes at the art institute and an afterschool program that I attended three days per week. I wasn't sure what the connection was-- but I thrived on art. One day, while at the afterschool art program I felt like my emotions were raw. I had never felt such pain in my heart. (No one had told me it came from my head.) My artwork had become very dark. I expressed myself with many mediums, but I could never be that girl artist where life is about daisies. I created what my head and heart were feeling. There was also a boy. He was going to a different high school and I was broke up about this.

Fast forward to my high school days an you would have seen two of me. I was terribly over weight, and self conscious so I couldn't excel in any sports. None of the clubs appealed to me and my popular friends that I had known all my life now bored me. I and had to make all new friends in high school. I was both an introvert and an extrovert, laughing with my new friends and feeling isolated, ashamed, and self-conscious. Along with my art, I started  to write, poetry, plays and some journalism. But my art was now really something special, and I was winning contests, and had earned state-wide recognition with it.

At the age of nineteen, my parents had me hospitalized because I was shaking so much. I had developed a tremor, but know one knew why. My dad was on a mission to see if I was taking street drugs, and if that was causing the problem. I saw a neurologist, who couldn't find anything wrong, so he suggested I see a psychiatrist. My parents didn't believe in psychiatry so the offer laid on the table.
Many years later my doctors would discover a possible connection between my tremors and  nearly dying at birth due to having the cord around my neck.  The jury is still out, they say I need an autopsy.

I decided I wanted to become an art teacher in college and so went on to get an undergraduate and graduate degree in art teaching. I loved college, I knocked out all of the requirements at community college and at a liberal arts college until landing at a good university for art and teacher training.

In graduate school I heard of free therapy by graduate students. I went a few times to check it out.
For my evaluation process I was asked to do timed puzzles.  One was a child-like puzzle of an elephant. I couldn't figure out what the object was, but I did the puzzle based on shapes, so managed to do it fine anyhow, then flipped the whole puzzle around and showed to the student-therapist.

Things didn't go so well with this student therapist. I was very uncomfortable with all the tinted windows for observing the student and patient in therapy. I remember the male therapist had bright red hair and a reddish complexion. I don't know how far along we were into our sessions, but one day he asked me if I was interested in him. He asked me how I would act if I ran into him on campus and
I said "Say Hello?" After that weirdness, I didn't go to any other sessions.

I finally graduated and was pretty happy with a new job working in an art museum, and new experiences half-way across the country. My mind was always on work, and I was down a little, but my diet was better, and my anxiety was inching in, but not fully charged. I loved my independence, my new friends, and life was good, until two things happened. One was my dad died in the summer of my second year on my own and when I returned to work after the funeral, a few weeks later, I was laid off.  I had to leave my happy little world of art museum teaching and a warmer climate, to head home.

When I returned home, I was naturally unhappy about being out of work. I wasn't finding anything, and it was getting difficult to do well since my identity was clearly tied to my images of myself as an art teacher. I preferred working with younger children so I pieced together a work life of teaching at  three different locations. It was a lot of fun at first, but I soon learned that teaching art, and hauling art supplies from place to place from the back of my car wasn't for me. It wasn't until almost a year later that I found something M-F at a Catholic School.

My mood was changing, I was now 32 and had never had a real boyfriend so I wanted to work on some type of love life. That was slow going for me. I finally made and appointment to see a therapist to talk to him about my current stage in life, needing a companion, wanting a better job, and much more. Back in the 70's and early eighties, a teacher often could not get hired if you had any type of mental health problems. They asked about this on job applications, so I had to tell myself I was just going for career planning. I even made an appointment with an out of town therapist just in case someone were to see me at his office.

His office was in a larger building with lots of private offices and few signs. When I finally found the new therapist, I was relieved that I was going to get to talk to someone openly about every I had on my mind. He met me in the outer waiting room and oddly looked me over head to toe as he asked me my name. I gave him my name and he escorted me into his office. We sat down together, and I expected him to give me paperwork to fill out. Instead, he did something I would have never dreamed of doing. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "I can't see you. You are overweight and you have no will power, and I won't treat someone like you!"  This was the ugliest conversation I had ever had with a professional, and once again, I left in tears, and never saw another therapist for about five years. What this caused was a severe delay in me getting any help.

Well, I finally found steady work and was married and had two children. For years there was a lot of good family time and I cared other women's children besides my own. I progressed and finally found meaningful work. Things didn't work out as well as I had hoped and now I have many physical health issues

So now, I have seen the same therapist for two years.  I don't think he would mind me describing him as an old hippie. He is decent and he has never been so shook up to ask me "Do I have a plan?" That's what a good therapist relationship feels like. So if by chance I was asked about my plan, I can honestly say yes, thanks to medication and keeping my mind busy and challenged making my art that I dearly love, I can say, my plan is to keep making art because it helps me process my emotions and thoughts and boy does my head get stuck in repetitive, negative thinking sometimes. My challenge is to learn to live feeling okay about myself.

#artist blog  #do you have a plan?  #therapy  #be strong   #mental health  #community  #picking a good therapist