At least one of us deserves a happy ending, and there is no one more deserving of happiness than Rose. Besides, it was me who got in the way of their second chance. Maybe I can facilitate their third.
“No,” I say. “I definitely don’t think you should leave. Actually, I have an idea.”
Chapter ThirteenRose
Do you believe in second chances?”
“What?” I ask, trying to concentrate. I was up late last night at dinner with William again, and the lack of sleep is starting to affect me. “I mean, what do you mean by that?”
I’m currently in session with a new client of mine, a young mother who just left her husband. She has a newborn at home and is suffering from postpartum depression.
The first rule of therapy to avoid projecting on your clients. We call it “countertransference,” when your own biases, experiences, and thoughts end up coloring the way you see a client. I know how damaging countertransference can be to the therapeutic relationship.
Still, it’s hard not to see the resemblance to my own life.
“I know we can’t repeat the past, but do you think it’s ever okay to try again?” the client asks in a small, inquisitive voice.
Her name is Virginia, and she’s in her midthirties. Virginia has dark brown hair, now pulled back into a ponytail, and bright blueeyes that look especially tired today. Her son, Teddy, still isn’t sleeping through the night.
“Of course,” I tell her. “But more importantly, doyoubelieve in second chances? That’s what really matters.”
The bread and butter of talk therapy is something called the OARS method. Essentially through open-ended questions (O), affirmations (A), reflective listening (R), and summarizing (S), you encourage the client to create change.
It’s a simple tool but sometimes it’s the simplest stuff that is the most effective.
“I don’t know,” says Virginia. “I want to but I’m not sure if it’s possible.”
“What kind of second chance are we talking about here?”
I hope she’s not talking about getting together with her ex-husband. Perhaps it’s unprofessional to have such a biased view toward a relationship in my client’s life, but again, it’s difficult not to. Therapists who claim not to care about their clients are either callous sociopaths or liars. And from what Virginia has told me, her husband was emotionally abusive, often berating her about finances, her weight, and generally making her feel “not good enough.”
When working with a client who you suspect is in an abusive relationship—or in Virginia’s case, has recently left one—it’s important to proceed carefully, tread lightly. I don’t want to scare her away from opening up to me, and I still need to earn her trust. We’ve only been working together for a month now.
“I met someone new,” says Virginia, looking at the floor. Even in the shadow of the overhead lighting, there’s a sudden brightness to her expression.
Phew. “Oh, well that’s great! Who is the lucky individual?”
She looks up at me with a sad smile. “He’s just here for the summer, so it probably can’t work.”
The clinician in me takes note of the immediate pessimism. It’s not easy learning how to be positive when the world has burned you. I mentally mark down that this is something we can work on together.
But simultaneously, the human in me irrationally thinks of Tommy. My breath somersaults. It’s an illogical assumption—it’s summer on Nantucket, after all! Of course, there are hundreds, thousands, of visitors. Tommy is by no means the only one. Still…
“You never know what a summer fling could turn into,” I say from experience. “Tell me more about him. How did you two meet?”
“Well, he’s renting in ’Sconset for a few weeks,” Virginia says, twisting the drawstring of her sweatshirt in her left hand, a nervous gesture. “His name is…”
Please don’t say Thomas. Please don’t say Tommy. Please don’t…
“His name is Michael,” she finishes. “He lives in Rhode Island and we met while I was walking on the beach the other day.”
Another phew. A wave of relief washes over me. I take a deep breath in, shifting in my chair.
“That’s wonderful!” I say with real enthusiasm now. “Besides the summer ending, what are you afraid of?”
While I wait to start my own practice, I’m currently seeing clients through a group clinic down by the hospital. The rooms are stuffy and cramped. The carpet is a drab gray color, and despite the sound machines we have blasting, you can still catch snippets of other clinicians’ conversations through the thin walls.
Every time I’m here, I’m reminded of why I want to go out on my own. Besides needing my own space, I yearn for the autonomy to make my own clinical decisions. Right now, the group practice I work for is strict about which insurances we do and do not accept. I’ve had to reject countless potential clients because they’re on Medicare, Medicaid, or some other insurance we don’t accept. I also haveno ability to set my own rates or make exceptions for people who can’t afford traditional treatment.
