I have never been a fan of counseling. This is, in part, due to the fact that I started at such an early age where I saw no need for it because I thought I could deal on my own. I didn't need to complain or seek help from someone I barely knew. I've always been a rather private person, recent events have caused me to be even more so. Counseling was just about the last thing I needed.
It was with the best intentions that I was sent to my first shrink in 5th grade. It was near the beginning of the divorce which is the time when the kids are supposed to be feeling betrayed, depressed, and confused. So though I didn't need the help at the time, it was thought to be beneficial to have someone for me to talk to. Not so much the case. I dreaded it every week. The only reason I went at all was because I got out of school early once a week. It probably did not help that I already had a bad view of it from the appointments with the evaluator from the divorce. Awkward, boring, and full of prying questions, our sessions were not at all helpful unless you count giving me a good topic to write about. At first I tried hard. I really did. I wanted to convince them that I truly understood everything that was going on and I could make decisions for myself. Except everything came out wrong. When trying to express the lonely feeling of sitting in my room, literally staring at a wall, trying to block out my thoughts because they hurt too much. Sitting there doing nothing because I'd been confined to the house because I wouldn't spend time with father. It would come out something like this:
"He doesn't let me do anything."
Feeble, right? That could mean anything. I sounded like a spoiled brat. I simply didn't have the capacity to express feelings that should be beyond an 11 year old. My best chance was when he'd paraphrase what I was trying to say, then asking if it was correct. I'd nod vigorously wishing I could have thought to say it like that. In this way he got the raw facts laid out such as I liked homeschooling and I didn't like father. It grazed the surface of my situation yet never came close to the full truth.
There's a joke in some movie that all you have to do to be a counselor is listen, say mhmm, and ask "how do you feel about that?" It's so true! Except if they have someone like me who won't talk--that makes them work. The first shrink was a young lady in her twenties, maybe right out of college. I was just about the worst starting project she could ever have had and I feel pretty bad about it. I refused to talk most of the time and if I did it would be with one word answers. I could be the most disagreeable, closed child when I wanted to be. She put in a valiant effort. She asked if I knew why I was there and I told her no. She asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about and I said no. Because I wouldn't talk about myself, she decided I needed help expressing my feelings. She printed out some pictures of cartoon faces showing different emotions. At the beginning of each session she'd have me point to three pictures I was feeling. I'd avoid these too by picking the ones that didn't really describe inner emotions such as sleepy, bored, and satisfied. I'd drag it out as long as I could, pretending to contemplate. I gave her nothing to work with. She'd ask why I was bored and I'd say I didn't want to be there.
I remember one particular session after I'd been going for a few weeks I could tell she was running out of ideas and getting frustrated so she asked me what I wanted to do. I don't remember my response but I must have said nothing because that's exactly what we did. We sat there for the entire hour which felt like years. But that's the other thing. I can't say with certainty that it was really that long because it could have been only half an hour but in my mind it stretched for hours. I could feel myself shutting down after just a few minutes until all I was focused on was avoiding questions, providing answers only when I had to, anything to stop her prying.
Eventually she gave up on me and gave me a craft to do while trying her best to keep up a one way conversation. The last two weeks she gave up entirely and we watched a movie. Poor lady, I hope I didn't ruin her career. I didn't mean to cause her grief, I most truly did not. I never enjoyed testing her, it was more of a defense mechanism. I came to despise that waiting room which if I remember correctly was all cheerful and bright which was the opposite of what I was feeling. It was small and stuffy and as I sat I would get all stiff and my breathing came in short, fast puffs. Ironically, it seemed that the sessions caused exactly that which we were trying to prevent.
After that I wasn't sent to any specifically to help me but as an obligation from the courts to force me to improve my relationship with father. It was always the same though. They all thought that I had issues because apparently every child of divorce, as someone on Moody radio put it, is damaged goods. If I hadn't recently been to another shrink I would blame my memories all on childish exaggeration but it wasn't. It causes the same anxiety every time. It is physically impossible for me to express what I mean. It starts in the waiting room with my heart pounding, sweaty, freezing palms, and shortened breathing, there's simply no way I can think clearly. But just when the best thing I could do for myself is to go sprinting away to burn some energy, instead when the door opens I walk through it into the office where I feel even more caged. Make yourself comfortable they say. Of course that means sit on the couch. So you sit, thinking you'd be so much more comfortable anywhere else, but you're stuck and what's there to do but wait 'til it's over? And I forgot to mention how everything you do is judged from the moment you walk through the door. From where you sit, to how you sit, everything is interpreted as a sign of your mental state etc. It's enough to drive anyone mad. Then I'd sit there facing memories, trying to think how to word them, and failing. Anything I did try to say always ended up backfiring. Afterwards I could barely keep myself from running outside. As soon as I was out the door I'd feel so relieved and I'd run for minutes until I felt normal again.
It was obvious to me that if I were ever to tell anyone what I truly thought of everything it would have to be on my own time and in my own way. My first and last attempt was in middle school English class. It was the beginning of the year and the teacher assigned a paper to be finished by the end of class called If You Really Knew Me. She said she'd be referring to it all year to try and understand us and our papers better. Normally I would make up some stuff and not really put any of me into a paper like this but the opportunity to be seen for who I am was too good to miss. So I tried, and failed miserably. I ran out of time and all I succeeded in doing was earning her pity, thinking I was a poor little kid with a wonderful father. I hated myself for it all year and vowed not to try anything like it again for fear of misunderstanding.
I'm sorry for all the superfluous detail but I cannot begin to describe the impact it's made on me. I bet by describing all this it makes me seem ill when this whole time I was trying to say I don't need a counselor and never did. But honestly, it was painful. It was so memorable that in eighth grade we were assigned to write a survival story. So I wrote one called Surviving Counseling. It's kind of a humorous take on everything I went through but it was so easy to write and really fun. I got 100% on it.
This is just to say that my experience with it has been a terrible one and that there have been people far more helpful to me than any with a degree in interpreting human feelings. It a very iffy art in my opinion and not a useful one. You don't need to be a professional to tell if someone's happy or sad and that's pretty much all that's necessary to have a surface level relationship which is all father ever wanted so why we need to go to counseling again? I don't know.
A counselor is one who gives advice or wisdom. I'd say the only thing qualified counselors are good for is perhaps giving official names to ways you are feeling which make even the least of problems seem dire. Here are three things more helpful than a shrink:
1. godly people--Psalm 37:30
The godly offer good counsel; they teach right from wrong.
2. (godly) friends--Proverbs 27:9
The heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense.
3. Proverbs (where better to find advice than the Bible itself? Proverbs is full of it!)--Proverbs 1:2-3
2 Their purpose is to teach people wisdom and discipline, to help them understand the insights of the wise.
3 Their purpose is to teach people to live disciplined and successful lives, to help them do what is right, just, and fair.
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