My Therapist's Name

The first time going to therapy is terrifying. "I have to admit to someone that I have FLAWS? And I'm probably going to have to make eye contact while admitting my flaws??" At least, that is my idea of terrifying.

For my first appointment, I arrived early as per usual and paced in the hallway about 6 times. I was trying to decide if this was actually a good idea. Whenever someone would walk by, I would stop and feign all-encompassing interest in a picture of some lady with beady eyes and spectacles. Peering over my shoulder, I would set to work pacing again as soon as I saw that they were gone.

When I was on my 7th rotation, I braced my feet to the ground, set my jaw and wobbled forward to the door. Advice: don't be early to your first therapy session. Be running a little late so you don't have time to question whether you are going to go through with it or not. Just bulldoze through the door with your head held high.

Once inside the lobby, I bee lined for the receptionist and whispered to her, because everyone whispers in the therapy office. If someone could explain that to me, I would greatly appreciate it. Maybe a long time ago someone had a cold and had to whisper and then everyone started to whisper and now no one wants to be the person that talks LOUD, which is actually just a normal level. Hmm. Spreading meekness instead of germs. Interesting.

Anyway, I succumbed to passive aggressive peer pressure and whispered "Hi, I have an appointment with um....Lisa."I whispered "Lisa" even quieter in case she had a reputation for taking on really difficult clients.

"Juuuust so everybody's clear, I need help but I don't need that much help, OK? OK."

Dumb. I realize that that is dumb now.

Once I was in Lisa's personal office and sitting in her purple recliner it wasn't so bad. A few sessions of reality checks and a diagnosis of anxiety and OCD and I was feeling muuuuch better. It's funny how realizing that you are, in fact, crazy makes you feel less crazy.  In short, therapy made me feel really happy and when I feel happy about something, I tell EVERYONE.

That personality trait has worked out for me thus far in my life because usually I'm happy about a book or a movie or a cool fact that I learned. Those things are safe to talk about.

After experiencing the wonders of therapy, I would be talking to someone and think of some great insight that I had learned from my therapist. I would open my mouth and widen my eyes to share it and then abruptly clamp my mouth shut and pout in a conflicted way.

It was like "psychologist" was some taboo word that I couldn't say. Eventually, I got tired of not talking about therapy and now I talk about it whenever I feel like it's relevant and helpful.

I've visited three therapists at different times in my life. The first two were named Lisa and Glen. In my opinion those are perfect therapist names. Lisa. Glen. Say them out loud to yourself. Lisaa Gleenn. Don't you just feel calmer saying them? Liiissaaaa Gleeeeennn.

After my mission when I wanted to see a therapist again, I was expecting to get someone named Alan or Joel or Susan or something like that. Equally soothing names.

When I came to the front desk for my appointment, the receptionist (Named Sherrie.....fairly good therapist name but not as good as Glen or Lisa, which is probably why she was just at the front desk) smiled politely and said "Tyler will see you in a moment."

Tyler?!? What kind of a name is that? Not a therapist name! I had some serious doubts about this guy's credentials. Tyler is the name for someone that skateboards or that you have lots of fun with or that makes movies about an old Black woman. Probably the closest Tyler to being a therapist is Tyler Joseph. He sings about depression and stuff. He's allowed to be named Tyler because he's a pop star.

If I followed my own theory, I should have been a librarian. But a speech therapist is close enough.

Skeptically, I walked into Tyler's office and cautiously assessed his competence from behind folded arms and squinted eyes. Turns out Tylers make pretty good therapists too. I have since changed my namist ways.

So if your name is Archibald and you want to be a social media specialist, go for it!

And don't be afraid to talk about what you want to talk about. Like the fact that your name is Archibald and you had to go to therapy for that. No shame! When you share your story, it helps other people to share theirs.

The Bus Ride

I walked into the house around 4 PM looking disheveled. Nothing incriminating, but just a little tired. My roommate welcomed me with "Yay! You're home! Where have you been?

I flopped onto the couch and half laughed, half sighed, "It's a long story."

Walking

I'm a late bloomer when it comes to transportation. I didn't get my driver's license until I was 18, I still don't have a car and I'm chronically challenged with directions. When I was making my debut into the world (aka my day of being birthed), I kept trying to come out sideways. Even then I was bad at directions.

Thus, I have become well acquainted with the art of walking. This puts me on the same level as Elizabeth Bennet, Steve Jobs, Henry David Thoreau and Ellen DeGeneres' grandma.

Perks to walking:

There are lots, but I'll just condense it down to this: It forces me to slow down and actually appreciate life.

Today was not a perk day.

I Did a Dumb Thing

Alright, so today was my first day of "freedom" from grad school. I didn't know what to do with myself. I'm sick so I probably should have just taken a nap.
However, my mind thought, "Hey, Julia, you know what would be a good idea? Let's go to DI" (East Coast translation: Good Will).

I parried back with "Why? What do I need from DI?"

My mind, always quick on the draw, responded with a logically sound argument. She said, "National Geographic magazines and summer dresses"

I couldn't argue with that.

So despite the 45 minute walk time that google maps estimated, I waltzed out the door armed with my purse, my best 97 cent walking flip flops and "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien.

My energy and good intentions started to wane about 15 minutes out. My throat started to hurt because apparently walking when you're sick makes your throat hurt? That was a new one for me.

Just as I was about to admit defeat, turn around and take a nap, I saw a bus!

A bus! I know how to navigate a bus! and that would save me from this whole walking thing. Not only do I know how to navigate a bus, I had to use the bus for the whole month of March, so I'm basically the Indiana Jones of buses.

Feeling pretty proud of myself for being so street savvy, I sauntered onto the bus. 

There is this game that you can play while you ride the bus. At least I play it, I'm not sure if anyone else does. 

It's called "Let's not look at the bus schedule, let's just guess when you have to get off and hope that it's the closest stop to your destination." Terrible name for a game, I know. I'll gladly take suggestions for a new title. 

Bus stops don't really have a rhyme or a reason. There could be two within 50 feet of each other, or it could be a mile before there is another bus stop. 

As I get close to my destination, I gamble on which stop is the closest and when I think I can't get any closer without going past my destination, I pull the yellow cord to let the driver know I want to get off. It's surprisingly stressful and exhilarating. 

There have been many times that I thought to myself "crap, too early" as I exit smiling and waving to the bus driver. 

On this particular day, I was playing my game. Only I thought I knew exactly where the bus was headed. I was calm, cool, collected and confidant. The bus was at a light and I was looking left because that's where I needed to go. Really slowly, the bus started to veer to the right. 

It dawned on me: I've been betrayed!

No matter, I waved my hand in my mind, the bus usually takes the least logical route to get somewhere so we'll probably take a little detour and then end up where I need to be. I picked up where I had left off in my book.

Half an hour later and in the town north of where I live, it became clear that the bus was not going to be near my stop again for a long time. I determined to just keep reading my book until I got back to near my house.

An hour and a half later I got dropped off where I had been picked up and I made my way home.

I had spent $2.50 to go essentially no where. However, I had gotten through about 90 pages in my book.

Sometimes you just have to laugh :) And I'm lucky enough to have roommates that laughed with me.