An account of a successful therapy

Sometimes when I am sitting with someone in therapy, it feels as if she has been locked in a cold, dark room for a long time. She feels a profound sense of disconnect with herself and the world. She is emotionally hungry. This cold room offers no method to measure the passage of time, but she nonetheless has a vague sense that something is slipping away. She wants out.

Everyone has “rooms” like that they wish to escape– dead-end habits, painful memories, or hurtful thoughts that will not stay banished.

My job as a therapist is to join you in that room, to listen to your words and plot a course through that darkness to find you. As I learn more about you, I will share thoughts and impressions with you that can shed a bit of light into the room. Together, we measure the span of the room with our footfalls. We explore the grain of the wood in the walls. We look for ways out. We talk about what happened—and what is still happening. Sometimes, we are silent.

And then, when you are ready, we locate the door. We talk about its shape, its color. How dense it is. Will it squeak when it opens? Will you have to stoop to cross under the threshold? Is this the only option we have? What will it be like on the other side?

We postulate, theorize about other exit plans. About staying where we are. Could I get out through the window instead? What if I don’t like what I find? Can I come back if I change my mind? We talk about your fear in leaving this room. It has come to offer a cold comfort of its own. This conversation may take weeks or months in therapy.

And, when you are ready, you walk through. Your voice carries back to me. I hear excitement, overwhelm, and a little trepidation. I hear relief. We continue to talk.

Over time, your voice fades. It is harder to hear you. You have fewer questions for me. You are busily exploring an amazing world that has missed you.

From time to time, you may come back to that cold room for a visit. You may even need a little help navigating your way out again, once you’ve arrived. It is easier the second time. Your journey outside changed you, and this cold room is no longer your home.