Talking about Love…in Therapy

I wanted to tell the truth, and I wanted my therapist to like Camillus. Not like I wanted friends to like guys I dated, but because David knew the cleaned-up mess of me better than anyone else. We’d been working together for five years, and sometimes he felt like a friend. I wanted him to approve of something that felt so unusual—and good—to me.

I told him how kind Camillus was, how much I liked just talking with him, and how thoughtful and incredibly sensitive this big, redneck- ooking, manly man could be, hoping David would come back with “He might be the one!”

David never took the bait. He kept pushing me with questions about how I was feeling and why I thought I was feeling things, so I might understand myself better. I told him what I’d been thinking, and I thought it sounded significant, profound even.

“Camillus makes me feel like a better version of myself,” I said.

I should have anticipated the reminder from David about something we had been talking about for years, but I had slipped into my Hallmark mode for a minute.

“Well, that sounds wonderful, but of course, nobody can make you feel something about yourself, Sarah,” he pointed out. “This topic usually comes up when people blame others for making them ‘feel bad’ about themselves, but I think it’s worth pointing out in this context too.”

I knew how much I’d sought external validation my entire life, and appreciated the risk of handing off this power to other people, but I thought when the result was positive, it might make more sense. Camillus did make me feel good about myself, so why was David nitpicking? I was frustrated, especially because I felt like I was so close to getting the gold star for love and just wanted David to be happy for me.

“I don’t know, but he does make me feel better about myself!” I could almost hear his slow pause.

“Let’s go slowly,” he said.

He always said this when we were revisiting a topic or going into something he knew I struggled with, and in this case the challenge was both me acknowledging and maybe taking some credit for the progress I’d made in our work together. I probably mouthed the words “Let’s go slowly” and rolled my eyes to myself.

“Try telling me how you feel about yourself when you’re with Camillus,” he said. “Not how he ‘makes’ you feel, but how you feel.”

I paused for a long time. I could feel the heat rising up into my face and the tears welling up.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I feel like me, but a better version of me. Comfortable. I don’t hesitate or overthink what I’m going to say. I don’t do that thing where I’m watching and judging myself through the lens of the imaginary cameraman across the room. I almost feel like I’m kind of cool, like somebody I might want to hang out with. Does that make sense?”

David laughed even though I wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Yes, that makes sense, and I’m guessing there might be lots of people who would like to hang out with you,” he said. “What else can you tell me about when you’re with him? Say more.”

There it was: the say-more directive I’d come to expect from him. “This is super embarrassing, but I feel like a girl somehow,” I said. “I feel feminine and, yes, even pretty. There, I said it, okay? I feel pretty when I’m with Camillus.”

“Wow,” he said. “You’re starting to sound a lot like a person who likes herself.”

Cue the tears.

When you’ve spent your whole life disliking yourself and your therapist points out that maybe you finally do like yourself, that you’ve crossed over into that foreign, far-off land reserved only for fairy tales and mythical creatures, it’s a pretty big deal.

The shift didn’t happen at that exact moment, of course, but hearing something spoken aloud is powerful and brought the reality of my change to the surface in a new way. The shift had been happening for years, ever since our first session. David slowly guided me toward a new understanding of myself that was far healthier, but it took time.

Change is not a lightning bolt.

Change is not a straight hike.

Change doesn’t happen in order.

Change is laps around the same pond, finding nourishment in new ways.

Change is the daily reminder that I deserve to feel good about myself.

I have no idea why it’s so much easier to hate ourselves than to love ourselves, and feeling good about myself still makes me cringe sometimes, like a sweater that’s a little too tight regardless of how flattering. Am I going to wear this out in public? What if somebody sees me in this thing?

And even though he would never come out and say so, I swear David was secretly hoping for Camillus and me to win the Big Love Cook-off.

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