Chapter 1: Expectations vs. Reality

Going into my first therapy session, my perceptions were heavily influenced by portrayals in television and cinema, leading me to believe it would be a certain way.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

I was fortunate enough to access complimentary therapy sessions offered through my workplace, where a PhD student sought volunteers for eight outdoor counseling sessions aimed at enhancing well-being. My prior thoughts on therapy mirrored my views on personal trainers: a luxury rather than a necessity that I might consider if my budget allowed. Nonetheless, the allure of a no-cost opportunity was too good to resist, so I signed up to explore what it might entail.

After a preliminary introduction call with my therapist, Helen (name changed for confidentiality), I found myself eagerly anticipating the experience. I wondered if I might uncover new aspects of myself or address past traumas I hadn’t recognized as needing attention.

When the day for my first virtual session arrived, I was taken aback by how profound the experience turned out to be. My expectations were clouded by fictional representations of therapy; I envisioned lounging on a classic couch in a lush, wooden room, revealing my innermost secrets to a stranger.

Media like How To Get Away With Murder and Wednesday painted a picture of reluctant participants who ultimately divulge their hidden truths, often leading to chaotic or comedic results. I considered myself relatively open to therapy, without any major secrets to uncover. So what would it mean for someone like me?

One of the initial questions Helen posed was, "What do you expect from this?" I found myself struggling for a coherent response, eventually offering a vague yet positive statement. Sensing my uncertainty, she then asked, "What concerns do you have about therapy?"

This question caught me off guard. After a moment of reflection, I started to respond that I had no concerns, but then a thought crossed my mind: why was I curious about her perspective? It struck me as odd to mirror her question, although it seemed to align with the natural flow of conversation.

Interactions often involve reciprocation; when one person asks a question, the other typically responds and may reciprocate. I realized that many individuals, including friends I know from dating apps, sometimes struggle with one-sided dialogues where one person dominates the conversation, neglecting the other’s input. This can come off as inconsiderate.

Could my desire to inquire back be linked to a societal norm of not being overly self-focused? I explained this thought process to Helen, and suddenly, I felt rather silly. Therapy is fundamentally about sharing one’s own experiences—after all, I'm paying for this time. She assured me that it was perfectly acceptable to prioritize my own narrative during our sessions, which alleviated my discomfort.

We then shifted our focus to the issues I wanted to explore. My primary concern was the anxiety and frustration I was experiencing with climbing.

Climbing and bouldering are passions of mine; I enjoy the problem-solving aspect of strategizing my next move, the physical exhaustion that follows a rigorous workout, and the rewarding feeling of completing a challenging climb. However, since fracturing my ankle a year ago, I had been grappling with what I referred to as “The Fear.”

While a certain level of apprehension about falling is normal, my fear had escalated to the point where I would descend at the first sign of fatigue, avoiding attempts at new moves even when they were safe to try. This repeated avoidance stunted my progress in climbing, leaving me feeling stagnant and increasingly frustrated with the sport I once loved.

As I articulated my feelings, Helen noted that I frequently used the term “should.” I felt I should engage others in conversation instead of monopolizing the dialogue. I felt I should conquer climbing moves effortlessly. I even believed that therapy was something I should be doing.

But what was the origin of this pervasive "should" mentality? Helen prompted me to consider what I truly wanted.

Just as our conversation began to delve into deeper territory, our time together came to an end, leaving me with much to ponder. I recognized that I often struggle to articulate my desires; weekends devoid of plans leave me at a loss for how to spend my time.

Most aspects of my life are structured: grocery shopping, work meetings, family visits. Perhaps I was simply out of practice in determining what I genuinely wanted. Spontaneity has never been my strong suit.

This realization struck me as significant. I was pleasantly surprised that we had uncovered such depth during our first session. With seven more sessions ahead, I wondered what additional insights awaited me.

Following my initial conversation with Helen, I set myself a task: to reflect on my desires and pursue them.

This week, I've actively sought to align my actions with my wants. Here are a few instances where I succeeded:

• I decided to cancel a group outing, opting to stay home to recharge instead of attending out of obligation.
• Rather than waking up early to do yoga (which I felt I "should" do), I allowed myself to sleep in and practiced later in the day.
• I’ve dedicated more evenings to gaming, even though I felt I should be cleaning or catching up on my neglected crochet projects. Playing Mario Odyssey has brought me immense joy, and I’ve embraced that time.

I'm eager to continue exploring what I want and discussing these revelations in my therapy sessions. Understanding one's desires may seem straightforward, yet it’s a skill many struggle to master. Perhaps one day, I will feel at ease with my own needs.