Therapist Owns Being Late

My new therapist has been late to almost every appointment I’ve had with her. Not just session late. Arriving at the office late. We have had thirteen sessions. Thirteen times late. This week I said something about it.

Opening the session I said to T, I need to tell you something. I feel really anxious when you’re late. What’s that like for you, she asks. I worry that I’ve got the wrong time, the wrong day, that I’ve screwed up. I worry that I’ll miss my session and wonder if there will be a chance to make it up. I’m afraid I’ll lose session time with you. And you’re probably angry too. I didn’t confirm it, but yes, a little angry. Do you recognize that you first blamed yourself, T asks. It was my fault. I was late. I’ve been late to almost every – if not every – session. T tells me she has been late her whole life. We'll keep talking about it. We'll work it out.

T took responsibility. She didn’t blame me. She didn’t guilt me. She owned it. I was relieved, grateful. AND she acknowledged that it’s hard because I’m starting to need and depend on her. Blown. A. Way. Need. The dirtiest, most shameful word in my vocabulary. And T said it. Like it was okay. Like she understood.

I keep thanking the Therapy Gods for sending me newT.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.

"Yes, Piglet?"

"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."

-A. A. Milne

Thanks for understanding –