It was an interesting session this past Friday. I still don’t understand what I am doing there sometimes. Last time I asked him if it was okay to just sit there and chat back and forth for an hour, sure, but then two days ago I wanted answers. Why exactly was I still in therapy? Why did he want me there? What was this all about? What was my problem? He said that most people come into therapy because they think something is missing from their life, and it could be better, not really a specific problem. Ha, I wanted progress notes. He asked if that was an open invitation as to how he thought I was doing, and I assured him yes it most certainly was. You see, I have no clear perspective. He does. Somewhat. So, he said something along the lines of me having made great strides over the past 10 months… etc… etc, but I still didn’t get the point of it all. It still seemed so one-sided, which is ridiculous, because it’s designed to be that way. So, in short, he told me that I was a “caregiver” and that somebody had to care for me. This was my hour to come in, sit down, talk about my needs, be heard… and feel safe, cared about and loved. That was what he was providing. He cared about me and loved me. Never heard that from a therapist before. Needless to say, I’ve had a lot to think about the past few days. Do I think of myself as unlovable or something? Why do I find those words, that concept, to be so confounding? Am I a caregiver to such a degree that I feel rude in being the one to talk all the time? I have a lot to think about.