A haiku poem about therapy
A fresh, open wound
Bleeding to a poker face
While they assess me
“How was your first therapy session?” my boyfriend asked.
“It was OK. I just talked about my anxiety and he taught me a breathing exercise. But I don’t like the environment. It feels artificial, contrived. I feel like a lab rat.”
This feeling carried with me throughout multiple therapy sessions, even while seeing a completely different therapist.
The feeling of being watched, being assessed. And that weirdly “comfortable” room that feels fake. Therapy is an extremely vulnerable situation to be in. Pouring out your feelings, even crying at times, to a complete stranger with a poker face who spends half the time jotting down your words, and subtle behavioral patterns. “What are they writing about me?” I always wondered. “And what if I say something off-putting?”
Even while talking to the kindest therapist (and quite possibly, one of the kindest human beings I’ve ever met), that “lab rat” feeling never went away.
It is currently against the social norm to critique therapy. But I think it’s important to be honest about it, and to not sugarcoat any negative feelings or takeaways from it.
