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The Kids the Americans Left Behind. My analyst and I grew more intimately connected each week of treatment.. Watch Awake Online Facebook. I never saw this indecent proposal coming.

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It’s the waning moments of my fourth session with a new therapist. I’m holding back — and she knows it. My entire body feels tense, not ideal for the setting. I try to relax, but the plush leather couch crumples under me when I shift, making the movements extraordinary. I’ve barely looked into my therapist’s blue eyes at all, and yet I think the hour has gone very well.

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Of course it has. On the surface, when the patient has been highly selective of the discussion topics, therapy always resembles a friendly get- together.“Well,” my therapist, Lori, says, the millisecond after I become certain our time is up and I might be in the clear. I don’t think I should let you go until we’ve at least touched on what was put out there at the end of last week’s session.”I so supremely wanted this not to come up. My eyelids tighten, my mouth puckers to the left, and my head tilts, as though I’m asking her to clarify.“When you said you’re attracted to me,” she continues.“Oh, yeah,” I say. That.”Back in session three Lori was trying to build my self- esteem, the lack of which is one of the reasons I’m in treatment. Within the confines of my family, I’ve always been the biggest target of ridicule.

We all throw verbal darts around as though we’re engaged in a massive, drunken tournament at a bar, but the most poisonous ones seem to hit me the most often, admittedly somewhat a consequence of my own sensitivity. I’ve been told it was historically all part of an effort to toughen me up, but instead I was filled with towering doubts about my own worth. And since 2. 01. 2, when I gave up a stable, tenured teaching career for the wildly inconsistent life of a freelance writer, I’ve had great difficulty trusting my own instincts and capabilities.

I told Lori that I wish I was better at dealing with life’s daily struggles instead of constantly wondering if I’ll be able to wade through the thick. She quickly and convincingly pointed out that I work rather hard and am, ultimately, paying my bills on time, that I have friends, an appreciation for arts and culture, and so on.

In short, I am, in fact, strong, responsible and “pretty good at life.”Then Lori heightened the discussion a bit. I also feel that it is your sensitivity that makes you a great catch out there in the dating world,” she said, to which I involuntarily smiled, blushed and quickly buried my chin in my chest. I was too insecure and too single to handle such a compliment from a beautiful woman.“Why are you reacting that way?” Lori asked. I shrugged my shoulders, only half looking up.“Is it because you’re attracted to me?”I laughed a little, uncomfortably. How did you know?”She gently explained she could tell the day I walked into her office for the first time, after I flashed a bright smile and casually asked where she was from. Now, a week after dropping that bomb, Lori asks, “So, why haven’t we talked about it?”“I was hoping to avoid it, I suppose.” I tell her the whole notion of having the hots for a therapist is such a sizable cliché that I was embarrassed to admit it. For Christ’s sake,” I say, throwing my hands up, “Tony Soprano even fell in love with his therapist.”Lori snorts, rolls her eyes.

I knew you were going to say that.”I smile, shake my head and look around the room, denying acceptance of my own ridiculous reality.“It’s OK,” Lori says, grinning. We can talk about this in here.”I look again at her stark blue eyes, prevalent under dark brown bangs, the rest of her hair reaching the top of her chest, which is hugged nicely by a fitted white tee under an open button- down. She jogs often, I’d come to find out, which explains her petite figure and ability to probably pull off just about any outfit of her choosing.

I still can’t speak, so she takes over.“Do you think you’re the first client that’s been attracted to their therapist?” she asks rhetorically. I’ve had other clients openly discuss their feelings, even their sexual fantasies involving me.”“What?” I cackle, beginning to feel as though I’ve moseyed onto the set of a porno.“It’s true,” she says, acknowledging her desk. What’s yours? Do you bend me over and take me from behind?”Nailed it.“If that’s what you’re thinking, it’s OK,” she goes on, earnestly, explaining that she’s discussed sexual scenarios with her clients before so as to “normalize” the behavior and not have them feel their own thoughts are unnatural. By showing the patient a level of acceptance, she hopes to facilitate a more comfortable atmosphere for “the work” — her painfully accurate pseudonym for psychotherapy. I take a second to let the red flow out of my face, and ponder what she said.

I’m a little unsure about this whole technique, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. So I go home, incredibly turned on and completely unashamed.* * *One of the great breakthroughs I’ve had in the thirteen months since I began seeing Lori (who agreed to participate in this article, but requested that her full name not be published) is a new ability to accept the existence of dualities in life. For instance, I’ve always had a tremendous sense of pride that, if it doesn’t straddle the line of arrogance, certainly dives into that hemisphere from time to time. I’m great at seeing flaws in others and propping myself up above them by smugly observing my character strengths. I’ve never liked that about myself, but the harder concept to grasp is the fact that I can be so egotistical while also stricken with such vast quantities of insecurity.

In treatment I came to realize that all people have contradictions to their personalities. There’s the insanely smart guy who can’t remotely begin to navigate a common social situation, the charitable girl who devotes all her time to helping strangers, but won’t confront issues in her own personal relationships. In my case, my extreme sensitivity can make me feel fabulous about the aspects of myself that I somehow know are good (my artistic tastes) and cause deep hatred of those traits I happen to loathe (the thirty pounds I could stand to lose). My next session with Lori is productive. We speak about relationships I’ve formed with friends and lovers, and how my family may have informed those interactions. One constant is that I put crudely high expectations on others, mirroring those thrown upon me as a kid. I’m angered when people don’t meet those expectations, and absolutely devastated when I don’t reach them.

Lori points out that it must be “exhausting trying to be so perfect all the time.” I am much more comfortable than I was the week prior, and can feel myself being more candid. I’m relieved that the whole being- attracted- to- my- therapist thing doesn’t come up.

Then, a week later, Lori mentions it, and I become tense again.“I thought I’d be able to move past it,” I say, adding, “We aired it out, and it’s fine.”As definitive as I’m trying to sound, Lori is just as defiant.“I’m glad you feel that way,” she begins, “but I think you owe yourself some kudos. This kind of therapy,” she shares, “isn’t something just anyone can take on.” Such honest discussion doesn’t simply happen, it takes tremendous guts, and Lori can see that I am dealing with it relatively well, so I should praise my own efforts.“Shit, we both should be proud of ourselves,” she says. It’s not easy on the therapist either, you know.”“Why not?”“Because talking openly about sex is risky at any time, much less with a client.” She explains that therapists are warned any semblance of intimacy can be easily misconstrued.