ALICE AND HER THERAPIST

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My therapist’s name is Lance. Sounds like a sixties Hollywood heart throb, right? Well he’s anything but-not that he’s ugly or anything. But he’s not Tab Hunter. And he’s probably a lot smarter than old Tab. But when I first met Lance I thought he was a moron and that I was going to be able to walk all over him. He was so chirpy and cheery. But how wrong I was.

I must have been ready for Lance because finally someone challenged me to be better than I was, to get well, and I did. He challenged my intelligence, he side-stepped my manipulativeness, he championed my growth. He sat with me soothingly when I was off the wall and agitated, and listened to me when I didn’t make sense.  And as I began to make more sense, he encouraged me to keep moving forward. He was skilled in his craft, and as I began to thrive his smile grew-right alongside mine.  I had been an actor in a former incarnation, and when I decided to perform again, he cheered me on and even came to my performances. He told me he thought  I was really good, and that meant the world to me as he had a theatre background also. And when I was well, he let me go. He loved me in the truest sense of the word.

I still see Lance from time to time, and recently regularly, as I had a rather lengthy “episode” when my symptoms flared up and I was good for very little for a few months. I think his method of therapy is no longer for me and that now I need someone a bit more metaphysical. But Lance gave me the tools to get through the tough times and I really owe him for that. In his own way he was creative and adaptable and I appreciate that more than I can say. Thinking his chirpiness betrayed stupidity was my folly. Lance got me when I thought no one could, and I am in his debt. And I believe they way I can best honour him is to live joyfully and well. I have put that intention into the hands of the Universe and it is my new mission statement.

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