So I offer a quiet, “Thanks,” as I twist the cap and try not to let it hit too hard. Try not to let my hopes soar too high.
Beth said I need to work on my grovel, and she’s right. But the thought of putting my intimate thoughts and feelings out there for everyone to dissect is terrifying, so here I am.
The logical part of my brain says there’s nothing intimidating about this place. But that doesn’t stop my palms from gettingsweaty, and it doesn’t slow down my heart rate. That’s all I need. To have a full-blown panic attack in the waiting room of my therapist’s office.
I glance around the room looking for something to focus on. The smooth fabric of my slacks, the cool blues and purples in the painting of a flower garden on the wall, and the smooth hum of the elevator moving up and down are enough to bring me back into myself.
The wooden door to her office swings open, and she gives me a smile. “Mr. Whitaker, you can come in now.”
Up until now I’ve done all my therapy sessions online, so it’s strange to see her face. She’s got a tidy brown bob of hair that hits her chin, and kind brown eyes behind blue cat’s-eye glasses.
“How are you doing today?” she asks after I settle into the chair.
“Good.”
She doesn’t say anything. Folding her hands on her desk and waiting for me to fill in the space. I thought I was good at that trick, but I’ve got nothing on her.
“I’ve been working with all the hockey players to get the charity scrimmage back up and running.”
She nods. “The one you were planning with Luna?”
“Yes.” I lean forward on the couch, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the carpet. The quiet in Dr. Patel’s office is comfortable but not soothing. Not today. But I needed to come in and see her in person. This is that important.
“And are you concerned the event won’t go well?”
I drag a hand through my hair. If only that were it. “No, I’m sure it will be fantastic. It’s the speech I’m planning to make. I keep going over it in my head. I keep rewriting it. Obsessing over it. I’m afraid I’m not going to be strong enough to do it when the time comes.”
Dr. Patel nods once. “What comes up when you imagine actually giving it?”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Panic. Mostly. Like… heat behind my eyes, tight throat, that feeling like I’m about to fall through a trapdoor.”
“Sounds like a strong physical response.”
“Yeah. Like I’m going to screw it up. Say the wrong thing. Or not even be able to get the words out. Or that my words will be splashed all over the internet. Ridiculed.”
She studies me with no judgement, only compassion. “What’s the story your brain’s telling you about that outcome?”
I lean back a little, trying to focus on the feeling of the smooth leather chair supporting my back. “That if I mess this up, it’s proof I never should’ve tried. That I’m not cut out for this… vulnerability thing. I don’t deserve her.”
“Have you had to be vulnerable in public before?”
I give a half-shrug. “Not like this. I mean, I’ve talked to my sister. Cece. And I’ve been trying to be honest with my roommates, even with Coach. But this is different. It’s Luna. And it’s a speech. With people watching. In person. Online. This means something, and I don’t want them taking that away from us.”
She pauses for a moment as if she’s absorbing the words. “What’s the goal of the speech for you?”
“To tell her the truth. Not just about why I disappeared. About all of it. That I was scared I couldn’t step up and live my dream. That I didn’t think I was good enough to choose her and still live up to my promises to my father. That I’m still trying to figure out who I am.”
She nods. “So, it’s not just about winning her back. It’s about telling the truth.”
“Yeah.” I study my hands. “Even if it’s too late.”
“That sounds like growth, Beau. You’re moving from outcome-focused to values-focused. You want to show up with honesty and integrity even if you don’t control the result.”
Somehow the therapist babble makes sense. “Not how I would have put it, but yeah.”
“You mentioned panic. Let’s think about tools for managing that. What’s helped you before in high-pressure situations?”
This one I’ve got. “Breathing. Focused breathing before games.”
