Chapter 28
But of course, the first wisps of a plan are quickly derailed by a text I wake up to early Tuesday morning.
J: I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can meet up when you’re in London. My mum fell and broke her hip, and it’s been quite a crazy week dealing with that and also arguing with my father about her care (a long story for another time). I’m not sure I’m in a position right now to steal away even for a coffee. I hope that’s okay, and I’m sorry to cancel on everything so last minute—I really am. Maybe someday soon there’ll be another opportunity for us to meet in person.
I try not to deflate. After all, I probably should’ve guessed that Eli wouldn’t have time for even the party when he’s knee deep in arriving home to family drama. But I can’t help but feel disappointed that the easiest avenue for me to tell him has been derailed.
I also notice I have a text from my mother asking me to call her “when I’m done hanging out with my less cute and much more judgmental neighbors.”
I choose to ignore that particular drama for now.
I spend the day slogging through, trying to focus on my patients. But after the few days I’ve had, I’m grateful I’m seeing Ari in the evening.
It’s a doozy catching her up on everything, and she listens intently as I tell my winding tale. When I’m done, she leans back in her chair, steepling her fingers and tapping her chin. She looks so deep in thought I don’t want to bother her.
“One of the things I like most about having therapists as patients is that I don’t have to explain too much when I get theoretical,” she finally says, and I’m surprised that that’s where she’s going after so much information was dumped on her. But she keeps talking. “I’ve always liked Carl Rogers and the idea of self-concept. Who weimaginewe are creates a kind of feedback loop into how we see ourselves, and that then influences who we actually are.”
“You’re into self-actualization?” I say with skepticism. I can’t imagine opinionated Ari thinking anyone ever actually reaches their full potential. I’d have thought she and I were in that same sort of camp of believing that we’re all always works in progress, muddling through the best we can.
“Oh god no,” she says with a laugh. “But I like some parts of the self-concept idea. I take the more skeptical view that striving for that is often what makes us act how we act in front of various people. The role we’re playing with a particular person can really influence our behavior. So this is such a fascinating concept to me—two versions of the same person being so different.”
“Happy my misfortune is interesting for you,” I crack, and she laughs, as though this is a delightful experiment she’s getting to undertake.
“Are you familiar with Rogers’s theory of unconditional positive regard?”
“Radical acceptance without judgment,” I say, nodding. “I’m not sure I buy that that kind of therapy is actually helpful to anyone.”
“I agree,” she says, almost looking impressed, like she’s the teacher and I’m the pupil. I wonder if Ari could’ve been a mentor to me if I didn’t, ya know, need her as a therapist. “I’ve always sort of thought it was impossible outside of a clinical setting, but I kind of wonder if that’swhat you and Eli were giving each other when writing back and forth. You had an intimacy due to the columns that allowed a sort of unusual freedom. I think one of the many reasons he was so different in reality—besides, of course, the vastly different contexts of your interactions—is that that kind of perfect acceptance is impossible to maintain when faced with actual humanity.”
“I never assumed he was perfect,” I counter, a little annoyed at myself for feeling immediately defensive.
But Ari waves my statement away, like that wasn’t even an option. “Of course not. I think the thing that I find interesting about this whole situation is that you almost were able to perform a kind of clinical test without even knowing it. You sort of disproved Rogers’s theory, because that kind of environment can’t stand up to a true two-sided relationship. It’s why radical acceptance could work in a therapy session, but no one in the patient’s actual life could ever live up to that—and then how disappointing, right? You don’t want your therapist to be the person who accepts you the most.”
“Glad I could be such an interesting case study in outdated therapy theories,” I mumble, and at that she smirks again, like she’s enjoying the volleys.
“I always liked Albert Ellis more,” she says, and I snort. Of course she’d like the therapist most known for rationality. I guess this is why we get along so well. “Focus on the moment. Take immediate action,” she says with a sly smile. “Do you know what my favorite quote of his is?” I shake my head. “He said, ‘Neurosis is just a high-class word for whining.’”
I give a surprised chuckle, and she just smiles.
“Look,” she says, “the point I’m making is people are capable of change. And I think Eli’s been trying to, just as you have. But that unconditional positive regard has to be given to yourself, first. Work on acceptingyourself. He’s been searching for that, too, and I think you’ve probably helped him through your writing. By having this anonymous bubble, you’ve been able to give each other a kind of support that’sincredibly healing and motivating. That’s been good, but it can’t ever be enough because it’s not rooted in reality. So now it’s time to get to the scarier bit. And you’re ready. You’ve known for quite some time you needed to move your life forward and stop being so afraid of failure. Do whatyouwant for a change.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have time right now,” I say, throwing out the easiest excuse. “He’s made that pretty clear.”
She shakes her head, like I’m willfully ignoring her point. “He’s scared of losing you—both versions of you, even if he doesn’t realize yet they’re the same person—and probably also of asking too much. Figure out how to not let him push you away. I know you can do it.”
The conversation plays in my head on a loop. I think about it as I try to fall asleep on Tuesday; as I tiredly get ready the next morning; as the time ticks away on Wednesday with clients. Ari’s words are churning through my mind and building me up.
I’m still thinking about it in the car on the way to the airport when I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out, irrationally hoping it’s Eli.
But of course it’s my mother. I should’ve known ignoring her wouldn’t make her go away. I have to stop hiding from everything in my life and start being more deliberate. And I guess it needs to start here.
“I text you on a Tuesday and you can’t bother to reply? It’s Wednesday night!” she says, the pout coming through in her voice.
“I had patients and then I had to get ready for my trip.”
“What trip?”
I sigh. I’ve told her at least fifteen times. “To London.”
