“I would,” Orchid said.
He smiled again and leaned back into his chair. “You know, sometimes people think that only soldiers get PTSD, but a post traumatic response can affect anyone.”
"PTSD. I thought that’s what I’ve been having, but I didn’t want to self-diagnose.”
“Now you have a professional opinion.” He offered a hopeful smile.
They talked through the forty-five-minute session. When her time was up, he took out his calendar and they booked the next appointment.
Orchid rose, feeling lighter than when she’d arrived. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he responded, opening the door leading into the reception area. “See you next week.”
She breezed through the waiting area, out of the office, and into the night air. I can get better.
She thought that Phoenix might never fully know his impact on her. He’d not only given her the work credentials she thought she wanted more than anything, but he also inspired her to heal what she’d thought was permanently broken.
Several sessions in, Orchid continued to think of her therapist as Dr Todd. Even without a medical degree, he was helping her to heal, bit by bit, memory by memory.
They worked on a meditation regimen, and focused on breathing. At the next session, they delved even deeper.
“You talked about your trigger at the beach,” he began.
“Yes, the cut on my foot.”
“Have you heard of mantras?”
“Like ommm?” she asked.
“Right, that’s one. There are many. You can even create your own.”
“I’m game,” she said.
“What’s helped you in the past? When you’re feeling panic come on?”
She thought about this for a moment. “Well, there was this time at work. When that guy I told you about, Phoenix, showed photos of wounded veterans. I started to hyperventilate, so I kind of slowed my breath… and then told myself I was okay.”
“Mmhmm. What would that sound like, telling yourself you’re okay?”
“Like you’d talk to a child. You know.It’s okay, you’re okay.”
“What were you thinking at the time?”
“Honestly, I was thinking about the night of my parents’ crash. How cold it was in my room. Being scared and alone, and then reminding myself that I’m not there. That I’m not that little girl anymore.”
“Does that help?”
“I guess. I mean, when he stopped showing those photos, I felt better.”
“The idea of a mantra is to codify getting yourself to that safe space. Like a shortcut. Can you think of something that would work as that reminder?”
Orchid pondered. “You mean, like: It’s okay. You’re not there anymore. You’re herenow?”
“How does that feel?” Dr Todd asked.
“It’s maddening, your tendency to answer a question with a question.”
He returned her candor with a doleful chuckle. “That’s why we get paid the big bucks.”
