"Good. Really good. I felt in control of myself for the first time in a long time."
"Excellent. That's exactly the kind of growth we're looking for. Thank you for sharing."
Robert settles back in his chair with a proud little smile, like he's done something meaningful. I want to point out that slashing the tires would've solved the problem permanently, but I keep my mouth shut.
"Who else would like to share?" she asks, looking around. A hand goes up. The man it belongs to is massive, stuffed into a tracksuit, with a neck like a tree trunk and hands the size of dinner plates. He looks like he could crush a skull without breaking a sweat.
"Hi, I'm Grigori."
"Hi, Grigori."
"So, my wife burned dinner again this week. It's the third time it happened. I know it's not supposed to be a big deal, but it made me furious. I work all day, I come home dead tired, and I can't even get a decent meal on the table."
"And what did you do?" She tilts her head, waiting.
"I took a deep breath. Told her it was okay. And then I ordered pizza."
The therapist smiles. "Wonderful. You stepped away from the emotional reaction and found a practical solution. That's excellent progress." I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to a man the size of a refrigerator talk about burned dinner and pizza like it's some kind of breakthrough.
Ruslan raises his hand. I turn to stare at him, certain I'm hallucinating, but no. His hand is up. He won't look at me. "'Yes, please,' the therapist says, gesturing for him to speak.
Ruslan clears his throat. “Hi, I'm Ruslan.”
“Hi, Ruslan,” the group responds."
"He shifts in his seat. 'So, I have been having some issues at work. My boss asks me to do things. Things I don't always agree with. And I can't say no. I can't confront him about it. So I carry this anger around with me all the time. It builds up and I don't know what to do with it."
The therapist nods with sympathy. "That sounds very difficult. Feeling powerless at work can be a major source of frustration. What kind of things does your boss ask you to do?"
Ruslan hesitates. "Things that go against my personal values."
"Can you give us an example?"
"I'd rather not."
"That's perfectly fine. The important thing is that you're recognizing the source of your anger." The therapist leans forward slightly. "So, what have you been doing to cope with these feelings?"
Ruslan straightens up. "I started writing in a journal. Every time my boss makes me do something that upsets me, I write down how I feel instead of acting on it."
I would pay a significant amount of money to read that journal.
The therapist lights up. "That's excellent, Ruslan. Journaling is a powerful tool for processing emotions. It lets you express your feelings safely without causing harm. Have you noticed any difference since you started?"
"Yes. I feel less like I'm going to explode all the time."
"Wonderful. That's real progress. Thank you for sharing." Ruslan nods.
Her gaze moves around the room and stops on me. "Mr. Volkov." She uses the name I gave when I enrolled. "You've been quiet during our last few sessions. Would you like to share today?"
I meet her eyes. She holds my gaze with that patient, unshakable expression all therapists seem to share. "No."
"I understand that sharing can be difficult. But participation is an important part of growth. Even something small can help."
"I have nothing to share."
"Nothing this week that triggered your anger?"
Radimir Miroslav happened.
