Approaches in counseling can vary. A lot of sessions are geared more towards cognitive behavior—implementing cognitive restructuring, challenge thinking, or even physical strategies like controlled breathing or muscle relaxation to solve the problem. But sometimes those strategies don’t work any better than justlisteningto the person. In this situation, I realize the best thing I can do for Garrett is just that, listen.
I try to think of something profound or clever to get the ball rolling and his brain turning, but I’m coming up blank.
So I settle on the only thing that seems to make sense at the moment and say, “Just . . . think out loud.”
And then . . . he does.
Garrettshares.
We go back and forth, talking about his childhood and his family, how they left Kansas and ended up at Glendale. He shares his hopes and his dreams—he even chokes back a few tears thinking about how they might not happen. We discuss the possibility of new dreams, and his eyes light up and shoulders relax. We discuss football and how the sport brings him purpose. And finally, he shares his fears of the future and admits to using jokes to make himself feel better.
All the while, I jot down notes and doodle little footballs and crutches—with my broken pencil.
“What about you, Ms. B?” Garrett asks me after sharing about his childhood crush on the Pink Power Ranger and his obsession with Dora the Explorer.
“I wouldn’t say I had a Power Ranger crush, but Dora was always cool. She helped me learn whatvamanosmeans.” I chuckle.
“Nah, I mean do you have any crushes?” He was wiggling his eyebrows at me.
“Oh, umm . . . that is not an appropriate question to ask.” Heat moves up my neck at the sheer audacity of a teenager asking about my love life. The only realcrushI've had recently left me at the altar. My defense mechanisms start firing, the instinct to slam my notebook shut strong. "I think that's all the—"
“I’m sorry, Ms. B." He stops me, a gentle tone in his voice. "Just trying to make conversation."
I study him, feelings swarming my brain as he shrugs his shoulders.Harmless.“Gotcha, well . . . regardless, I shouldn’t be discussing my personal life in that way with a client—let alone a student.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “I get it, I get it. I was just asking because I think I know of someone who might have eyes for you.” He winks at me and bobs his head towards the closed office door across the hall. Benny’s office.
Looking at the door for a little longer than I should, I snap my head back to see Garrett smiling at me—a wide, kind of devious smile.
“Alright then,” I say abruptly, “same time next week?”
He’s still smiling, not speaking. I choose to ignore what is being said in the silence.
“Mr. Connors . . .” I say, trying to have a stern tone, “next week then?”
“Oh, absolutely. I look forward to it.” He stands in the most ungraceful way, balancing on his booted leg. He has this suave-ness about him that overshadows the limp as he moves towards the door.
In the same moment, the door across the hall swings open and a stocky teenager walks out of the office. His face is pinched as he makes eye contact with me.
“Sup, Devon!” Garrett meets him in the hallway. “See ya, Ms. B, it was fun!” They walk off together and head to class.
I start doodling on my paper again, making mental notes of the session, when I hear a knock at the door. Benny is there, leaning against the open door. I feel the air escape my windpipe at the sight of him.
“Doodling again?” He nods at my paper.
“It helps me think, and remember. Plus it’s fun, thank you very much,” I retort and set the broken pencil down on my desk.
“What’d he do to you?” Benny asks, eyeing the jagged pencil in pity.
I frown, embarrassed at the truth. “Just a moment of weakness.”
Benny makes a silent“ah”and nods like hegetsit. But does he get it? Does he understand having the angry impulse to just break something?
“What can I do for you?” I ask him.
“I met with Devon just now. I was wondering if we could chat about it.”
Waving to the open chair. “Of course, please sit.”
