“No,” I admit honestly.
Tiffany has been my therapist for the last two years. I refused to speak to anyone other than my psychiatrists and recovery doctors for nearly the first whole year after it happened. But when I was ready, Dad found Tiffany. A forty-year-old talk psychologist who specializes in teenage trauma, PTSD, and grief. She was patient with me from day one, never making me talk about anything I wasn’t ready to.
And now, she basically knows it all.
Nodding sympathetically, Tiffany asks, “What are you feeling? Not about the possibility of him visiting, but how are you feeling right now? Do you feel any relief from broaching the topic? I know you said you haven’t spoken to anyone about it yet, that can be daunting. Do you know if you feel worse now that you’ve let some of that out?”
I exhale slowly and give myself a moment to think. She does this a lot, giving me multiple questions and clarifying details. She says it can help with my OCD symptoms to give me severalforms of a question so that rather than overthinking it myself, she over-asks herself. Sometimes it can be overwhelming, but it usually isn’t. She’s made it clear that she never expects a perfect response to her inquiries, and that I should reply with whatever answer comes to me the easiest.
“I’m glad I got it out,” I admit, searching inward for a way to explain the feeling. “I don’t know if I feel relief, I think I need a solution to really feel that. But I don’t feel worse. I’m tired. Like I’m fatigued from thinking about it so much.”
“Tired from considering the topic for many hours,” she says, nodding. “And still, you said much of your thinking about it has been positive? What do you think is the part that’s making you feel this fatigue? Being without a solution? Being unsure of your feelings?”
“All of it,” I mumble, picking at my fingers absently. “I don’t understand why this is so difficult. It’s frustrating. I already met him. I talk to him every day. He doesn’t scare me, so why should seeing him in person be so daunting?”
“It’s new,” Tiffany replies simply. “New things have always been a challenge for you. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Anya.”
“It feels like a bad thing,” I argue, scrunching my nose. “It makes me feel like a kid. Like I can’t handle the most basic interactions, and that I shouldn’t struggle so much anymore. I’m getting fed up with needing to take baby steps.”
“Needing more time to adjust doesn’t make you a child,” she softly disagrees. “All people have different comfort zones, even those without immense trauma. You would be surprised by the limitations other people face. I’m sure even Matteo has things that he struggles with.”
I want to say that I find that hard to believe, but I would feel awful if I did and it turned out not to be true. If I diminishedanything he might be struggling with without considering that he’s just very good at masking his internal conflicts.
“Maybe,” I sniff, feeling a wave of sadness sweep through me. It crashes into the frustration that I’ve built up and hits me even harder as a result. My lips tremble, and I feel my eyes start to swell with tears. “I’m sick and tired of being this way.”
“Do you want a break?” Tiffany asks, closing her notebook. “Perhaps some fresh air?”
“No,” I croak, my ribs shaking as I hold back a sob. “I want you to fix me. How can I be so much better than I was only a year ago and still feel like I’ll never be normal again?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being upset or frustrated, Anya. That’s as normal as feeling happy and content. I’m so sorry that you’re having a difficult time right now.”
I use the back of my hands to dry a few teardrops, wishing they never fell to begin with. “I just wish I knew what to do.”
“I think you do know what to do,” Tiffany suggests, trying to smile encouragingly. “But I also think that you may be scared to make progress. Overthinking happens, and it doesn’t make you silly or dramatic or abnormal. You’re protective of your peace, and now that you’ve found comfort in your routine, it’s difficult to take the next step.”
“I don’t want to regress,” I agree, swallowing hard. “That’s what my father is worried about. He says he’ll take Matteo away if he makes me go back on the progress I’ve made. What if Matteo comes here and the pressure sends me into some kind of spiral and my father makes it so I can never talk to him or see him again?”
I think that would feel worse than spiraling, having Matteo ripped away from me as the result of it. It would feel like getting punished for being broken, and part of me hopes my father would realize that. If Matteo does nothing wrong, he shouldn’t be taken away from me.
“Would it help if I told you that I highly doubt your father would react in such a way?” she asks, crossing her legs and propping her hands up on one knee. “I’ve spoken to him about your new friendship, and he’s agreed that it seems to be good for you. If Matteo is as good as you describe him, I know your father will see that. He worries for you, but he wouldn’t rip something away that you care about.”
“Do you really think so?” I ask, biting my inner cheek.
“I do,” she confirms, her eyes shining with sincerity. “Does that help alleviate some of your concern? Would you be less nervous when you imagine him visiting if you spoke to your father about the possibility of negatively reacting?”
I squeeze my hands together, considering the question. “Like would I feel better if he agreed to not taking Matteo away if I have a panic attack or regress in some way? Do you think he’d even agree to let us try if I brought that up? Maybe he wouldn’t let Matteo come at all if he thought I was concerned about my reaction to it.”
“Your father knows that sometimes you need a plan for the worst,” she reminds me. “Like with the wedding. You all had a whole plan set aside for if you couldn’t handle being there, right? If you were to need to escape, your Uncle Lev would have taken you home. That way you wouldn’t worsen your condition by feeling bad about making your father miss his son’s wedding, but you would still be able to go home and recover.”
“I remember,” I agree, swallowing at the memory of crafting that plan. And the three other back up plans.
“And he still let you go without protest,” she adds on gently. “It’s not always that you’ll need to use a worst-case scenario plan, but that just having one offers peace of mind. It would be one less thing to consider when you’re thinking about the visit. You could come up with plenty of plans for the visit, actually.”
That relief she was asking about before is starting to make itself known. My shoulders don’t feel so tight, and the tension in my chest feels suddenly lighter. “You think?”
“Of course,” Tiffany agrees, nodding happily. “You could have a plan for if you are feeling good, too. You said he mentioned an ambitious plan of having you tour homes with him. But you could simply start with planning a lunch visit. And if you feel up to continuing, commit to visiting the closest property with your aunt by your side. Tell him honestly that you would like an escape route. That if you get to the home, or even if you just get to the car and you change your mind, that you would need to go back home. You’ve said that he’s very understanding, I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset if you needed to leave early.”
I find myself agreeing and nodding along. “I don’t think he’d get mad, no.”
