He finally blinks, then shakes his head and clears his throat. “Sorry, yes. I’m Ryan Rivera. I wasn’t expecting… well, you.”
“Okay,” I say, unsure what he means or how to respond. Everything about this appointment is off, and I hate it. I don’t feel in control, and that just won’t do. Needing to get things back on track, I launch into my usual introduction. “I’m Dr. Maya Moore. You may call me Maya. I have had some brief contact with your sister, Sofia, but I want to make it clear that from here on, everything you say will be between you and me. Would you like to start by telling me why you have decided to begin therapy at this time?”
“No.”
“No?”
He stares at me unblinkingly, like he’s looking into my soul and trying to decide if I’m worth a response. He’s intimidatingly intense but something else is there too. Something that draws me in.
“Look, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but I don’t believe in all this mental health stuff. I’m only here because my sister needs to believe I’m still trying. I don’t think I actually need to turn up to the appointments. As long as you don’t tell Sofia, she can believe I’m still coming. Win-win.”
My jaw drops. Actually drops. What the hell is this? And why do I feel so angry about the dismissal? I’ve worked with people before who didn’t want to be here—court-ordered or going through the motions—but it’s never created such a strong reaction in me. I’ve also heard people make comments about mental health not beingreal, and that’s never gotten to me either. Mostly because people can’t just decide something isn’t real because it doesn’t suit their narrative; it’s not a unicorn.
“Are we done here?” he asks, his jaw twitching as he glares at me.
I could let it go. Ishouldlet it go. It seems obvious he’s not ready for therapy. But a long-forgotten voice inside me is pushing me to challenge him. Not to take this act at face value. And for once, that voice is not content to be ignored. It’s insistent and unwavering.
A part of me is simply unwilling to lethimgo, and I’ll need to look at that later. Process these reactions and make sense of what this man is evoking in me and why. But I have an external supervisor for that work. I’m so glad I stayed working with Steven even after licensure when I was no longer required to attend sessions. He will help me unpack my thoughts and feelings so I can still be Ryan’s therapist without bringing my own shit into it.
“You want your sister to believe you’re trying,” I suggest, trying to get things back on track. “Can you tell me why that matters?”
He sighs and looks to the heavens.
“Because I’m her only family. Our parents left us when she was still a kid. It’s just been the two of us since.”
“But you don’t want to actually try for her?”
He scowls at me and lets out a noise that can only be described as a low rumble of a growl. I raise an eyebrow and lean back in my chair, trying to project an image of cool, calm, and collected. Like I normally am when I sit in this chair. I’m the professional here.I am in control.
“I have tried,” he grits out. Like it’s paining him to continue talking to me.
“Have you? Because it sounds like you are ready to throw in the towel here before you even try one session. What are you scared of?” I ask. I’m normally not so challenging in a first session. That sort of response is reserved for patients I have built a rapport with. Those I know will be receptive to some tough love. But something is telling me I need to challenge Ryan.
“I’m not scared,” he says through clenched jaws. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not necessary.”
“I’m curious about what it is you think I’m doing?”
“You’re trying to get me talking. It’s pointless. Look, I’ll continue to pay you as long as you tell Sofia I’ve continued the sessions.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Come or don’t; that’s your choice. I won’t be lying for you, but I also won’t be communicating with Sofia about anything. It doesn’t matter if you stop coming to the sessions, confidentiality still applies. I can’t tell anyone either way.”
His breathing comes out in hard pants, and his eyes glare so hard they look like they’re glowing. “Fine, I’ll keep coming.”
My brows scrunch together from trying to understand his words. No one is forcing Ryan to attend therapy. It’s not as if I’m going to be sending in a report at the end of twelve court-mandated sessions. So why does he want to proceed when he so obviously would rather be anywhere but here? And why can’t I ignore thesliver of excitement at the idea of him continuing to attend sessions?
“I usually recommend starting with six sessions, and then we can review afterward. How does that sound?” I ask, trying to get things back on track. “If you feel like it’s helping, we can continue. If not, we can go our separate ways.”
Ryan gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. I don’t know what’s going on with him, not yet at least. But there’s time to figure that out. Because for the first time in I don’t remember how long, the unknown is filling me with excitement rather than apprehension. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, so many parts of my life don’t.
By the time I get home, my head is throbbing. First sessions always take the most out of me, but that appointment with Ryan Rivera was something else. It was as if I was doing all the work for him. He didn’t want to be there, but he also wouldn’t give up. And something about him made me not want to let go either.
It’s not the fact that he’s having suicidal ideation. Or the way his sister is the only thing keeping him going, even though I recognize what that is like. No, there’s something about Ryan Rivera that makes me want tosavehim.
I became a therapist because I wanted to help. I wanted to make a difference, the way my therapist had for me as a teenager. Butwith Ryan, I feel something stronger. Something ineffable and indescribable.
