Lori, New
York Times psychotherapist, has written an article* about laughter and life
amidst the tears and pandemic traumas her videotherapy clients bring to their
sessions. Two clients, she said, have sat on the toilet (presumably seat cover
down) while engaging. I have not experienced that. Are my clients too unoriginal,
boring? Most have been at a chair and desk, two were in a closet (not even a
walk-in closet, just a tiny closet), several lay on their bed, back propped up.
Kitchen, patio, walking outside (smartphone in hand) to get clear of family.
Gottlieb said
she and her clients share laughter about the technical glitches – “screen
suddenly freezing at an inopportune moment.” That’s funny? No, Lori, it’s disruptive
and aggravating as hell when the image freezes or stutters, the voice breaks up
or reverbs or goes out entirely, often several times an hour. Are these your clients,
or your Sex in the City girlfriends?
She waxes gracious
about the laughter that can heal, that made a client “feel better than anything
I or anyone else had said to comfort her. It had been more than a month since
she had laughed, she realized, and she hadn’t noticed how much she missed it.
Laughing felt like a return to her former self and also offered a glimpse of
herself in a happier future.” I remember writing Progress Notes like that in my
intern year: Full of ego altruism, I knew that a magical laugh at a joke or
observation would turn things around, blue the skies and bring out the underlying,
redeeming goodness of self and world. Bullshit. Poopies galore. It’s nice to
laugh, but it will not change anything in the person after, give or take,
five minutes.
I don’t like
whitewashing our work, clothing it in a chic New York jacket for an op-ed article.
And I don’t like exaggeration for effect, which is what I suspect in Gottlieb’s
description of the “toxic daily dose of devastating stories of anxiety and loss
of every conceivable kind – loss of loved ones, loss of health, loss of jobs,
loss of stability, loss of physical presence, loss of touch, loss of daily
routines, loss of weddings and graduations and holiday gatherings, and loss of
even the ability to smile at neighbors while walking around the block. . . .” What
a tragedy it is, oh dear ones, that they can’t smile, damn the Mask of Despond! My clients are
as real, serious and complex as Gottlieb’s, but I’ve heard no jeremiads of
coronavirus tragedy, not one in two months of daily and weekend sessions. The quarantining
at home is boring. “I’m going stir crazy.” Have they suffered any of these profound
dramas? A few are out of work, but their spouses aren’t. I’m pretty sure they’d
tell me what else.
An offer, for
my last article of an over-saturated month: If anyone wants to know what real
therapy is like, contact TPS through this blog or by email (teletherapy link). Be
aware that the psycho-journalists will not be real with you.
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Comments are welcome, but I'd suggest you first read "Feeling-centered therapy" and "Ocean and boat" for a basic introduction to my kind of theory and therapy.