Recently, I picked up a self-help book. Since I have been banned from therapy, I find these books useful. Banned from therapy? Well, yes, it’s true. I had a tendency to cause some major jaw dropping. Therapists don’t like to do that so much.
Once I went to a therapist and informed her I was thinking of cutting off contact with my mother. Such a statement is like giving a dog the whole Costco-sized bag of treats or pigs’ ears—Oh the Pavlovian drool. Yet, she was quite good, closed her mouth, and after my story, she agreed with me without a second or 600th appointment to discuss it further. But not all therapists were so willing to let it be; thus, some little issue like encouraging a nervous breakdown was warranted, with a prescription of zero aftercare from any therapist. Believe it or not, I’m basically over that part of it—I didn’t have the money for more therapy anyway.
And since, I have discovered, it is much cheaper to pick up a book and read such things as how to break maladaptive behavioral patterns than it is to talk to a therapist about such things. So that is what I am doing, breaking bad habits. Instead of yelling “Ow!” when I hit my finger with a hammer, I say, “That hurts, yes, oh yes, but I will not identify with the pain.” And it dawns on me that my mother didn’t have anything to do with it this time. And then, the same thing happens whether I fight it or not: the pain resides and the bruised fingernail grows until it is smooth and pink again.
