She was angry and afraid of her predicament. She felt that life had served her a raw deal. It was unfair, she deserved better. She was too good to find herself in this position. She spoke about it with her family and her friends. Some of them were sympathetic, they offered her their shoulders to lean on to for a while. It helped to an extent but it wasn’t enough. Some of them listened attentively but were a bit critical of her choices, that didn’t help either, not at that time. Most others were largely indifferent, they quickly got bored of her frequent rants and started avoiding her.
She severed ties with most of them, engaging only when necessary and avoided personal sharing. They were not her allies, she thought.
With no one left to lean on to, she went to the therapist.
No she went to therapists. All of them were professionals, but they bought along their own personalities. Some were kind, others were not so kind, she found most of them repulsive, until she met him. He was perfect.
He was stoic but not insensitive. Although he rarely offered any advice, he never passed judgment. All he did was to offer her the “safe space”. Place where she found her voice, her inner voice. He listened attentively and patiently and occasionally offered a slight nudge, and that proved enough to bring out her deepest secrets, thoughts and feelings.
After a few sessions, the therapist said that she had done enough to cleanse herself of the toxicity that was buried inside. It was time to move ahead and so she did, with renewed confidence.
A few days away from the therapist’s chambers and she felt uneasy again. Initially she resisted the temptation but couldn’t beyond a point and so she returned to the therapist.
And thus began her never ending addiction with therapy.
Yes, it is an addiction, worse than tobacco or alcohol or any other substance. Unfortunately since it is categorised as a medical/scientific procedure, we never realise or accept it for what it is. It is addiction, not for all but for those who are unable or unwilling to see things as they are.
There are people around us with no particular mental health condition but addicted to therapy for years. They are unable to perform without submitting themselves to that space. That is where, at least for a few minutes, they find themselves being their real versions. Everywhere else they function with a mask and it’s tiring, of course, and thus begins the endless loop. To live a synthetic life with a carefully constructed persona and escape to the therapist chambers to experience emotional nudity.
Why is it so difficult for people to remove the mask permanently? Why can’t we function without it in the real world? The answer is simple. We lack the strength to face the mirror and accept and embrace the ugliness. The image is too scary to accept. Instead it is easier to put on a mask. It is convenient to take it off inside the therapists chambers where others can’t see, where people won’t label and judge.
It takes courage to accept flaws and work on them. Awareness is like metal forging, subjecting oneself to extreme heat and pressure, but what comes out is often a stronger, healthier and happier version. Addiction on the other hand is like induction hardening, it offers a firm surface but leaves the core soft, it gives a person an outwardly strong appearance but with a fragile core.
So then what is the solution? Well, sorry to disappoint but there is no straight solution. There are many things that we need to look into, broken families, broken societies, broken social structures and the unending rise of the superficial network. At the core of it though is the desire to appear perfect and the obsession with self-love. Funny thing is, the more we try to appear beautiful, uglier we end up looking.
Like in case of the cigarette, there is no such thing as gradual de-addiction. One has to simply throw the pack away and never touch it again. Same with therapy and masks, just get rid of it.
Aisle Seat Stories 