Today I saw my therapist and discussed with her what seems to be my problem with her and it turned into an interesting discussion. What the problem seems to be is, that she has a tendency to act too maternal toward me and she shows this in her body language and the tone of her voice, both of which change when she thinks I need mothering. This works on me like a red rag on a bull and irritates me tremendously because it makes me feel like I am not capable of taking care of my own problems. I do not need mothering but sensible and sound advice, and I do not like to be fussed over; it rubs me the wrong way.
Once that was clear to her, she promised to cease this kind of behavior and said to tell her to back off the moment she exhibited it. The problem is, of course, that she does this by instinct and she told me that her teenage children don't like it either. We have decided to give ourselves five tries to see if our client-therapist relationship has the chance to work out, and then see if we want to continue with each other. Of course, it will be me doing the deciding. It depends on her behavior and on my reaction to it how well that will turn out. My psychiatrist wants it to very much and I will do my best for his sake.
When I got ready to leave, she commented on the bright red color of my jeans jacket and on the bright red fuchsia color of my winter jacket. I said I purposely picked bright colors and was attracted to red and yellow and apple green and that it looked like that in my apartment also. I told her that the older I got, the more I was attracted to bright colors and that I felt the need to stand out in the crowd and not be a gray mouse. I said that I did not want to get lost in the masses. I think this took her aback a bit, although she must have noticed it before, but maybe not realized it. Even my glasses have the color red in them. I would like red hair, if it was natural.
As I get older, I more and more become the person I must be and who I had in mind when I was starting out on this journey all those years ago when I was in my early twenties. I very much had an idea of who I wanted to be and how I wanted that to feel, but I didn't realize then how many steps it would take to get there. And by steps I mean all the events in life that I had to go through in order to gain the wisdom to bring me to this point and wherever else I end up. I could not have imagined that many experiences jammed into a lifetime and it's not over yet by a long shot. Life is indeed stranger than fiction. It really is okay for it to settle down to a dull roar now with mini events.