A friend who has been seeing a therapist recently told me she wanted to change her appointments with her therapist to once a month but the therapist “talked her into” changing to every other week.
When she said that, it reminded me of a time when I hired a therapist who specialized in infertility. I’d loved her book on the topic and friends recommended her. Since she wasn’t local, we would do the sessions on the phone.
The therapist sent me a lot of pre-work to do and asked me to schedule 3 sessions initially. I did all the pre-work as thoroughly as I could and sent it off. I was really looking forward to our first session. If anyone could help me get pregnant, this woman could!
At our first session, the therapist asked me the questions she’d asked me in the pre-work. Every question she asked, I’d already answered. I kept thinking, “Didn’t she read my pre-work? I wrote all this down.”
Meanwhile, I could hear her moving around her kitchen (at least, I assumed she was in her kitchen.) I could hear water running, then stopping. I heard a screen door open, then slam shut. I imagined the cat had just gone out.
I imagined a country kitchen with a big garden outside the windows. I pictured the therapist gazing out at her flowers as she washed her dishes—and talked to me.
It was very distracting.
After that first session, I thought about doing two more sessions like that. And the money it would cost. The sessions were not cheap and I was all for it if it could help me get pregnant, but I didn’t know if I could work with someone I didn’t believe was giving me her full attention.
Maybe that was just the first session, I thought, when she’s trying to gather all the info.
I talked myself into going ahead with the second session.
Again, she asked me questions I’d already answered in the pre-work. Again, I got to imagine all the things she was doing as she talked to me. Given the sounds I was hearing, I think she was dishing up spaghetti and meatballs for 12. And I think the cat had a UTI, given how many times the screen door opened and slammed.
After that second session, I thought about having a third session and what I expected it to be like—more of the same. I called the therapist’s assistant and cancelled the third appointment. I felt a sense of relief.
Looking back I can say we hadn’t established a therapeutic relationship. At the time I just thought this therapist had been doing this work for so long she wasn’t really paying attention anymore.
That evening, the therapist called me to ask why I wasn’t continuing to work with her. I danced around my real reason for cancelling and said something about my schedule.
She then told me that only one woman she’d worked with hadn’t gone on to become pregnant and that was because she’d only worked with her for a few months.
I don’t know how the therapist intended it, but I heard that as a threat: “Unless you continue to work with me, you won’t get pregnant.”
After that, I was even more convinced I didn’t want to work with her.
In the end, it was my choice. It was not easy to tell this world-renowned expert that I didn’t want to work with her—and why—but I did.
She wished me a very sarcastic “Good luck!” and hung up on me.
I’m happy to report I did eventually get pregnant. And I learned a lesson about listening to myself. I get to decide who, and what, is right for me.
No matter how “expert” someone is, you know you best. You get to decide what’s right for you.