Chapter 20 Jesse

T oday, the essential oils and the landscape paintings did little to calm me down, but I wasn't angry. In fact, today was the first session I was excited to tell the doc something. Nothing monumental had changed since my last appointment, but all the small things seemed to come together to create a shift. I couldn't stop my good knee from bouncing while I waited.

Finally, the door opened after the previous client left, and I practically jumped out of my waiting room chair.

"Am I imagining things, or are you in a pleasant mood?" Dr. Merrill asked.

"I think I am in a good mood. A great mood even. Though, I don't know if I should be. But I am. I guess. You know?"

She just smiled at me and took out her notebook. "Let's unpack that, shall we?"

The little click-click of her pen after that phrase could have been a commercial for therapy. I had no idea how to start, but after I got through the initial explanation of who Sam was and a very glossed-over history, the words just came tumbling out.

"I don't know. I feel more like myself with Sam than anyone else I know. And I haven't seen her in six years. I'm not trying to knock any of my friends or family; there's just something... comforting about the fact that she knew the old me, before the injury, and she wasn't here to see me hit rock bottom. I'm so grateful for the people who were, but they don't look at me the same now. I guess I wouldn't either. But she didn't see that... there aren't the pity eyes that we've talked about. She doesn't talk to me like she's afraid I'll spiral if she says the word baseball . She also doesn't give a shit about baseball, so that's helpful."

I shrugged, realizing that I'd been talking for a very long time. Longer than I'd ever spoken at a session.

"I hear you saying that you're feeling excited about new possibilities in your life instead of only focusing on the lost chances because of your injury. Would you agree with that?"

"Yes. It feels possible to get the things I said I wanted when we talked about best and worst-case scenarios. But if I feel like I can have it... that also means I can lose it. And that, I think, is what's holding me back from doing anything real, with Sam, I mean."

"Ah. Well, I wish I had special therapist wisdom that would make it so there was no chance of experiencing loss again. But I don't. The goal is not to have everything go perfectly from here on out, though that would be nice. The goal is that you have a support system and coping strategies to know that you'll make it through whatever rough patch you hit."

I nodded at that. It oddly made me feel less freaked out... just admitting that I couldn't control what happened. I could only control how I tried to handle it.

"What does it mean to do something real with Sam?"

"I guess it could be a lot of things. But doing more than just flirting. Asking her out. Giving her the chance to reject me. Talking about what happened six years ago because I don't feel like that can just disappear. But you're the professional... can we just ignore our history and move on?" I asked, mostly as a joke.

"I don't need to be a professional to answer that. I could be a Magic 8 Ball and still say " Outlook Not So Good ." But, since you're my patient, I'll give you my professional answer, which is that leaving any type of big emotion buried beneath the surface is a great way to ensure a shaky foundation for anything you're trying to build on top of it."

"Right. So... rip off the band-aid?"

"Maybe gently take off the band-aid. There's not a prize for doing it the fastest."

I exhaled. My thoughts stopped racing once we were done, so I knew everything Dr. Merrill suggested was sound advice. I wanted to build something with Sam—whatever she'd let me, really. And I wanted to make sure it was built on solid ground. It was helpful that this session was directly before I met her and Laur at the bar. It would hopefully keep me from doing something impulsive.