never again

June 15, 2011 whatthepork
Tags: from the bi one, therapy, wisconsin tourism federation

At the end of last year, I sought crisis therapy to deal with two things: persistent unemployment, and a painful breakup.

The counselor asked about the breakup first. The woman I’d been dating, I explained, had pulled some nonconsensual behavior in the bedroom, like she had done stuff that I had specifically said I did not want to do, told me how much she wanted to do it while physically restraining me, and pressured me to do other things on my No list. I was having trouble sleeping, and was dealing with related PTSD issues.

This counselor is transgendered. Based partially on her appearance, but mostly on what she said next, I’m guessing that she is probably at the beginning of living outwardly female.

“I’m very pro-woman,” she began.

Well, that’s good, I thought to myself, considering that you are one.

She continued, “Sometimes we just expect women to be better. We expect more of them.”

Now, a brief look at the rest of my dating history might indicate that I was disabused of that fantasy a looooooong time ago – and let’s not even get into my relationship with my mother. I remembered how completely stoked I was when I first came out, high on the heady power of Doing It With Girls and the pure, clear desire to smash the patriarchy. Women were SO GREAT! …Until some of them were jerks just like everyone else sometimes. Right. I wondered what had happened to all my Hole and 7 Year Bitch tapes and recalled how weird it was to see all the baby dykes at the 2006 Team Dresch reunion show jumping up and down knowing all the words. When I tuned back in, I found myself half bitter and jaded, half envious of her optimism and certainty that ladies were the last word in awesome. Though I could tell that she wasn’t going to be helpful with the breakup/sexual trauma issues, I hoped she might have some insight into my lack-of-job problems.

I was feeling the full brunt of the recession, I told her: I was sending out resumes daily and not even getting calls back on my copy editing resume – something I’ve been doing professionally for over 15 years. I said that I had signed up with five different employment agencies and called them regularly, combed 10 job boards every weekday, had contacted just about everyone I knew who might need my skills, and that the best luck I’d had was a one-day-a-week gig at a seedy real estate office pulling mystery items out of plastic garbage bags and “filing” them for $10/hour. I felt trapped and scared I was going to end up living in a box under the freeway – and not even a nice freeway.

“Have you heard of Viktor Frankl?” she asked.

The name rang a faint bell; she told me that he was a Jewish psychologist, a contemporary of Freud’s who had ended up in a concentration camp. He’d survived to write a book describing his time there – some days, she said, he spent just moving rocks from one pile to another. The next day he’d moved them back. And yet, he managed to have good days, happy feelings, even in what was one of the worst situations a human being could endure.

I took stock of her small nose and non-Jewish last name, wondering where this could be going.

She paused. Leaned forward. Folded her hands. Then told me, so genuinely and kindly:

“Welcome to Auschwitz.”

In the moment following, while my mind was IMPLODING BECAUSE THAT HAPPENED, she noted that our session was over, and asked when I’d like to come back. Numb, I mumbled something about calling the office to set up an appointment later (lies); she mused, “I saw one client who said she’d do that and she never came back, and I never found out why.”

Amazingly, since following that client’s lead, I’ve been much happier. The nightmares stopped, I found a job, and started dating someone with healthy sexual boundaries. I haven’t been back for counseling since.