Bicycle Man
In case you’re wondering what’s up with the name of my blog, Feelings are Happening, I’ve stolen the title from my therapist, Ian. It’s something Ian would say to me or my daughter, Taliesin, when we first started therapy with him after the death of my husband. Mind you, we spent the entire first year after his death with our feelings happening all over the place, anywhere, everywhere, 24/7. But later, when Taliesin and I had regained a bit of control, feelings would bubble up in our sessions with Ian and “feelings are happening” is what he would say in response. First, to acknowledge all the bubbling going on over on the couch across from him, and, second, to coax me to actually talk about the feelings that precipitated my watery eyes or trembling lip or pained expression or whatever I’d done to tip him off. Taliesin, who was thirteen at the time, had no problem talking about her feelings—or my feelings for that matter—in rich and sometimes embarrassing and incriminating detail. However, I tended to clam up and still do which Ian says “isn’t conducive to a healing therapeutic experience.”
“Talk to me,” he’d say.
So I’m stealing Ian’s trademark line, which always made us smile, and I’m thinking that he’ll be perfectly OK with this theft. When he’s not being super annoying or a Jack Russell terrier of a therapist (translation: he calls me on my BS and I don’g like it), he’s actually a warm, compassionate man who gets off on helping people. Maybe he’ll think this blog might help someone. I’m positive he’ll think it will help me.
“Write, Donna,” he says. “It will be cathartic and healing for you. Just write. Please.”
I am reminded how, after a session, I rode down in the elevator with another patient of his I’ll call bicycle man. I call him bicycle man because I couldn’t help but notice, as I exited Ian’s office, that the man sitting in the waiting room was holding a large spoked bicycle wheel on his lap. As for our elevator ride together, bicycle man had forgotten his checkbook (therapists gotta get paid) on his, uh, bicycle, and was going to get it. After this unsolicited explanation of why he was in the elevator with me and not in Ian’s office where he had left his teenage son, he turned to me and said, “Ian. He’s a good man.” I sensed it wasn’t exactly a statement because of how earnest he sounded and by the way he looked me in the eyes when he said it. I looked him in the eyes right back and answered “Yes, he is a very good man.” Implicitly, I was saying “Yes, he’s a good therapist and you’re in good hands. He’s helped me. Whatever situation you’ve found yourself in, bicycle man, it will get better. It is OK to be hopeful.
I knew from my own experience that sometimes we need a little confirmation of what seems to us to be true about someone or some situation. It is especially important when we want it so badly to be true and when the wanting has to do with truth and vulnerability and trust and hope and desperately needing help for yourself or someone you love. It’s never easy to talk about the deep stuff and even harder to change.
Bottom line: Ian is a good man and I was happy to confirm this for bicycle man.
And that’s what this blog is about: truth and vulnerability and trust and hope — and feelings — and not going it alone in this world because we could all use a little help.
P.S.
I still wish I’d asked Ian about the bicycle wheel, but Ian wouldn’t have told me even if I’d asked him.
Tips on finding a therapist: Ask for referrals from family, friends, and co-workers and do your homework. Don’t be afraid to switch to another therapist if it isn’t a good fit, just give the relationship a shot before making a change. Don’t be afraid to speak up if there’s something bothering you about the therapy itself. As with most issues, concerns can be fixed with communication. Therapists are bound by a code of ethics. If something seems untoward, run fast and far in the other direction. Check out the resources page for more information.