Chapter 10: Carrie

I checked the therapist’s website to make sure he took my insurance. His webpage was full of testimonies of happy couples thanking him for saving their marriages.

Finally, the day of my first session with Yaron Beilinson arrived. I knew I was expected to spill my guts and tell him all my deepest, darkest secrets, and that made me nervous. I had a lot of those.

I entered the office and sat down in the waiting room.

The idea that someone could understand why I was the way I was was so foreign to me that I didn’t believe that therapy would work for me.

A couple came out of the room, shook hands with the therapist, and left. Yaron was younger than I expected, perhaps thirty, and he looked like a hippie.

“Hello, you must be Carrie, welcome. Is Carrie okay or do you prefer Mrs. Edwards?” Yaron offered me his hand, and I shook it. He had a kind smile and a soothing voice.

“That’s me, and Carrie is fine,” I said.

“Come on in. We’ll take care of the paperwork later, follow me,” Yaron said before heading into the room. “I know you must be anxious to tell me your story.”

“No, not really,” I grimaced.

He laughed. “Not the first time I’ve hear that. No need to look so frightened,” he said.

I smiled weakly.

I followed the hippie therapist into a large room. I expected to see the typical shrink sofa thing, but there wasn’t one. There wasn’t a desk either.

Each wall boasted a different mural, and if I wasn’t mistaken, they were trying to celebrate the four elements. Big letters were spelling the word LOVE painted in each one of them.

The room had a relaxing feel to it. There were a lot of plants, and soft instrumental music was playing in the background. It was some kind of relaxing tune with nature sounds.

There was a circle of pillows on one side of the room. A wooden coffee table sat off to the side with bottled water and a box of tissues.

A lot of pictures of happy couples smiling at the camera hung on one of the walls around a mirror.

“Please take a seat, Carrie.”

“A seat where?” I asked, looking around.

“You can sit on the pillows, or we could use the chairs,” Yaron said pointing at a couple of comfy-looking chairs in one corner of the room. “I find sitting on pillows creates a more relaxed atmosphere.”

“Okay, I’ll try the pillows, then.”

“First things first. The relationship between a therapist and his patient requires a sacred trust for any change to occur. Everything you say here won’t leave this room. Nothing you can share will shock me. I’m here to help you, not to judge you.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, I had had enough judgment in my life.

“So, Carrie, how can I help you?”

“Around a month and a half ago, I’d have said that I’m here mostly at my husband’s insistence. He was concerned about my drinking, but I wasn’t convinced I had a problem. Now, I’m starting to realize that I do need help.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Last Friday, I had a very stressful day at work. So, I did what I usually do to take the stress out of me— I went to a bar and had a drink. After the first drink, I realized what I was doing. I mean, Ernie, that’s my husband’s name, was ready to divorce me if I didn’t stop drinking and there I was drinking again. Ready to throw my life and my marriage away for a drink! Something is wrong with me!”