Forreal or Forfake?

One of the top reasons I love my work is the search for authenticity.  I eagerly await the 45-minutes of truth hunting that I get to do with my clients. I may not find it, or they may not want to say it...but I love the work of sniffing it out. When helping another find themselves, and witnessing their experience of truth and freedom in that place is exciting, rewarding and truly lights my fire.  I think part of this passion comes from the feeling that I walked around as a shell of myself for the 1st 20 or so years of my life (that might be beside the point, we'll see). 
The reason I bring all of this up is due to a comment made by my one and only male client.  A 36-year-old man, recently divorced and sorting out his custodial situation with his 2 biological children and 1 stepchild.  He is uneducated, but highly intelligent and works hard in therapy.  I have been seeing him for over a year and we have established a comfortable and friendly therapeutic relationship.  He tests my ability to hold my boundaries as he asks many personal questions, but does so with awareness and respect.  The repeating theme with this client is his resistance to creating a social life for himself due to his lack of faith in others and low self-esteem.  Upon my emphasis that our therapeutic relationship provides a model for the potential of other relationships, he flatly refuses the concept.  He maintains that our successful relationship is based solely on the fact that I am paid to do so.  Of course I understand where he is coming from, which is why I can continue to engage in this topic and not take it personally.
Well, at least I wasn't taking it personally.
We approached the topic again of his sense of self-worth in terms of socializing.  We make our way around to his ease in socializing with me. And then he dumps it on me:
"But this is fake."
"This is fake?"
"Well yeah, obviously"

Ouch. It stung my whole being. I mean, yes, I still get it- but I think calling me a big fat stingy kike would've felt better. Fake is my dirty word. Fake is my #1 aversion (well, there's bugs but that's something completely different).  Fake is often my enemy.  And now I'm letting his version of fake get tangled in my concept of being inauthentic and so the twists and turns of the puzzling therapeutic relationship goes.  Now I work to divide up his stuff from my stuff and respond in a clinical, therapeutic and (in a perfect world), helpful way.
Let's hope the stars align.

Okay, that's it for now.

Big Person

Natalie's family has decided to move.  This is typical of them, and I should have been emotionally prepared for it, but I wasn't.  Upon hearing the news from the uncle, I gave a real professional front.  Inside, I knew I was about to lose someone very important to me and I had a sudden urge to tantrum, as if I was her peer. Natalie and I have a very special relationship, as I have menitoned in a previous entry.  I may have provided her a safe place to be herself and understood as a confused 4 year old, but she has given so much to me.  Her spirit, humor and emotional honesty fills me up.  There is something unspoken that connects the two of us and has afforded us a number of exceptionally tender moments.  It is relationships like these that feel like an official endorsement made by the universe: "Yep, you found it. This is your calling, and thank you for answering it". 

Her final session couldn't have been scripted more beautifully, therefore, I figured it should be written. She showed up in her usual mixed up garb. This day it included a dressy, wide brimmed, spring hat - garnished with plenty of flowers, an army green bomber jacket and pink velour track suit pants.  We took the hike up the stairs (the ones she chooses every session over the elevator, while insisting she "hates" these stairs) for the last time and headed to the office.  She immediately honed in on the pink frosted cupcake and card I had waiting for her: "You really put stickers in here for me?" (spoken in a tone attempting to sound jaded). She requested to paint (something we did often in her sessions) and we went into our routine, "I det da wata and you det da TIG paypa!" And as she stated, she filled cups with water and I set up the big sheets of paper to paint on.  She commanded specific colors, naming where they should go and I followed her lead.  She then decided to paint a picture of the two of us.  Yes, it always feels good when a client wants to do this, but it was particulary intruguing in this case since Natalie has never painted anything deliberate. She typically likes to just go through the motions of scribbling paint to paper and sharing the activity with another.  Natalie started with an overly wet brush with paint on it and named the sprinkles that dripped on the paper "raindrops".  She then drew a figure that took up most of the page. She was emphatic with her movement up and down: "Dis is you. Cuz you awe a big big puwsun wid a big big head and a big big eyes and a big big nose".  She then painted a smaller figure next to the big figure's head: "Dis is me, cuz I'm a diddle puwson." At the last minute she drew one more figure at the bottom, naming it her uncle.  She finished in time before the alarm went off...
Then it sounded. Marking the end of our final session.
We both stared at each other. Neither wanting to make a move.
Neither wanted to say goodbye.
But one of us was the big person.
That put me in charge of containing her anger as she began hitting herself, dumping toys and throwing sand. Additionally, I was working to contain myself at the same time as I had the urge to join her (wouldn't it be great if we could both be "bad"?). It took surprisingly little effort to help her to deescalate.

We gathered up her things, took the elevator down and had a great big goodbye hug. Hopefully, she is left with a corrective experience. I am left with a broken heart.