Tell Me Why You're Here

As she prepares to leave therapy, Ana has a dream that takes us into uncharted waters. We dive into her conflicting wishes to be admired for her self-sufficiency and to have someone come to her rescue. And when I turn up in not one but two of her dreams, we explore what this might tell us about her readiness to welcome me aboard as her co-captain.

Ana returns with surprising news: things with Jason are going so well that she thinks she's ready to end therapy. But as we explore her reasons for leaving, her reasons for wanting to stay begin to emerge, along with her ambivalence about disappointing me. By the end of our session, saying goodbye turns out to be more complicated than either of us expected.

Ana returns determined to make sure I understand why she has to do everything herself. But when that same struggle emerges between us, we discover that being seen as needing no one can leave Ana feeling strangely dismissed. As she begins to let me see the part of her that does want help, we wonder who she might be if she didn't always have to have the answers.

Ana comes to therapy with her marriage in crisis—but is convinced it's her husband, not her, who needs to be here. He's withdrawn, won't step up, and leaves Ana feeling responsible for everything. As we explore why she is, in fact, here with me, we begin to discover how much Ana both resents and relies on being the one who can handle everything.

Jane returns…five months after our first meeting. She’s dating a man named Ted, but she’s not sure she wants to keep seeing him. “What do I do about Ted?” soon evolves into “How do I know what I want?” When the same uncertainty begins to emerge between Jane and me, we start to discover why being noticed, remembered, and known can feel both good and deeply uncomfortable.

Jane, a 40-year-old stage manager, comes to therapy for the first time after a series of losses leaves her feeling lonely and unsure of where her life is going. As we talk about her father’s death, her career, and her longing for a relationship, we begin to discover how little room she has made for her own desires. And when the conversation turns to dating and sex, Jane takes a risk that gives us a glimpse of what may be keeping her one foot in and one foot out.

We are six months into the work, and Chip is seeing someone. The sex and their closeness are great—but, as Chip realizes, also dangerous. Our therapeutic exploration takes us back in time to a gay uncle who died of AIDS and seems to have been edited out of the family story. When I point out Chip’s temptation to edit himself with me, he then faces the question: Can he bear the risks of closeness enough to enjoy the pleasure of being truly seen and touched?

Chip returns, and we delve right in. We explore his preference for the coolness of structure and predictability, and his avoidance of the fiery spark of surprise. Yet surprise still finds us—as his unconscious takes us into the woods of his childhood. There, we encounter icy giants, friendly dwarves, and how these figures are also parts of him. What at first seems like a wayward path turns out to be the way through—to a place where Chip can think about how hot and cold, ritual and unpredictability, restraint and surrender might live within himself. 

Chip, a 48-year-old gay lawyer, comes in because he can’t seem to meet anyone who sparks his romantic interest. When we delve into what he actually feels with men on dates—and with me—it turns out he feels a lot more desire than he realized. And when we talk about how it plays out between us, his anxiety and vulnerability surface, and we can start working with what’s really standing in his way.