bulls and bones
I started working as an (very part-time) outpatient therapist one month ago and today I faced my first “no-show”. This means they didn’t call, email, text, snail mail, letter in a bottle, nothin’. This also means I don’t get paid. Total bummer. As any fee-for-service outpatient therapist knows, no-shows are just part of the deal and it’s not helpful to take it personally. Still, I can’t help but do that. Do I suck as a therapist? Was I boring? Does my technique suck? (Not that I even have a technique at this point.) As new therapists, we joke about when our clients will finally realize that we actually have no clue what we’re doing. I wonder if “old timer” therapists feel the same way. In my pity, I sat in an empty office and shoved my face with roasted wasabi edamame. I felt better instantly. P.S. After all the wonderful tips last night on clean eating, I ate 2 packages of oreo cakesters today. Pretty sure I’m going blind from diabetes.
As a self-proclaimed therapist hopper, I’ve been on the other side of the couch many of times. I’ve had 5 different therapist, four of which have been over the last four years. I tend not to stick around very long but the upside is that I’ve seen many different techniques being used. No therapist is the same and that’s both scary and cool.
Seeing as I work for a community mental health agency, I share office space and get no say in how it’s decorated. The office I use is decorated with a spanish bull fighting theme. Definitely not what I was going for. I wonder if my clients walk in and have the sudden urge to run around thrusting a red cape. One day, I shall have my own bullfighting free office where people will feel warm and welcomed. One day.
In other news, Eleanor found, ate, and choked on two different chicken bones in our backyard yesterday. For some damn reason our neighbors have BBQ’s and think it’s okay to chuck the nasty bones over the fence into our bushes. She choked really bad in the morning, to a point where we were both terrified. Later that afternoon she discovered the 2nd one, which I pulled out of her throat, then marched to the neighbor’s house and handed them the evidence. It’s amazing how easy it is to advocate for the ones you love. Neighbors if you’re reading this, watch your backs. There’s only one chicken bone permitted in this house and it’s plastic.