Page 45 of Sorry, Not Sorry
‘But if I am to do my job as your therapist, then there are times I must challenge you. I am your ally in this journey and, as such, I am obliged to hold up the mirror for you to see things that perhaps you do not wish to see. This is the work we must do to help you find healing, and your strong reaction to what I said just now reveals something important to our understanding.’
Apparently satisfied that she was fine, Arne straightened up and returned to his chair while Delilah fiddled awkwardly with the empty glass. She glanced at the clock; there was still another twenty minutes left of the session, but she wasn’t sure she could stand much more.
‘My observations have made you deeply uncomfortable,’ Arne remarked, as if he could read the thoughts chasing round her mind. ‘None of us welcomes discomfort, but sometimes we must find the courage to sit in it and reflect on what drives that discomfort.’
Delilah closed her eyes. ‘I… I just don’t like talking about the past. Maybe it’s because Mum died when I was so young. Also, if I’m honest, I don’t remember large chunks of life before and after it happened, and it makes me anxious and upset when I can’t retrieve my memories.’
‘But Delilah, this is precisely why you should not continue with a blank past and hide from it, but rather explore further where this anxiety comes from,’ Arne said earnestly.
‘This loss of memory and the anxiety you talk about is often linked to people who have experienced unstable or threatening environments in their childhood.’
Delilah flinched, but when she said nothing, Arne persisted.
‘When we feel anxiety, it is our body responding to a perceived sense of danger. But while we can’t avoid anxiety or make it disappear, we can try to understand what drives the anxiety, so it doesn’t overwhelm us or disrupt our relationships. ’
Unable to maintain her silence, Delilah burst out, ‘But I’m happy now . I feel fine and positive, so why can’t you just accept that?’
Arne studied her for a moment and then he leaned forward.
‘What is it you fear about therapy, Delilah? Do you imagine it will swallow you up and leave you helpless? I can understand your concern, but I assure you that will not be the case. On the contrary, when we open up to explore our past, we are giving ourselves the chance to tell – or, in your case, to remember – the story of what happened to us, however bad or shameful we might think it is. Bringing what is in the dark out into the light is not for you to relive that trauma, but so we can see what it is and make sense of it. That way, you are no longer stuck in it. My goal is for you to look forward and flourish in your chosen vocation.’
Delilah released a despondent sigh. Somehow, Arne had managed to extinguish the joy she had wafted in with as effectively as an unexpected deluge of rain on a picnic lunch.
‘So how long do I have to keep doing this?’
‘I don’t want you to see our sessions as some form of punishment, Delilah,’ Arne said mildly.
‘In the same way it takes time to build habits, it takes time to change behaviour. But this gets easier over time, and as we work together, you will create new habits that serve you and your clients better.’
The therapist’s reassurances fell on stony ground and Delilah set her jaw stubbornly, smouldering in silence.
She had spent so much time on this whole process and listening to Arne, it sounded like she’d never be good enough to do her job.
To make things worse, he was obsessed with her past, and she was fed up with the constant probing.
Her future with Noah looked bright, and that was what she wanted to focus on.
For the first time, Delilah wondered if her job was worth all this aggravation.
Did she love it enough to risk Arne forcing her back to places she had no desire to revisit?
Sigmund slunk out from under the desk and padded over to her, staring up at Delilah with clear green eyes. For a wild moment she had an eerie feeling the cat knew exactly what she was thinking. Shaking off the disturbing idea, she gave it one last try.
‘Arne…’ Delilah started, and then she slumped back in the armchair with a dispirited sigh.
‘Please listen to me. I’ve spent weeks hunting down my ex-boyfriends and I have learned so much more from that than I think you’re giving me credit for.
I can’t change what’s happened in the past, but I’ve done everything possible to take accountability and make amends to everyone – including my sister and her husband!
I’ve learned my lessons and I’m not afraid of committing to a relationship any more.
Bottom line is, I’m an adult and I know I can make things work with Noah. ’
‘Adults are not immune to unhealthy relationships, Delilah. That is precisely what your job is about, no? You know the data from your training – a significant percentage of adults who struggle to build healthy relationships were exposed to toxic relationships in their childhood or had their trust broken, and they will often replicate this behaviour.’
Arne persisted, his tone deliberate. ‘The data also tells us that children who feared being hurt or abandoned can grow into adults who try to protect themselves from potential pain. Sometimes by keeping emotional distance in their relationships, and sometimes… by abandoning relationships altogether.’
Arne’s intent gaze and soft voice were a powerful and hypnotic combination, and in that very moment, it felt to Delilah that he had looked deep inside her and mined her secrets without her consent, as if he had reached inside her body and ripped out and exposed what she had kept hidden.
But she couldn’t let him know that, and so she remained frozen in her seat.
Arne observed her in silence and then said, ‘I think that’s enough for today. I know you wish to return to work, Delilah, but I don’t think you are ready.’
He sat back in his chair and the action jolted Delilah out of her state of paralysis.
Suddenly it was all too much, and she was incandescent with rage.
Like a bomb exploding on the bed of a placid lake and turning it into a churning river, a wave of corrosive anger rose from the pit of her stomach and surged up into her throat with such force, she had to press her lips together to stop the bile from spilling out.
With a fury she could scarcely contain, Delilah leapt to her feet, drawing a startled meow from a passing Sigmund.
How dare Arne violate her privacy and judge her?
What did this virtual stranger with his wild hair, baggy brown corduroys, and stuffy Argyle vest presume to know about her or her life?
Rigid with anger, Delilah’s lips worked soundlessly as she tried to speak, but unable to utter a coherent word, she grabbed her bag and jacket and stormed out of Arne’s office, slamming the door behind her.
She raced down the steps as if pursued by demons and wrenched open the heavy front door.
Pushing her way through the throng of people on the busy high street, Delilah ran until she was out of breath and her chest hurt so badly that she was forced to stop.
Bent over with her head down and her trembling hands gripping her thighs, she heaved in great gulps of air, shuddering as her mind flashed back to the bewildered expression on Arne’s face before she had fled his office.
Her breath emerged in ragged bursts as she staggered down the road, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and her therapist’s office.
Every doubt and reservation she had quashed about therapy as she grew more comfortable with Arne came flooding back with a vengeance.
Polly was absolutely right: Arne was good at his job.
No, not just good, she corrected herself grimly, the man was bloody brilliant!
He had so skilfully lulled her into a sense of security that she had almost forgotten herself.
He had fooled her for a while but, in the end, he had been out to trick her – just like Verity, the po-faced therapist.
She knew she was risking her career by running out on Arne, but Delilah no longer cared. I don’t need Arne, I don’t need Polly, and most of all, I don’t need therapy! She would change jobs if she had to, but the one thing she knew for sure was that she was never ever going back!