Digging Up Roots

A few short weeks later I entered counseling and thought maybe I would finally be able to talk some things through and get some answers to questions I’d had for years. I started with a positive attitude, but after being bounced around to three different counselors and receiving two different diagnoses my outlook began to take a turn for the worst. Then I met him. Before this time, the other therapists I’d seen were all women and offered a certain level of gentleness in our sessions. Even though I didn’t feel like we were getting anywhere, I appreciated how they dealt with me. But this man was different. There was no gentleness, in fact, he spoke to me with a harshness as if I was a grown man who had just stepped on his favorite pair of shoes. I wasn’t comfortable, but I was tired of being thrown around and having to rehash everything that had happened in the last two years, so I tried to make the most of it. That was until it came time to tell him about what took place with my teacher. I did my best to explain the way I felt about her, that she was someone I admired, emulated and cared for deeply. I went on to tell him how I drew confidence from this woman and how her presence strengthened me. We talked about all the times I’d gotten into trouble for doing things to be around her and then he had an epiphany moment. He told me that he knew exactly what my problem was and what I needed to do about it. I got so excited at the very thought that someone would be able to give me some insight as to why I had been having certain feelings. I can vividly remember sitting up and moving to the edge of my seat in anticipation of him finishing his statement and helping me in a way that no one else had been able to before. Then he said it. “I feel like your life would be easier if you just accepted the fact that you’re a lesbian and moved on.”

What was that? Was that the insight I was supposed to get from counseling? Was that the answer that I had been in search of for two years? Would my life be easier if I just accepted that and moved on? But accepted what exactly? I’d heard that word before but I wasn’t quite sure what it even meant. How was that supposed to solve my problem? It seemed like in a moment’s time I was left with even more confusion than in the years prior. But, he was the professional. He was the grown up. I was just a teenager and he was the one that had been trained to deal with things like that. I didn’t know what it was, but something just didn’t sit right with me. I walked out of his office that day and never went back. I didn’t care anymore about having to start over with a new counselor. I didn’t care about having to tell the story again for the umpteenth time. I walked out and didn’t even speak of what had gone on in our session that day. I did everything in my power to forget his words, but I couldn’t. No matter what I did to put them out of my mind, they kept creeping back in. It was too late. The damage had already been done. The seed had been planted.