Note: This was written in 2016, not as a blog post but as a way to move through an intense moment in my work. I’m sharing it now as it was, unpolished, emotional, and honest, because it reflects a real moment in the life of a therapist.

This piece includes a brief reference to sexual violence.

All identifying details have been changed to protect privacy.

I want to weep right now. I can’t though as I’ve got another session to commence in less than fifteen minutes. I received a call from a potential new person…nothing new as I’ve been in private practice for the better part of 15 years now so new people calling in is routine. It’s always especially nice when they are referred to me by a former client/patient. (Another blog will differentiate the difference between client and patient). She informed me that JL had referred her to me. She went on to tell me that they had worked together a long time and I knew that he had been at that job for almost twenty years so they likely knew each other fairly well. She said she trusted me since I “was okay in JL’s book.”

Prior to telling me her exact difficulty and why she was reaching out to me for therapy, she mentioned that JL had passed away and did I know? No, I didn’t. He was a fair amount older, yes. But, still, it hits me hard as I sit here knowing that I must keep it together for the remaining sessions of the day in which I need to be entirely “on” for the people who sit with me as I am here for them as I was for him as I am for all of my clients.

He was special to me, you see. Not that all of my clients are not special to me, but some are more than others for various reasons. This particular gentleman had fought in the Vietnam War as a young, young boy of 19 years old. And, depending upon how old you are while reading this, that might seem grown to you. You may think something along the lines of, “Well, he was an adult.” It’s funny how our perspective of age morphs as we ourselves add more candles to the cake each year.

JL was drafted to that war for three to four years, I do not recall exactly. He had never been through therapy before but he came as his Wife had seen me and wanted him to come as well. JL and I ended up doing a good number of individual sessions as JL had struggles with alcohol. I’ve seen several people over the course of my time as a therapist who were sent to that war at an age not much older than my own precious son of 16 years. I cannot allow this news of JL’s death to tear my heart out but it certainly has been affected though the new client calling had no idea about that.

One session, in particular, I remember with JL…well, two, actually. One appointment was quite intense with his long-estranged Wife. They had been separated for a good number of years but were trying to reconcile when seeing me after having spent many years apart. In this session, she disclosed to him a horrible rape that she had endured and survived from while he was overseas fighting for our country. Oh, how that tore him up! The man kept his composure as the tears ran down his well-earned ragged cheeks. Naturally so. But I was privileged to watch them grow closer, in part due to that tragedy. He shared much of himself with me, actually, during the course of our time together which his wife informed me was quite unlike him. 

The other particularly intense session JL and I had was when he described to me a terrible event during that war in which others died and for which he had mistakenly, but understandably, carried what I refer to as illegitimate guilt, a guilt he had held silent for decades. JL was sobbing to the point of actually sliding off of the couch that sits across from the loveseat upon which I sit during therapy. I remember watching him slide down slowly, unable to remain seated due to the rancorous tears pouring forth, a dam being released after decades of silent torture. My mirror neurons are quite strong so how could I not feel for him and his agony? 

Recalling some of my training with youngsters, and it feeling quite natural for me to do so, I slowly slid down my loveseat once he was on the floor and I remained there the rest of that session with him weeping profusely both of our legs outstretched in front of us and backs against the seated parts of the couches, both of us on the floor, across the room as I held him in the safest most healing therapeutic space I could create for him. Tears are brimming my eyelids at the moment. Ah, but I hear my outside door open and I know that my next client is here….Not all sessions are that intense or profound but this process most certainly is. I am blessed to be called to this profession indeed. Thank You, Lord.