Lying to my therapist.

On Monday, I lied to my therapist. 

It was the first time I have intentionally lied to her in the hope that she wouldn’t think I’m a bad person. 

I realise this is flawed, and I shall list why now:

  • She is, as far as I know, pretty damn objective and I don’t think she’d judge me.
  • She doesn’t believe that people are “good” or “bad”; she understands the complexity of humans and knows that people are more than a three or four letter word.
  • Even if she did think I was “bad” she certainly wouldn’t tell me.

    Some people might say that it shows some disharmony between the two of us if I’m willing to lie to her but, instead, I’d suggest it shows disharmony within myself.

    I’ve just sent her a text telling her that I faced one of my fears this morning. I’ll face the rest of them next week.

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    Fear.

    “Does that frighten you?”, my therapist asked me in our reflective time at the end of our session.

    “Yes.”, I replied; without even contemplating it.

    “Good. It should.”, was her response.

    Fear drives us forward.

    Today, I’m driving and I’ll be full of fear. I’m doing a rail replacement bus service in London and I’m terrified. I was talking to a colleague about it and he said “You get a buzz; the unknown roads, knowing you might get lost. It’ll spur you on!”. There was a hunger in his eyes.

    There are only flashing danger signs in mine.

    For me, fear is very social based. Fear of rejection. Fear of not being good enough. Fear that someone will realise that I’m 23 and basically just winging it.

    You can’t wing London.