My Counselor's Crystal Ball Was Cloudy!

So, I finally took the plunge and booked a therapy sesh. I mean, I was at my wit's end trying to wrangle this rebellious, clothes-optional millennial (relative by marriage) into the 21st century. You know, the newcomer who thinks flashing their goods at family gatherings is a totally acceptable form of self-expression.

Going to counseling is not something I've invested time in. Spilling one's guts to another human being makes us feel vulnerable, so, naturally, when I was making the appointment, I requested a therapist who would NOT start dropping "my religion is the only religion" bombs at me.

While I had requested that my counselor would come from either a non-religious or any religion from a string of acceptable (non-pushy) faiths - I was assigned to a Christian who had stated in the directory that she was "agnostic."

Fast forward to the appointment. I walked in to hopefully have a better relationship with the human enigma masquerading as "family," and to gain advice for navigating all the new and weird trends in America. What sort of counselor did I get? A modern-day Mary Poppins with a penchant for proselytizing. I kid you not, this woman launched into a full-on spiritual awakening seminar about Jesus before I could even get a "hello" out. It was like being trapped in a bad religious infomercial. And to top it off, she then began to offload all of her life traumas onto me!

I sat there thinking, "Lady, I'm the one who's supposed to be venting." Yet I did not want to interrupt her because - we are all vulnerable as people, and she seemed in crisis! (She told me about her failed marriage, about the religious shaming she endured following her divorce, about her fights she had with an older brother who shouted "you are going to Hell," and then? Well, read this next paragraph.) 

One of the most entertaining aspect of that counseling session was when she started complaining about being named 'Karen.' Like, excuse me? Karen is a meme, not a personality disorder! (I actually hate that stereotype. I know MANY people named Karen who are absolutely lovely and I perceive of the whole social demonization of the name 'Karen' as terribly racist/sexist and cruel.) We need to stop blaming an entire generation of women named 'Karen' for the actions of a few. It’s like saying that all men are creeps, All Witches are evil or something else equally despicable.

Anyway, to my own horror - this therapist was the epitome of that dreadful stereotype – unprofessional, self-absorbed, and completely missing the point. She behaved like a sexually abused and angry choir boy.

Who knew signing up for a single therapy session could be such a dumpster fire?

To make matters worse, I went into my private medical account and read her counseling notes after the fact. There, she berated me as though I had walked into the session and shouted "I'm PAGAN!" (Like a freak might do.)

What really happened, was - because she had launched into full-on Billy Graham mode -I had stopped her with, "Um, Karen? I'm Pagan." Yet of course she did NOT mention her sermonizing in the notes at all.

There were many other out of context or completely false statements that she wrote - accusing me of being "hyperactive" when, how could she have made that assessment when she did all the talking?

I had sought refuge in a sanctuary of the mind, only to find a tempest.

A therapist is supposed to provide a harbor of calm. She manifested a maelstrom of personal turmoil and religious conviction. It’s a peculiar irony that the individual entrusted with healing should be so deeply wounded herself. Her proselytizing replaced empathy, and her judgment eclipsed understanding. 

To confide in someone only to have your words twisted into a distorted narrative is a betrayal of trust on a profound level. The experience has left me questioning not just the efficacy of therapy but the very nature of human connection. It seems the quest for peace and harmony can sometimes lead one deeper into the labyrinth of isolation and despair.

While I have been openly Pagan, not broadcasting as so many Christian faiths do, never walking door-to-door ringing doorbells or sending out fliers, I faced her disrespect and hatred toward "Pagan" to the degree that I feel far less safe now.

I realize that I was not counseled by a professional scholar. I now wonder how many other people have gone to a therapy session and suffered the same upheaval and disappointment. I had waited more than a month for this appointment, I paid $300 for the intake screening, and took time off from work and I expect a $600 bill for her therapy session so I've been proactive about contacting medical billing about what happened. 

This chapter may have been a stormy one, but within every tempest, there's an opportunity for renewal. With my spirit unbroken, I'll continue to seek out spaces where my truth can be honored and celebrated. After all, a witch's power is in resilience.