Claire Davidson is writer & blogger with equal passions for metaphysical matters and reality TV. Creator of Scotch & The Fox, a space for strong and sensitive women. She has written the following.
I sank into the faded green couch and prepared to tell another stranger about a part of myself I’d been trying to get rid of since I was a child; to describe what it feels like on those rare occasions when my brain tells me to run from everything; when even the most mundane daily tasks — driving to the store, making plans — can trigger a fight-or-flight response so intense that my vision blurs, my heart palpitates, my palms perspire, and I am left gasping for breath. Anyone who believes anxiety is purely a mental phenomenon has never had a panic attack.
As I prepared to tell this man about the inner workings of my psyche, I took stock of his demeanor. He looked professorial and to-the-point, much like his office décor, if you could call it that — a sparse collection of psychology textbooks and self-help resources littering some plain wooden shelves. He seemed vastly different than the last therapist I’d seen over two years ago.
The woman I had seen then offered me tea from her finely curated collection, telling me to make myself comfortable amidst a plump leather sofa and lavender walls covered with tribal art. Now, two years later, sitting in the clean, sterile room of the only office my insurance would cover, I felt less emotional than I had then. I wasn’t interested in making myself comfortable or pouring out the contents of my mind. I just wanted him to fix me. I wanted a cure.