It was so long. I mean, I kept waiting for him to say, "We only have about 5 minutes left".... or something..... but it just kept going.... and going... and I kept talking... and talking...

I told T that I sank to all time lows during the session. Because I revealed some embarrassing stuff including:

-That I wished he had given me a stuffed animal while he was gone
-That I slept with the book
-That the reason I don't want to talk about sex with him is because my relationship with him is reflected in so many ways outside of therapy-- through my other relationships, through dreams, etc. So it's too horrific to start talking about sex in terms of something else and then find out that somehow it has to do with him.

After not seeing him for 2 weeks, the conversation turned to sex within the first 15 minutes of the session. I wanted to die.

When I told him that I held the book as I slept he said.... "But it wasn't really the book you were holding..." I wanted to die again.

Stupid transitional objects.

We laughed a lot during the session.

It was good to see him again.... it felt like he never went away. It felt a bit ambivalent, too. I'm still dealing with a lot of the ambivalence and numbness from the 2nd week he was gone, I think.

It wasn't the amazing, connected reunion session that I had conjured up in my head-- but it was real. That hour and a half allowed me something.... I mean, there was still a lot of resistance in regards to certain subjects, but largely, I had spoken in a way I never had before... about my childhood, some of the ways in which I was raised, how I feel small in therapy, my attachment to various transitional objects then and now, etc., etc., etc.... There was something to be said about not having to hear "okay, we have about five minutes left..." after only 55 minutes.

Then something occurred that I need to put a lot of thought into.

I told him, "You haven't said much today." And he told me that I had said alot-- more than I ever do... and that he felt as though he didn't have to say much... that the value was through me being able to talk so much.

And then later on it dawned on me.... duh... ok... therapy is about the patient doing the talking. That's where the work gets done. Winnicott talks about how he very seldom interpreted anything for his patients... how he would have to hold back intepretations for weeks, months.... just to allow the patients to arrive there on their own.... Then I remembered back to a couple of sessions ago when T said, "You know I'm not much for making interpretations, but...."

Ohhhh. So that's why.

So then I thought about how much value I place on what he says during the session.... how in my eyes, a session could be great or completely horrible just based on one or two things he says to me... But what value have I placed on myself? Up until now, none. I need to start realize that this is my therapy... and I don't place enough importance on what I say, how much I say, the interpretations and insight I've reached, etc. I place it all on him. It is time to start thinking of therapy in terms of me or the both of us working together... not just him.