He doesn’t say anything while I consider what to say next. It’s not like I think keeping things from your therapist is good. I just don’t know how to verbalize my feelings right now, which is why I’m back in therapy. “Your view is making me sad.”
“Can you pinpoint what about the view is upsetting to you?”
The sound of pen scratching against paper begins, a noise I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. “I haven’t been home in almost a year. I miss Seattle.”
Sitting up straight in his chair, he rotates slightly, knowingly or unknowingly, partially blocking the view. I unclench my fists, something I didn’t realize I was doing until my palms started to sting from the indent of my nails.
“Do your parents visit you in Los Angeles?”
“Never. They ask, but I’m always busy, and they don’t like flying, so I don’t like making them travel. I’m too busy to visit them.”
“We’ve talked about your parents a lot, Anastasia. You’ve told me you feel overwhelmed by the need to succeed for them, more than yourself.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looks into the camera. “Does the pressure, or the overwhelmed feeling you describe, diminish when you haven’t seen them?”
“It never fully goes away. Skating is always the first thing they ask about when they call.” A lump in my throat forms and I struggle to swallow it down. “When I don’t hear from them, I feel, uh, I feel relief.”
He nods, scribbling down notes on the page in front of him. “Does the relief make you feel guilty?”
Oh God. Why are my eyes watering?“Yeah.”
“What are your interests outside of figure skating, Anastasia?”
I try to answer immediately, but when my mouth opens, I realize I don’t have anything to say; skating is my entire life. “I don’t have any.”
“And if you were to lose a competition or decide you didn’t want to skate anymore, do you think your parents would be mad? Take a moment to think about it.”
I don’t need a moment. As soon as he asked the question, the answer immediately dropped into my head. “No, I think they’d be confused at first, but they’d want me to be happy.”
“From our joint sessions with your parents in the past, and the sessions we’ve had together, I know how highly you think of them. Would I be correct to say you still find them very supportive, whether it’s therapy, school, or sports related?”
“Absolutely. They’re great.”
“Parents, well, good parents like yours, who have high-achieving children with very specific interests, sometimes struggle to know what to talk about outside of those interests.” He clasps his hands together and rests them against his stomach, leaning back in his chair. “Your parents have said in our joint sessions they understand skating is your biggest priority. You might find that them asking you about it every time they speak to you is their way of showing you they still support you, despite not seeing you regularly.”
My chest constricts—guilt. Guilt because I know my parents support me. Guilt because I haven’t seen them. Guilt because I haven’t appreciated them.
I keep my eyes stuck on the iPad screen, staring right at his tie pin; if I look at his face, I’ll cry. “I know they only want the best for me.”
“It’s normal to understand something logically but emotionally feel something different. Loving someone but feeling relief not speaking to them, it’s a huge conflict in a person’s mind, but it doesn’t make you bad in any way, it makes you human.”This is rough.“Going back to the view, Anastasia. Do you think perhaps my view upsets you, not because you miss Seattle, but because you miss your parents?”
I nod, eyes not leaving the pin even as they line with tears. “Maybe.”
“Like children, adults need boundaries. I’d like you to tell your parents you don’t want to discuss skating. Even if it’s just for one call, one visit, see how you feel, knowing it won’t be brought up. Achievable?”
Blinking away the tears threatening to fall, I look back at his face and force a smile. “Sure.”
I stopped having regular therapy sessions when I moved to LA two years ago. I was so immersed in the whole college experience I didn’t need it. But something would happen, I’d have an ad-hoc session and promise myself I’d go regularly again, but I never did.
Nothing about therapy gets easier. You just learn to accept those hard conversations are worth it when your feelings become more manageable. Halfway through the session and I can breathe now, but from experience, I know that could all change again before the session is over.
“In our session last week, you explained how the uncertainty around your competition was causing severe anxiety. Can you tell me how you’re feeling this week?”
“I feel good,” I answer honestly. It’s nice to have something positive to say for once. “Aaron was cleared by the doctor yesterday so we can compete tomorrow.”
“I’m thrilled to hear that. It must be a huge weight off your mind.” Aaron and I skipped class to practice, and thankfully, everything went smoothly. “And how’s your relationship with Aaron? Last week you mentioned you were feeling smothered.”
Smothered feels like an understatement. Aaron has barely left my side for two weeks, and it’s been a lot. In many ways, I appreciate that despite being the injured one, he’s made time for me to grieve. Because that’s what the past two weeks have felt like, grief. Grieving the loss of things I could have had.
But even with the best of intentions, sometimes Aaron’s kindness feels like control. My tears were understandable, but only if they were about skating. The anxiety I was feeling would get better, but only with him by my side to help me.