Tired of stonewalling your therapist? Then play along, stonesand all, says Priscilla Robinson.
Occasionally, a therapist will leave the room. I use this time to gently case the joint. Reading them like they read me, I look for books with dodgy titles such as I'm Still Learning, Therapy For Beginners, Why Failure Is OK and How To Convince Your Client This Is Working. I don't find any. They are too well hidden.
Therapists aren't actors but they do seem to like props. My therapists have all understood my position on props: I don't do props. It's "you therapist" and "me client", with our words or no words, and eye contact or no eye contact. Nothing fancy. If I sound like a fascist, maybe that's why I'm in therapy.
But I did have one counsellor who persisted. Each week, the room was strewn with a different mix of cushions, paints, stones and candles, which she suggested I engage with. Each week, I protested. Don't misunderstand, I love cushions. I love stroking the tassels or fingering the zip, skin on velvet, skin on metal. Paints are good, too. I like all the colours, even brown. I like having them on my fingers to look at the next day. I love stones, on the beach, on the road or even in my pocket.
I would love to scream, paint, throw cushions and inhale the smelly candles, but I want to do these things in my own space. It is bad enough having to talk in therapy without having to do stuff as well. And if I sound like a control freak, let me repeat, maybe that's why I'm in therapy.
After six sessions of refusal, I decide to play along. If she really wants me to express myself, then I will. When she leaves the room to answer an emergency phone call, I take a cushion and ram the paintbrush into it. I lift up a paint pot, creak open the lid, then slam it against the wall. I take five stones and shove them into my mouth, ears and nostrils. Lastly, I throw the cushions onto the ground and stamp my shoes all over them. When she sends me out to wipe myself down, I paint a small mural on her bathroom walls, using the altered words of Dorothy Parker: "Paints drip, Candles burn bad, Cushions sag, Might as well stay mad."