carl comes to counseling

Carl parked and walked into the building, muttering to himself, “You need to go ‘talk to someone,’ they say. Tell someone ‘what’s going on,’ they say. Well, here I am. We’ll see what good it’ll do.”  On the wall by the elevator hung the business directory.  He found the name he was looking for: ACME Counseling Company, Suite 200. He got onto the elevator and punched 2. When the door closed, the muttering started again, “Talking? How’s that going to help anything?”

The doors slid open and suite 200 was right in front of him, but Carl hesitated. Once he walked in, it would be too awkward to change his mind. So, instead he stood there staring. The elevator doors closed, opened, and closed again.  ACME Counseling Company was written in block letters on the door, along with an origami bird logo. What’s that supposed to mean? Carl wondered.  I already feel all folded up inside. What’s their plan? To fold me up even more? And who would want to end up as a paper bird?  The sarcasm relieved his awkwardness a bit. But his respite was interrupted when a couple exited the counseling offices, politely holding the door open for him.

This annoyed Carl, but he wasn’t one to show it, so he nodded and walked in. The door closed behind him with a loud click (or was it a lock)? Inside was a typical waiting room with a receptionist off to the side. He stood quietly in front of her while she talked the phone, trying to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping.

She finished and looked up, “Good morning, may I help you?”

“I’m here to see, uh…. I think his name is Harold.”

“You must be Carl,” she replied.

“I guess so,” Carl mumbled, feeling foolish for answering that way. But she smiled and asked him to take a seat, promising that Harold would be there soon.

Carl chose the far corner. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost time. It was then that he realized he’d been so busy dreading this he hadn’t thought about what he’d say once he got there. He figured the counselor would ask something like, “What do you want to talk about?” That seemed an obvious question, but Carl didn’t have an obvious answer.

In fact, Carl wasn’t sure he had any answers for any forthcoming questions. He didn’t like being in a position where responses were expected from him, or rather, serious responses. Well, maybe I just won’t answer, the defiant part of Carl suggested. For a shining moment, this seemed a workable plan. But then the frugal part of him remembered that he’d prepaid. Oh, that’s why they do that. Sneaky.  

He felt trapped. But asked himself, Then why did I show up? I guess nobody absolutely made me. Then he chortled, Well, it’s not because I secretly want to talk!  Though this was a joke, it made him squirm. Carl wasn’t sure where that idea that you could secretly want to talk even came from. It was a thought he didn’t mean to think. The very possibility that some small part of him might want to talk made him feel silly and weak. But then, having sorta said it, he also felt sorta brave.

This was almost too much for Carl, having two conflicting emotions at the same time like that. In fact, Carl rarely felt even one emotion at any time. He could understand the silly/weak feeling, but he wasn’t expecting the brave one. He didn’t really want to talk, did he? Much less feel brave about it?

He shuddered. What’s happening?! I’m sitting here naming feelings! What sort of sorcery is this? He reached for a Good Housekeeping magazine.

Now Carl might be emotionally inarticulate, but it wasn’t lost on him that the counseling session hadn’t even started, yet here he was attempting to describe his internal situation. Hmmm, Carl thought, these ACME counselors are tricky. I’ve not been here 10 minutes and I’m using all these feeling words: Folded up, Dread, Unsure, Don’t Want/Want to talk, Sarcastic, Disconcerted. Weak, Brave. Historically, Carl had always dodged questions about what he wanted and how he felt. Those were squishy categories that felt unpredictable. If you let someone know what you want, they’ll make fun of you. He’d learned that in middle school. Better not to show your cards. Better to be mum.

But Carl had to admit, mum wasn’t working out so good for him either. He felt people didn’t take him seriously, even his wife. When he didn’t say what was on his mind or heart she seemed to assume he didn’t have a mind, and maybe not a heart either. That hurt. He resented being thought of that way, even though he helped construct the assumption. Sometimes the resentment would leak out in harsh words. He felt guilty about that but lacked the courage to follow up with an honest conversation. So, he stayed mum. And the cycle just kept repeating.  Is this what’s gotten me here?

Just then, Harold the counselor opened the door and invited Carl back to his office.  Carl unfolded himself from the chair and followed Harold down the hall and into the unknown.

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How Talking Helps: A Note from the Narrator

Omniscient POV narrator here. Let’s take a quick overview of the situation described above. At the beginning, Carl reluctantly walked into the counseling office with a critical question: Can talking help? He was dubious and resistant at first, yet just the mere expectation of talking began to open Carl up. He began to experience two important functions of talking: 1) talking helps you tell—or admit—the truth, and 2) talking helps you begin to face the truth.

Let’s look at how Carl began to “tell the truth”:

• Carl accidentally confessed to himself that maybe he kinda wanted to talk. The realization came in the form of sarcasm, but it came to him nonetheless. When we begin to describe our situation (like Carl asking himself how he ended up in a counseling office), we sometimes accidentally blurt out the truth. But if we don’t talk, we keep this from happening.
• Carl also began to roughly name his emotional situation. Specifically, he named his hurt when he wasn’t taken seriously. Then he named his resentment at this, which he sometimes expressed in harshness. These were uncomfortable to name, but once admitted, Carl has a chance (responsibility?) to make different choices, say, to talk about hurt or to apologize for harshness. But first, he must admit that these emotions exist. But when we don’t talk, we think we can keep this discomfort from happening.

Next, notice how Carl begin to “face the truth” as evidenced by a few brave choices:

1. First, he showed up. Not a small choice.
2. Carl starting asking himself hard questions: Why do I feel trapped if I made the choice to come? Do I secretly want to talk?  Yikes!  Could I be contributing somehow to this bad cycle? 
3. He “unfolded himself and walked down the hall into the unknown.”

Talking (or rather pre-talking) helped Carl to tell the truth and to face the truth. Carl was uncomfortable, half-admitting and half-committing, but it was a start.

Carl’s admissions and choices are small and fragile, and maybe they won’t continue. But they are a step in the right direction. Telling the truth and facing the truth is redemptive. Talking asks us to do both.

Talking invites us to be brave enough to face our fears and trust something (someone) larger than ourselves to keep us safe.

Roger Edwards joined The Barnabas Center in 1991. He works with both individuals and couples, helping people confess their need and embrace their available choices to lead healthier lives. Roger also teaches and leads discussion groups and retreats applying the Gospel to everyday life. He is a licensed clinical mental health counselor (LCMHC), holds a master’s degree in biblical counseling from Grace Theological Seminary in Indiana and a bachelor’s degree in engineering from the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. He is married to Jean; they have seven children and nine grandchildren.