The helplessness
The first one to say it was my general practitioner, a young, blonde woman with hair in a ponytail, oval glasses, and eyebrows that are always raised in an inquisitive facial expression: “I don’t know what to do at this point.”
The next was my therapist, in a highly uncharacteristic Columbo moment, only that it was me heading towards the door, not him; I’m paraphrasing: “You know… I’m realizing that I’m really struggling at the moment. I notice that I would like to help you, I would like to help you so much, but I’m finding it very difficult to know how, it’s such a terrible situation you’re in, and I’m finding myself feeling helpless.” I feel so seen and touched, and just get a “thank you for saying that” out, he shakes my hand and I leave his practice.
He’s been this degree of open and human with me only a few times in the last five years. Every instance was special, but this will be one that I still think of every couple of days. The scene comes up again a few weeks later, I tell him how incredibly valuable it was for me to hear him say that, and how long a way it went to helping me feel less alone.