Tales from the Couch: A Group Experience
This tale comes from an anonymous Charlotte-native whose group therapy experience took her by storm.
“One day my friend and I were people watching at our favorite coffee spot in Charlotte. I was physically there with her, but my mind was elsewhere. She could tell. These weekly “coffee chats” she insisted we have always felt one sided. I would dump my sorrows and she would respond with her most empathic advice. I sipped slowly, barely noticing that the barista gave us each other’s drink. I drank her matcha and she stared at my cappuccino, extra foam. I looked at her confused when she switched mugs with me, then realized why she traded drinks. In that moment I think it hit her. She finally said what I had been dreading to hear.
“You need help.”
I was hanging on by a thread, and she knew that without these meetups. I would completely unravel. But the idea of talking to a complete stranger was, I’ll just be honest, weird. And paying them? Yeah, okay. I snapped out of it and began to spit out every excuse for why I couldn’t start counseling.
With lots of pushback on my end and weeks of half-heartedly “researching” therapists, I settled on a group. This was a way to “ease myself into it” I told her. Really, I figured I would attend and not participate. Saying I was going would at least ease her worries about me.
My plan failed miserably, and not because of some moving moment of surrender to the process. Turns out people are kinda shy and no one would speak up that first group. I hate awkward silences so I spoke. The therapist didn’t get too personal. He asked other members for feedback. Some gave empathetic nods, others hinted at their ability to relate.
In those first couple weeks I was generally the first to share, but slowly but surely other people got the balls to take the lead. I thought “okay cool, I can go to the original plan now and shut the f*ck up.” Well, that didn’t happen. (You could have probably guessed that).
Let me paint the picture for you. It wasn’t this Kumbaya atmosphere where we left feeling like we reached our highest self. We didn’t attain this cliché intrinsic motivation that all the cringiest movies depict. We got hostile, angry, b*tchy, sad, scared, horrified, and triggered. For a time it felt like the 5th circle of hell. We found ourselves at odds with each other, despite the elephant in the room. That unspeakable reason we were all here, in this room, together…
Our disgust and rage metamorphosed into…well, therapy! We leaned on each other for borrowed strength. We helped each other confront our inner-anguish. We got through the group with metaphorical blood, sweat, and real tears. Here’s why:
By the time the words started to flow, we found ourselves angry with each other because each person might as well have been a human-shaped mirror. We were in the presence of our demons, staring right at them in the physical form of someone else. They were walking reminders of the things we worked so hard to forget.
As we peeled back the layers, we started to see each other as a source of support instead of a walking trigger. Once that wall shattered, things happened.
We realized that everyone in this circle understood what it was like. We didn’t have to explain ourselves or be ready for unintentional judgment (for once). An unspoken bond formed before we even recognized what was happening, and before I could dart out of there.
This group experience helped me a lot. So if I can encourage anyone, just know that individual therapy isn’t the only option. I found help in the presence of strangers who have walked a similar path.”
