The Well Meaning Therapist

Image credit: Oliver Kepka via Pixabay

​Once upon a time, I sought the input from a psychologist. I’m sure she meant well.
 
She asked me, “What is your favorite color?”
“I have many favorite colors.” 

“But which is your favorite?”
“It’s difficult to choose! I only know I don’t like orange, does that answer your question?”

She showed visible frustration as she asked the next question, “What is your favorite flower?”

“I like all flowers.” 

“But you must have a favorite!”
“But I don’t.”

This went on for half the appointment. 

The other half was spent belittling me with, “No wonder you don’t know who you are! You cannot even tell me what you like!”

I’ve had over thirty years to think about her admonitions. Thirty (more) years of feeling not good enough.

Going through seven years of the kind of menopausal hell that thankfully only a small percentage of women suffer through, brought me back to the question of my early adulthood, “Who am I?”

Had she asked me what do I like about how people relate and behave, I could have given her an earful.
“I like soft spoken, rational, logical, gentle, warm, kind, considerate …
“I like open-mindedness and caring …
“I like honesty and integrity …
“I like personal freedom …
“I like it whenever anyone is being their best, whatever best looks like for them.”

I still like all flowers. I like all colors, now, even orange. 
I like cities and the country. 
I like woods and mountains and the sea.
I like whatever Nature has to offer, except high winds. 
I like rainy days and stormy nights.