It’s still early days in therapy for me, but last week the Lovely J (to borrow a phrase from a good friend) asked me something straight out of a Ben Stiller comedy.
So, tell me about your parents.
I almost cracked up. I understand that it’s a perfectly valid question to ask, and important in the ‘getting to know me’ part of it all, but there was a part of me that wanted to retort, “Tell me about yours!”
What did I do in the end? Naturally, I told her about my parents. About how my mother was a obsessive, controlling compulsive liar who loved me nonetheless (if in all the wrong ways), and my father was an emotionally distant power figure. Could it get more clichéd?
Sigh. It was kind of fun, if not terribly insightful. I wonder what she’ll conclude?
It’s always the first question they ask in you therapy. Parents hate it when it happens, Both therapy and questions. 🙂
It just feels so…freudian. Or jungian. Or whatever. My parents screwed me up, yadda yadda yadda. Sigh. It’s probably all true, too.