Therapists and Prostitutes

I recently began seeing a therapist again for a little fine-tuning.  It had been almost a decade since I last sought mental health services, and I’ve found over the past 3 years or so that I’ve relapsed into a lot of old, bad mental habits that have started interfering with my life. 

At first, I felt guilty for going to a therapist again, telling myself I should be able to snap out of this depression and anxiety on my own.  As a result, I’ve spent a lot of time over the past month or so thinking about what’s special about the therapeutic relationship.  And I think I’ve finally figured it out.

Therapists are basically just prostitutes for our minds. 

Michael Bader, in an article in 2008, explains the psychological appeal of prostitutes:

“….the appeal lies in the fact that, after payment is made, the woman is experienced as completely devoted to the man -- to his pleasure, his satisfaction, his care, his happiness. The man doesn't have to please a prostitute, doesn't have to make her happy, doesn't have to worry about her emotional needs or demands. He can give or take without the burden of reciprocity. He can be entirely selfish. He can be especially aggressive or especially passive, and not only is the woman not upset, she acts aroused. He is not responsible for her in any way. She is entirely focused on him. He is the center of the world.”

Aside from the gendered male/female description, this pretty much sums up what I think is beneficial about seeing a therapist.  In my personal and professional life, I often take care of others, and I’m not particularly good at letting other people take care of my needs and I have a tendency to neglect my own needs.  When I see my therapist, though, our session is completely about me, and I’m comfortable with that because I’m paying for a service.  I don’t have to worry about reciprocity, or living up to any sort of image.  I don’t have to worry about my therapist’s feelings or what kind of impression I make.  I can disclose the deepest, vilest, most pathetic parts of myself, and simply leave my co-pay at the door as I exit. 

And, like with prostitutes, I usually leave the session crying or exhausted.