One Shots

Therapy Session

"Sometimes, I wonder why my parents had me."

"Would you care to elaborate on that?"

I let out a sigh. "It's just, I was practically raised by a nanny. They were barely around—always working. Even when they weren't working, they just pawned me off to the nanny a lot of times."

"And how was your nanny?"

"She was great. She always took care of me, and it really felt like she genuinely cared about me and my well-being. For a few years, I almost wanted to call her mom because she felt so much more like one than my actual mother."

"Have you ever communicated that with your mom?"

"No." I fidgeted in my seat a little. "I don't think I have."

"Do you feel any resentment toward your mom or dad?"

I stayed silent for a moment, thinking the question over. "Yes," I answered quietly. "I think I do, more so toward my mom."

"And why is that? Why your mom more than your dad?"

"Well, both of them for just not being around. But, it bothers me more with my mom because, well, she has an Instagram account. And most of her posts involving me, especially from when I was younger, aren't even her pictures. Most of them were taken by my nanny for my mom, which I don't think is necessarily a problem. What bothers me is that she posted them like they were hers when she wasn't even there in the first place."

"So you don't like that she shows you off to her friends when she wasn't even present."

"Right. It's just- what gives her the right to act like she witnessed me growing up? Sometimes, I think that she had me just as a way to show off to her friends. Or that she had me just because it was "the next step" she was supposed to take in her life."

"I can understand why you would feel that way. But, you won't know-"

"Unless I communicate with her," I finished in a flat voice, knowing where that sentence was headed. My therapist is big on communication, which I suppose makes sense, considering her whole job is to communicate with her patients to sort out their issues. But with how often the sessions lead to that phrase makes it feel like she gets some sort of commission every time she says it.

She smiled a little. "Exactly. Can you do that sometime between now and your next session?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, not exactly excited by the assignment. "I guess I can."

"Good. We'll talk about it then. Would you like to speak anymore about your nanny? Is she still around?"

"No, she stopped babysitting full time when I was about eleven or twelve. She would watch me on occasion for a few hours if my parents were going out for a night or something, but that wasn't often."

"And how did you feel when she stopped watching you all the time?"

"I was pretty devastated," I admitted grudgingly. "She was the one who raised me, and then she wanted to stop because she wanted to start her own family with her husband."

She nodded her head, presumably in understanding. "She told you that?"

"Yeah, she was pretty upfront about it. She wasn't really one to sugarcoat things."

"And how did it make you feel?" The most cliched therapy words came out.

"I was upset. She always watched me, and I thought we were close. She cared about me and for me, and I saw her as a second mother basically. It hurt that I wasn't enough for her."

"Do you understand the difference between watching someone else's kid and having your own?" She asked gently. It should've sounded condescending, but I knew she really wanted me to think about it.

"I do now. But at the time, I was heartbroken. I cried a lot, and I wasn't listening to my mom. I knew, even then, that it wasn't her fault, but I blamed her."

"Why did you blame her when you knew it wasn't her fault?"

"It was easier." I shrugged minutely. "She was never there, and I couldn't be mad at my nanny—I liked her too much. So, my mom became the scapegoat I guess."

"Do you regret blaming your mom for that?"

"A little." I looked down at my hands in my lap. "But I also wanted her to feel bad for not being there for me, so I guess that was my way of doing that. I didn't know how to tell her that, so I found something that I could give her trouble for...it wasn't my best move."

"It's good that you realize that."

I nodded, not sure how to verbally respond. I glanced at the clock to see how much time was left. Suddenly, I felt drained. But that wasn't exactly a surprise. Therapy has a way of tiring me out, even when it doesn't end in tears.

"Okay," she must have noticed me checking the time and saw that there were less than five minutes left. "I'll let you go a few minutes early today unless you have any last comments."

"Nothing I can think of. Thank you."

"Of course. I'll see you next week. Don't forget to talk to your mom."

"I will. See you next week." I got up, grabbed my bag, and left the room.