In a flash, I remember why I don't care for therapists and why I didn't want to do this in the first place. They judge. Even if they don't mean to, they do. They think they know best and, sorse yet, they can convince you it's true.

You cannot do any more for me," I said. "Since I have begun to depend on you I feel weaker than ever before. I have disappointed you by acting neurotically at the very moment when I should have shown the wisdom of your guidance. I don't want to ever come back to you. I feel that I must go and work and live and forget about all this.

If I know that I can do something that makes me happy, why do I allow myself to get so depressed?

I'm attracted to difficulty, I think. I'm attracted to guys who have truckloads of baggage. With them, it will never, ever be simple. And then they do or say one little magical thing and they own me.

Nobody ever asks for permission to ask you a question you want to hear. Nobody ever says, Can I ask you a question? Would you mind if I gave you a massage and warm brownies every day for a month?

As therapists our job is to see our clients, even at those times when we would rather look away. It is though our mutual fierce vision that clients discover choice and meaning.