What if I want to know about my therapist?

Once, during a job interview, the interviewer asked to describe my boundaries with clients. A pretty vague question, right? Like, it depends! But seeing as how I was in an interview for a job I wanted (and eventually got, thank you very much), I played along and responded: I answer the questions my clients ask me (within reason).

Because here is the thing: when you are sitting across from me in that first session, I want to know some pretty deep stuff right off the bat. For instance, do you drink alcohol? Use drugs? Are you religious? Have you ever tried to hurt yourself or someone else? Not exactly cocktail party conversation. So if a client has a question for me (like how old am I or how many kids do I have, etc.), I’m more than willing to answer.

Some things about me are already clear: I wear a wedding ring, for instance. I’m fairly young. I’m a woman. I’m white. For some therapists, this is about as much information as clients are allowed to know. There are different schools of thought and none of them are wrong; in some ways, it’s a personal preference. There are good reasons for a therapist to not spend a lot of time talking about herself. For one thing, that’s not why you’re paying me; we’re here to talk about you, my friend. For another, some clients use this tactic to deflect and avoid the stuff they need to talk about. But I think, especially in the rapport building phase of therapy, it’s normal for a client to wonder, who is this person I’m telling all my secrets to?

So ask away! If I don’t want to answer, I won’t. Part of this process is developing a relationship and setting boundaries within it. I’m happy to tell you that I have two kids and a little dog and a husband. I’m happy to tell you that I’m in therapy myself, and that it helps me be a better therapist for you. I’m happy too, to talk about why you want to know about me instead of telling me about you. Like I said last time, almost nothing is off limits. This is a road we walk together. So tell me, what do you want to know?

How much time is left?/Questions I don't want to answer

Photo by Uroš Jovičić on Unsplash

Several times a week, a patient or family member asks me this question that immediately stresses me out: “How much time do you think is left?”

The short answer is, I don’t know. The longer answer is still I don’t know but I can add some variables. There are signs that tell us the body is shutting down: changes in breathing, mottling of the hands and feet, a fever, etc. But there’s no exact science to determine how long the dying process can go on. I tell people that I’m wrong as often as I’m right. Still, people want to know.

Usually I answer that question with a question of my own: what would you do differently if you knew how much time was left? Generally, the answer is nothing. Occasionally there are some practical concerns (taking time off work, for instance). But on the whole, this is a question borne of anxiety: what should I say? What should I be doing? There are no magic answers to these questions.

That being said, I did read once that there are only four things you need to say when someone is dying: I’m sorry, I forgive you, I love you, and thank you. Sometimes I tell my families this. I remind them that even if their loved one isn’t answering, they can hear; hearing is the last sense to leave us. But mostly, when faced with this question, I reinforce that everyone is doing everything right, and how much time doesn’t really matter.

This makes me think about all the questions we get asked as social workers that we really don’t want to answer or that we simply can’t answer. Early on in my practice, I was not great at fielding these questions. I so wanted to have an answer to everything that I sometimes forgot to pause and consider my words before I spoke. Sometimes I would answer before I really knew what I was saying because I was so anxious to fill the silence, to reassure the patient or the family, to be the most knowledgeable person in the room. I quickly learned the power and importance of taking a breath before speaking. Sometimes this makes family members nervous and they say, “You can say it, it’s ok, what are you thinking?” Then I have to explain that I’m not trying to hide anything, I just want to give them a thoughtful answer.

I hate not being an expert at something. It’s a flaw of mine. But one thing this job has taught me is that you don’t need an answer to every question. I often consider why I chose this work. Ultimately, I became a social worker to fix problems. But that’s not my role. My role is to guide people on the path and point out the landmarks along the way. I don’t have to have all the answers. Which is a relief, because some questions, like how much time is left, aren’t answerable. Once I got comfortable with that, I stopped trying to be the most knowledgeable person in the room and worked on being the calmest. What our patients and clients really need is someone to be still and hear them. Which honestly, may be what we all need: not an answer, but someone to sit with us and witness and tell us that we are doing the right thing.