Jesse and Chester sit on the couch across from me, turned to face each other, in the middle of an argument.

“Sweet! What did mine say?” asks Jesse.

“Dude! What about mine?” replies Chester.

“Sweet! What did mine say?” asks Jesse.

“Dude! What about mine?” replies Chester.

“Sweet! What did mine say?” asks Jesse.

“Dude! What about mine?” replies Chester.

“Sweet! What did mine say?” asks Jesse.

“Dude! What about mine?” replies Chester.

“Sweet! What did mine say?” asks Jesse.

“Dude! What about mine?” replies Chester.

I finally have to break up the conversation. “Guys, listen.” I point to Jesse. “Your tattoo said ‘Dude.’” Then I point to Chester. “Your tattoo said ‘Sweet.’ Got it?”

Jesse and Chester look confused, then turn back to each other, and finally nod as they get it.

“Dude!” says Jesse.

“Sweet!” says Chester.

They share a childish giggle.

I attempt to get the session back on track. “Let’s get back to the topic at hand. The reason for you dudes coming here. This concern about your use of cannabis.”

“Canna-who?” Chester looks confused.

“He means shibby, dude,” says Jesse.

“How’d you come up with that word, shibby?” I ask.

“Oh, it was just a silly word we made up in high school to refer to marijuana so nobody would know what we were talking about,” says Jesse.

“But it turns out everyone knew what we were talking about anyways,” says Chester. “I don’t know how they cracked the code. But we liked the word, and it stuck.”

“I can see that,” I say. “It does sound friendlier than cannabis. And you should feel free to continue to use that word, but I will probably still refer to it as cannabis.”

“Canna-who?” Chester looks confused.

“He means shibby, dude,” says Jesse.

“Tell me about your relationship with cannabis. Or, shibby.”

“Our relationship?” Jesse asks, then considers this. “Well, I’d say we’re very close. Like, we’re married.”

“We met in middle school, and we instantly fell in love,” Chester continues. “It became our thing. Like, we always wanted to be shibbied. All day, all night, all the time.”

“And it was pretty sweet back then, in high school,” says Jesse. “We got okay grades, we made it through and graduated, but the whole time we were using shibby more and more.”

“And after graduation, we started using it a lot more and more,” admits Chester. “Like, from the moment we woke up to the moment we fell asleep. We had some jobs on and off, and thought about going to college, but we were too busy having fun. Shibby, right?”

“But then recently things came to a head with this crazy night we had, where we got so shibbied the night before that the next morning we couldn’t remember where we parked our car. And that was scary,” says Jesse.

“Yeah. Along with the aliens and the continuum transfunctioner and the whole saving the universe thing,” says Chester. “But not being able to remember where we parked the car, that’s what really motivated us to reach out to you.”

“Even though we ended up finding the car. Sorry, spoiler alert.”

“It’s okay, I wrote the movie,” I say. “Okay, let’s do this. I’ll ask you some questions intended to measure the intensity of your cannabis use, so we can get a better idea about your usage. Sound good?”

The dudes nod in agreement.

“Okay,” I continue. “First question: Have you ever found yourself using more cannabis during a session than intended?”

The dudes answer at the same time: “Yes.”

“Have you ever tried to cut back on your cannabis use but not been able to?”

“Yes.”

“Has your use of cannabis ever created conflict in your relationships?”

“Yes.”

“Have there been times when you skipped social or work engagements because—“

Yes.”

“Have you ever found yourself in a situation where—“

“Yes.”

“Have you ever—“

“Yes.”

I stop writing their answers down. “Okay, I think that’s—”

“Yes.”

“Actually, the assessment is over—“

“Yes.”

“No, that’s it—”

“Yes.”

“We’re done!” I say a bit too loudly, trying not to get frustrated with the dudes.

“How’d we do?” asks Chester.

“Let’s just say you tested positive for shibby.”

“Sweet! Wait, is that good?” asks Jesse.

“Not exactly,” I say. “It seems to me that you guys use cannabis to the point of abuse, where it’s affecting your lives in a negative way. And it’s taken awhile, but you’ve finally gotten to the point where you’d like to see that change. Is that accurate?”

“Absolutely. But, we don’t want to just quit,” says Jesse. “Shibby is a part of our lives. It’s a part of us.”

“Yeah, we are one with the shibby, and the shibby is one with us,” says Chester. “We couldn’t imagine never using shibby again.”

“But the idea of quitting is just as scary as the idea of continuing with how things are now,” says Jesse, as if realizing this for the first time. “It’s like, a conundrum.”

“I don’t know,” counters Chester. “To me, it’s more like a confusing and difficult problem or question.”

I sit with the dudes as they consider this, then continue. “Why don’t you tell me what you would imagine the perfect outcome to be. Like, if you could choose exactly how you’d like your relationship with cannabis to be in the future, what would that look like?”

The dudes sit back and think for a moment, then Jesse shares his thoughts.

“I think about us going to college. Getting degrees. Becoming professionals. Businessmen. Getting jobs, investing in the stock market, opening retirement accounts, becoming reliable partners for our girlfriends, maybe even starting families.”

Chester chimes in. “And being able to find our car.”

“Yeah, that would be sweet.”

“And where does cannabis fit in your lives in this scenario?”

“It’s still there,” says Chester. “But it’s not a problem. Like, we might use it on the weekends. Or at a concert. Or if we’re hanging out with large breasted aliens who want to give us oral pleasure. But definitely not before work. And definitely not before our weddings.”

“Yeah. Dude, where’s my wedding ring? Hey, that could be the sequel!” says Jesse, then turns to me. “Why wasn’t there ever a sequel?”

“It’s a long story. Right now, let’s concentrate on what we’re doing here,” I say. “Tell me more about how your cannabis use affects your relationship with your girlfriends.”

The dudes both shake their heads unhappily. “It’s not good dude,” says Jesse. “It seems like we’re always trying to prove that we’re good boyfriends, but it’s hard because we’re always shibbied, and it’s the way we act and the things we do when we’re shibbied that are the things that our girlfriend don’t like about us.”

“Yeah. We forget things. We’re inconsiderate. And we forget things. And we’re inconsiderate,” says Chester.

“We’re also forgetful and inconsistent,” adds Jesse. “Clearly we would be better boyfriends if it wasn’t for all the shibby.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “The abuse of any substance or activity can create a barrier to intimacy that, no matter how hard you work to break down, will always be there as long as the abuse is there.”

“So that’s another reason to quit,” says Jesse.

“Quit? Like, forever? I don’t know, dude. That’s scary!” says Chester, who then turns to me. “Do we have to quit?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that you don’t have to decide now. The important thing now, right here, is that you can acknowledge that your use of cannabis is affecting your lives in a negative way, and you want to change that. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, at least right now. You can take it one day at a time. Try not use cannabis for a day. See how it feels. It’ll probably be a struggle, and you’ll probably end up using cannabis again. And then you’ll try stopping again. It will be a cycle, a process, and it will probably last a long time.”

“That sounds like a cycle that’s probably going to last for a long time,” says Jesse mournfully.

“I agree, but starting that cycle will lead to progress along the path from where you are now to where you want to be,” I say. “I mean, this ideal life you just described for yourself sounds pretty sweet. Where your use of cannabis is not abuse, where it has less power over you. Where it takes up less of your mental energy, to the point where you don’t even think about it. And you’re able to dedicate yourselves to your relationships and your careers in a way that’s positive and productive, and not in conflict with your relationship with cannabis.”

“Canna-who?” asks Chester.

“Shibby,” I say, as I sneak a look at the clock. “Now, we’re just about out of time for today. I’ll see you guys next week, same time?”

“Yes, for sure. Should we try not to partake of any shibby until then?”

“That’s up to you. If it feels good, try not to. And if you can’t, track how you feel when you do use shibby, and we can talk about that.”

I cross over and open the door for the guys as they exit my office. “Do you remember where you parked?” I ask them.

“Oh, we took a Waymo,” says Jesse. “It drives itself, dude!”

“Shotgun!” yells Chester, as the dudes rush out.

I close the door behind them, then sit down to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Clients presented with engaged affects, eager to discuss their relationship with cannabis and goals for changing it. Clients described a long-time relationship with cannabis, and how its use is ingrained in their everyday lives and personalities. However, Clients seem motivated to change that, and describe a future where their career goals and relationships become their focus without the distraction of cannabis use. Clients are resistant to completely eliminating cannabis from their lives, and Therapist supported them in the knowledge that it will not happen all at once, but with effort and intention they will be able to live the lives and have the relationships with their partners and with cannabis that they want.

Diagnosis:

F12.20: Cannabis Dependence, Uncomplicated

F44.0: Dissociative Amnesia

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

Don Draper sits on the couch across from me, wearing a suit and tie, shoes shined, hair slick, holding a fedora on his lap.

“So that’s all there is to it? We just talk?” Don seems confused.

“Pretty much,” I reply. “I know it sounds simple, but it’s what we talk about that can get complicated.”

“Sounds about right.” He sighs with resignation, then fishes a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket. “Well, let’s get it over with.”

He’s about to light a cigarette when I speak up. “Sorry, but there’s no smoking in here,” I say, trying to sound sympathetic.

“Really? Okay,” Don says, surprised, as he puts away the cigarettes.

“In your intake paperwork, you indicated that your employer has mandated that you must attend therapy as a condition for keeping your job. Is that accurate?”

“Somewhat. This is a condition for me to keep my ownership stake in the agency. It’s an advertising agency, and I’m a partner. A cofounder, to be more specific. But yes, your point is taken, which is that I’m not here voluntarily. And I’m sure you hear this a lot, but I don’t really see why I need to be here at all.”

“Well, according to your fellow partners, there are concerns about your (I read from my notes) ‘heavy drinking and dark moods.’”

“Heavy drinking, my ass,” Don scoffs. “One man’s heavy drinking is another man’s breakfast. And it’s not like I’m the only one with a bar cart in his office. My colleague Roger’s main source of hydration are the few times he puts ice in his vodka.”

“So, the use of alcohol is tolerated in the office?”

“Tolerated? It’s expected. And yes, I’ve seen plenty of colleagues be unable to handle their liquor, and have it affect their job performance negatively, but that’s not me. I’ve always been able to handle my liquor.”

“Until now?”

Don glares back at me. “Right. Until now.”

“Would you say that your drinking has become a problem?”

“A problem? I wouldn’t use that word.”

“I can appreciate that. There are plenty of words we can use to describe things. Let me ask you a few questions that might help us assess your alcohol use. How many drinks do you have in a typical day?”

“Well let’s see…” Don thinks to himself for a moment, counting in his head. “Five? Six? Unless I have a business dinner. Or lunch.”

I nod, writing this down in my notes. “Do you ever drink more than you originally intend to?”

“That seems to be the pattern.”

“Do you spend a significant amount of time recovering from your drinking?”

“I have been known to sneak in a couch nap every now and then.”

“Have you ever tried to cut back on your drinking but found yourself unable to?”

“Okay, so it’s a problem,” says Don, exasperated. “But it’s not just my problem. Everyone I know drinks. Everyone I work with drinks. It comes with the territory. It’s what kicks off every business meeting, every work dinner, it’s the first martini with lunch, all the way to the last call with an important client at the end of the night.”

“It sounds like there’s a big drinking culture in your workplace.”

“Absolutely. You’re expected to drink. It’s a given. And the guys who give up booze and go dry, they’re looked down on. They don’t get invited to the dinners where relationships are formed, where the real deals are consummated. Drinking and work go hand in hand.”

“I see. So, alcohol had already been a part of your life, but recently it’s gotten to be perhaps too big a part,” I say. “And it sounds like there’s some irony in the fact that your drinking goes hand in hand with your work, and you’ve been able to perform at a high level in the past while drinking, but that your current level of alcohol use has negatively affected your job performance.”

“Yes, quite the irony.”

Don fishes out a cigarette again, flicks open his Zippo and is about to light it, then catches my eye and realizes what he’s doing.

“Sorry. Should we discuss my smoking habit?”

“Maybe in a future session. So, how exactly did the drinking negatively affect your job performance?”

Don thinks about this. “It didn’t really. It made me feel looser creatively, more adept at pivoting during a pitch. It was a way to bond with clients. It certainly took the edge off the stresses of work. And home.”

“Okay, but the negatives?”

Don thinks about this for a long moment.

“It made me tell the truth.”

“About what?”

“About myself.”

“What is the truth?”

Don shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“What is the truth? Well Doc, I didn’t have the greatest childhood. Long story short, I grew up in a whorehouse, and pretty early on I realized I wanted out. So I spent the early years of my life creating my own story. A new, better story. I pulled a real Horatio Alger, pulling myself up by my bootstraps, and now I live in the Big Apple, working with million dollar corporations and getting paid handsomely to sell their products to the teeming masses.”

“That sounds pretty good,” I observe.

“It does. And it is. But recently there was a meeting at work where I… I shared some details of my childhood that… Let’s just say they didn’t land well.”

“Tell me a little more about your childhood.”

Don doesn’t respond right away. He sits with the thoughts that this question brings up. It feels like a sensitive subject.

After a long moment Don shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. It wasn’t great.”

I wait silently for him to continue, but Don looks at me expectantly.

“If you’re waiting for me to go into more detail about my traumatic childhood I hate to disappoint you, but I’d rather not.”

“Okay, I get that. Of course, it’s been my experience that in therapy, it’s often the things we’d rather not discuss that are the most important things to discuss.”

“Very wise of you, but I’m going to pass. In fact, I never thought I’d say this, but let’s try and focus on my drinking.”

“Okay. So, based on your experience at work, and what you’ve described regarding your history of alcohol use, the drinking has become a problem.”

“I don’t know, who’s to say? I mean, I’ll take a few weeks off, sober up, get to bed earlier, drink more milk, and then eventually go back to work and carry on from there.”

“And the drinking?”

“I suspect the drinking will continue. Only under control.”

“Meaning, it’s now out of control?”

“Well, I’m sitting here talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Don, do you want to quit drinking?”

Don stops and thinks for a long moment, then sighs. “I don’t want to quit drinking. I just want to get back to work. It defines me. Without it, I’m scared of what I’ll be. Or not be.”

“Which, the drinking or work?”

Don considers this for a moment, then: “Both.”

“Do you think when you eventually do go back to work, you’ll be able to perform at the level your partners expect you to?” I ask.

“I do. This time off has actually been good for me. I’ve been able to focus on myself. Spend more time with my wife. See my kids more. It’s amazing how much easier it is to cut back on your drinking when you don’t have people coming into your office every half hour asking if you want a drink.”

Don takes a cigarette out of the pack and looks at it.

“I’m just going to hold this, if you don’t mind.”

“Have you been smoking long?”

Don laughs. “As long as I can remember. I smoke more than I drink. But smoking’s the least of my problems.”

“And what exactly are your problems?”

Don seems annoyed. “You and your probing questions.”

I shrug. “Just doing my job.”

He sits back and thinks. “What are my problems, let’s see. The ad agency I started is threatening to kick me out. My kids hate me. Well, just my daughter, really. And my wife is great, but…”

Don clams up, and I sit in silence as this unfinished sentence hangs in the air, until he feels the need to change the subject.

“Look, I’ve been drinking just as much as I did when I first started in this business and nobody complained about it then. It’s just what you do. It’s just the way it is.”

We sit in silence for another long moment. This time I break it.

“You said a moment ago that your wife is great, but…”

I wait for him to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t.

“But what?” Don asks.

“That’s what I’m curious about. The what.”

He thinks for a long moment, confronting something he’d rather not confront.

“I do things that undermine our relationship.”

“Is this related to your drinking?”

“Not exactly. But it certainly doesn’t help. Anything that seems like a remote possibility sober can seem like a grand slam after three fingers of the brown stuff.”

“Can you tell me about some of these ideas?”

Don sits for a long moment, thinking deeply, assessing the situation.

“I’ve been unfaithful. Multiple times. With multiple women. In fact, I can’t remember ever having a relationship where I was faithful. I don’t know why. It just seems to happen.”

Don stares off into the distance wistfully as he continues. “I was unfaithful in my marriage. My first one. And my second one. The current one, I mean. I just find myself attracted to other women. I crave their attention. And it doesn’t matter how attractive my wife is. I mean, Megan is a television actress, for Pete’s sake. She’s gorgeous. She’s the kind of woman men fall over each other for just to light her cigarette. And yet I find myself seeking out others.”

Don sits with what he’s just said, holding the unlit cigarette, examining it but clearly not thinking about it, focusing on something else, something farther away.

“I have a dark history, Doc. My childhood, growing up, the war…”

“Which war?”

“I was in Korea. But I don’t want to get into it, that’s a whole other ball of wax.”

“Might any of that be related to your drinking?”

“Most likely, but like I said, I don’t want to get into that.”

“I can appreciate that, but it’s often the case—“

“I know, whatever I say I don’t want to get into is obviously what I should be getting into. But remember, I’m not here voluntarily, this is a work requirement, and I just want to do the minimum of whatever I have to do here with you in order to get back to work.”

“Fair enough.”

A long silence. This time I break it. “What drew you to work in advertising?”

“I’ve always been good at selling things. At first it was cars, fur coats, whatever needed selling. But with advertising, I’m not really selling things. I’m selling ideas. Of course, selling ideas leads to people buying things. And I’m good at it. I’m really good at it.”

“What makes you so good at it?” I ask.

Don cocks his head as he thinks about how to explain this.

“I understand what people want. Not what brand of cigarettes they prefer, or which fast food restaurant has the best burger, or which airline has the prettiest stewardesses. It’s something more mysterious than that. It’s about the longing we each have deep inside us, that thing we feel is lacking in our lives. We each have a hole in ourselves that we spend our lives trying to fill. And I sell shovels.”

“That’s interesting. What if you had to create an ad for yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if there was an ad that described the current state of your life, what would it look like?”

Don chuckles softly.

“It’s funny that you ask that. It’s basically what got me fired. Or, suspended, I should say. I was pitching an ad for Hershey’s. Wholesome, family, love, safety. It’s my job to evoke these feelings in a consumer and then have them associate those feelings with the product. But what I pitched was too sad. Too revealing. I shared a memory and a feeling that were very real, but not wholesome or palatable. And I knew while I was doing it it was wrong, but… I felt compelled to do it. It was wrong, but in another way, it felt right.”

Don sniffles, having gotten emotional during this speech. I slide the box of Kleenex on the table towards him, but he takes out his own handkerchief and dabs at a nascent tear.

“You know, you were referred to me to discuss your drinking, and we discussed that, and then moved into a discussion of your marital struggles, your infidelity, but it strikes me that whatever you’re feeling right now might be the true source of the issues that led you here.”

“I was afraid you were going to say something like that.” With that, Don composes himself and stands up. “Are we done here?”

“Actually, no, we have a few minutes left.”

“Well, sorry to cut things short, but I’ve got to catch the train back to the city. Do I have to come back?”

“Professionally speaking, I think there’s more emotional material here that would be worth examining. But in relation to your therapy mandate, I think that would be a more appropriate question for your partners. Or your lawyer.”

“Great, thanks. I’ll have my girl call yours.”

Don grabs his hat and overcoat as I cross over to open the door for him. I hear his Zippo flick and spark as he lights a cigarette on his way out.

I close the door behind him, then sit down to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Client presented with a confident affect, discussing his relationship with alcohol and the pervasiveness of alcohol use in the advertising industry. Client is mandated to attend therapy by terms of his agreement with partners at his ad agency, which he was suspended from as a result of behavior resulting from alcohol use. Client discussed his drinking habits, how they fit into his work experience, a childhood he described as being traumatic, his marital struggles (divorce, infidelity), and towards end of session, revealed that the reason for his suspension was linked to revelations about his traumatic childhood in front of agency clients, which Client declined to go into detail about. Client left session early, and Therapist is unsure whether treatment will continue.

Diagnosis:

F10.20: Alcohol Use Disorder, Moderate

Z63.0: Relationship Distress with Spouse or Partner

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

I’m sitting in my chair, ten minutes past the hour, wondering if my new client is going to show up, when suddenly the office door opens and Kendall Roy enters, wearing an expensive suit and sunglasses, which he removes and hands to a young woman trailing him, who carries two work bags and several phones.

Kendall is in mid-conversion. “Get Stewy oiled up, hint to Naomi that there’ll be a reach-out slash reach-around in the near-term short-term, and lock up Ichabod Crane before he pees his pants.”

The woman types quickly on one of the phones. “Got it. And Ichabod Crane is…”

“Greg the Egg. Come on Jess, I pay you to keep up with the nicknames.”

Kendall stops and acknowledges me. “You must be Phil.”

“That’s me,” I say. We shake hands, then Kendall checks his watch.

“I’m New York late, but I’m LA on time,” he says as he sits down on the couch across from me. “So, let’s do this! Let’s tie up my superego and beat it into submission, yeah?”

I’m about to respond when Jess breaks in, reading off one of the phones. “They’re saying 2pm Eastern, so we’ll have a one hour exclusive window with favored nations to shape the narrative before we go wide.”

“Love it. And I honesty don’t care which jet it is, but make sure it’s the big one. Now go sit in the corner while I get mind fucked.”

Kendall turns back to me. “Sorry, here I am walking into your office and already fucking shit up. But I’m here, ready to dive into the depths of my inner self.”

“I’m glad to see your enthusiasm, but traditionally the only people in the room during therapy are the therapist and the client,” I say, referring to Jess.

“Oh, don’t worry about her, she signed an iron-clad NDA. I actually own naming rights to her first born.”

Jess looks up from her phone, concerned. “What?”

“I’m afraid this is a sticking point for me,” I admit.

Kendall looks confused. “Okay, but, certainly you can make an exception here? I mean, I’m juggling billion dollar balls in an orgy of multi-tasking. I’ll double your fee. Triple it. Come on, what’s your number?”

I think for a moment, then: “Ten million dollars worth of deep in the money call options in Waystar Royco.”

Kendall thinks for a moment before erupting in laughter. Then he turns to Jess. “You heard the man, get the fuck out.”

Jess gathers her things, and reminds Kendall as she crosses out: “Just keep in mind we have a hard out, the chopper’s holding, and if we don’t—“

“Save it for future me, Jess,” says Kendall, waving her away.

Jess exits. I sit for a moment, appreciating the silence. Kendall pats his legs, nervous energy. “Alright, that’s better,” he says. “Always nice to have few minutes to focus completely on myself. Mental health is so very important nowadays. So. What do we do?”

“I saw in your intake paperwork that you have some previous therapy experience?” I ask.

“Yeah, but that was just a PR stunt with my dad and the sibs, trying to calm the market, we didn’t really get any emotional legwork done. That’s why I reached out to you. ‘Dude, Where’s My Car-tharsis?’ That’s right, I read your book. Well, I had Jess read it. She thought it was cute.”

I return the focus to Kendall. “And the primary reason for seeking therapy is your relationship with your father?”

“That’s right. Things are complicated between us in the immediate timeline, and there’s an even more complicated backstory. Like with most fathers and sons, especially ones whose companies have a forty percent share of the cable media market.”

Kendall becomes more serious as he talks about this topic. “There’s a classic love / hate thing happening here. I’m the first born son, I’m supposed to take over the family business, which is something the old man has always led me to believe would happen, but now I’m starting to think he’s been cock-teasing me this whole time, and he’ll never anoint me. Not while he’s alive, at least. And he’ll probably find a way to fuck me over from the grave.”

I take all this in, trying to decide where to explore. “Has your relationship always been so… antagonistic?”

“It feels like it. I mean, he was always prepping me to be his successor, so there was a feeling of acceptance. But the older I get, the more I think he sees me as his enemy. We’re clearly in Oedipus territory here. Which is actually a great story, Oedipus, I’m looking into optioning the rights. It might just be the case that I have to kill my father to give birth to my fully realized self. In the metaphorical sense, of course. And don’t worry, I have no desire to fuck my mom. Maybe a handjob. That’s not incest right? Is penetration a prerequisite?”

I ignore the shock value and continue. “Our relationships with our fathers can certainly be challenging. Especially for you, when you work together in the way you do. Is there any separation between the business relationship and the personal?”

“None. He is the company, and the company is him, and if you come between him and what he wants, it doesn’t matter if you’re a relative or the president, you’re getting fucked.”

I nod at this, writing it down in my notes, and then decide to pivot to another subject. “And, you said you have siblings?”

“Yes, two and a half. And believe me, this is the topic of every slumber party.”

“Are their relationships with your father similarly complicated?”

“Yes, but I’m the chosen one, the eldest son. Our relationship is special. My father is larger than life. He’s more than a person. He’s an entity, a force. And growing up you learn to stay out of the way of that force, but as an adult, I find myself more often than not directly in the path of it. I thought I could ride the wave, but now it’s clear it’s crashing down on me.”

“That sounds like a natural progression,” I observe. “Our relationships with our parents and the conflict, potential or real, that can be involved is often something we avoid early on in life, but it can come to a head later on.”

“That’s exactly where we are now, at a head. He thinks I don’t have what it takes to be in charge. He doesn’t care about emotions or feelings. He only respects strength. Aggression. He thinks I’m not a killer.”

Kendall sits for a moment, thinking, and I sit in the silence, waiting to see what comes up for him.

“Something happened,” Kendall says, now serious. “An incident, an accident, in the past, and it was bad. Something I did. So I went to my dad for help. And he helped me. He did what a dad’s supposed to do. But now he’s holding it against me. I mean, you’re supposed to go to your dad for help with life’s difficulties, right? And they’re supposed to help you because they love you, not because it puts them in a strategically advantageous position. But, that’s my dad. Every problem is an opportunity.”

Kendall leans back again, still deep in thought. I pass on asking a question to let him continue to feel whatever he’s feeling in the moment. After a moment he continues.

“He wants me to take the fall.”

“For what?”

“The whole cruise ship department scandal. You heard about that, right?”

Before I can respond Kendall continues. “He wants me to be the fall guy. We had a big meeting, all the top brass, and it was determined that someone would have to take the bullet. Someone would have to be sacrificed. And it was decided that it should be me. I thought he would love me more if I did this. Like, by going along with this plan I would be proving myself to him. He’d finally be impressed with me. But I don’t know if that will ever be the case.”

“I can understand that,” I say. “It’s true, based on my experience working with similar parent relationships with other clients, that it’s one thing to do the work to develop an understanding about what you needed from your parents and how they didn’t provide it for you. To learn to verbalize exactly what you wish they would say to you that would make you feel better. The harder part is accepting the fact that they’ll probably never say those things. They’re just not capable of it. They might not ever be able to give you what you need.”

Kendall nods as he considers this. “That’s very true. I can’t keep waiting for him, hoping that some day I’ll do something that will earn his approval. I have to kill him.”

I sit for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate, then I clarify: “Not literally though, right?”

“No. I mean, probably not. I mean, like five percent chance, max. But don’t worry, my lawyers looked at your intake paperwork, you’ve got no liability. But if I want the crown, I gotta come for the king, and I best not miss.”

Kendall looks up at me with a new, more determined manner.

“My father is a malignant presence. He’s a bully, and a liar. I think it’s time for his reign to end, and I’m the one to end it.”

“That sounds like it’s something you’ve thought about, with determination and clarity.”

“Thanks, but I actually just came up with it in this moment.”

Kendall snaps out of his contemplative mood and back to his more jocular self as he stands up.

“Hells yeah! Determination and clarity FTW. What a great session, right? This has been great. I’m really knocking this mental health ball out of the park, don’t you think?”

“I’m glad you feel that way. Of course, we still have plenty of time left.”

The thumping sound of a helicopter appears in the distance, becoming louder and louder.

Kendall ignores the sound and continues. “Does it always work like this with your clients? You should be scaling this operation, big time. Move past the individual client and apply this to multiples. You know, podcasts, AI, one flywheel spinning off into alternate revenue streams.”

The helicopter sound is so loud now that Kendall has to raise his voice.

“I’ll have my nerds put together a spreadsheet for you to look at!”

Before I can respond the office door opens, and Jess appears, wearing a set of noise-cancelling headphones, and hands another pair to Kendall.

“We’re ninety seconds off schedule!” Jess yells.

“I’m all done here, let’s go!” yells Kendall, as he puts on the headphones.

“Kendall, are we on for next week?” I yell.

Kendall points to his headphones, indicating that he can’t hear me, then offers me a fist bump before striding out of my office, Jess close on his heels.

I look out the window at the helicopter that’s just landed in the parking lot. Kendall and Jess get on board and it flies away.

I sit back down in my chair and start to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Client presented with an upbeat affect, displaying a big personality, eager to joke and make light of serious issues. As session continued, Client became more introspective, considering his relationship with his father both in terms of his upbringing, and also current day business decisions. Client described frustration with wanting to take over the family business, and being told by father that was the plan, but confronting the reality that father might not really want to commit to a succession plan. Client ended session determined to take action to confront his father.

Diagnosis:

Z62.820: Parent-Biological Child Conflict

Z56.9: Unspecified Problem Related to Employment

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

Cersei Lannister sits on the couch across from me, wearing a formless dirty brown dress, her hair shorn and sticking out at jagged angles. Her affect and posture are regal even as her clothes indicate otherwise. She looks around my office with a hint of disdain.

“This couch is uncomfortable. I’m not used to such formless furniture. I need something with more support. Do you have any chairs?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I say. “I probably should have a chair, though, for clients who prefer one. I’ll make note of that for the future. So tell me, Cersei. Why are you here?”

She smirks. “Doesn’t it say why in those important looking papers of yours?”

I pick up her intake paperwork.

“It says here you’re mandated to attend therapy as a ‘requirement for your rehabilitation’ as ruled by the High Sparrow. Who’s that?”

Cersei scoffs. “Who is the High Sparrow? He’s a worm, a tiny little man hiding behind the shield of religion. He’s jealous of those with royal blood, and he wishes me ill.”

“So is he, like, a judge?”

“Yes, as well as jury and executioner.”

“And what is this rehabilitation he mentions?” I ask.

“I am to serve penance for my sins.”

“What are these sins?”

“Do you exist simply to ask questions?” she says, annoyed.

“That’s pretty much my job.”

“And if I refuse to answer them?”

“Then you refuse.”

“But I must remain here for the allotted time?”

“Fifty minutes. By ruling of the High Sparrow,” I remind her. “But I can’t force you to talk.”

Cersei smiles wistfully. “I miss forcing people to talk. It can be quite satisfying.”

She sighs, and sits back, seemingly happy to sit in silence, and I join her, waiting.

After a minute or so she appears restless, and leans back in. “What are my sins, you ask? What are anyone’s sins? They are simply actions one takes that are judged by others differently than how one judges them one’s self.”

“So, sins are subjective.”

“They can be. And they are in this case. As a queen, I would say my sins should not even be considered sins by my subjects. Although I suppose technically I’m no longer a queen. And that’s besides the point for the High Sparrow, whose entire worldview is shaped by disdain for royalty and aversion to the monarchy. That’s why he took such pleasure in my walk of shame.”

“Walk of shame?” I ask, as I write that down in my notes. “Tell me about that.”

“It is just as it is named. I was made to strip naked and walk the outskirts of the castle as the common people pelted me with rotten vegetables, all in an effort to force me to accept and acknowledge the actions I must feel shame for.”

“That sounds like it was difficult.”

“It was. It was intended to break me. To humiliate me. And in some sense it did, but I am too strong a person to ever lose faith in myself. Even if as part of the ruse I had to present myself as if I had. Accept my punishment, turn over a new leaf, all that. You see, I know from experience that if one is being tortured and wishes it to end, one must act as if the torture hurts. Defiance to torture only brings on more of the same.”

“Sounds like you have some experience with torture,” I observe.

“Oh, I do. Both as torturer and torturee.” She grins wickedly. “The former is preferable.”

“You know, shame is a tricky emotion. It can be relentless, and at the same time hidden. It can exist in the background of our lives, affecting everything we do and feel. But from what I’m hearing, you didn’t feel it in this situation.”

“I feel no shame, period. I am a queen,” says Cersei defiantly. “It is impossible for me to be wrong about anything. Why should I feel shame?”

I shrug and don’t respond. We sit there for a quiet moment. Then I think of a question.

“What did you do that this High Sparrow considered a sin?”

“I am accused of adultery.”

“I see. A classic sin,” I observe.

“Perhaps, but not worthy in my view of the punishment I have been assigned.”

“Any other sins you’ve been accused of?”

Cersei opens her mouth to speak, then thinks better of it. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Anything you say here is held in complete confidence, and won’t be shared with anyone outside this room without your permission.”

“Anything?”

“Yes. With a few exceptions. I am a mandated reporter, so there are some things I am required to report if I hear them in session. These involve statements regarding harm to yourself, harm to others, and abuse of children or elders. Everything else is top secret.”

Cersei nods, considering this, eyeing me intently. “And I see from your paperwork that you’re a Stark. I am kin to some Starks, and I cannot say I trust them. Any relationship?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Also, no relation to Tony Stark.”

“Tony Stark? I know not of that one.”

“Iron Man. From the Avengers?”

Cersei looks at me quizzically, so I get back on track.

“My point is, anything you say here is in complete confidence, with a few exceptions that you’re now aware of. So, you should feel free to share whatever you want without fear of it leaving this room.”

“Very well. I have also been accused of regicide. This is related to the death of my first husband, Robert. He was such a boor. Ironically, he was killed by a boar.” She chuckles.

“I see.” I sit in silence and wait for her to continue. Cersei seems to be waiting for me to ask a follow up question, but I don’t. Now she seems uncomfortable, and after a moment speaks up again.

“There is another sin.”

I continue to sit in silence, looking at her, waiting.

“Do you wish to know it?” Cersei asks.

“Yes, if you’re willing to share,” I reply.

Cersei seems to consider what she’s about to say, becoming more emotional now, more vulnerable. Then it all comes out in one big burst.

“I have an incestuous relationship with my twin brother Jaime, and have borne three children with him, passing them off as offspring of King Robert and keeping this a secret, thus creating a fraudulent line of succession to the throne of Westeros, and in theory the entire Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne.”

I jot this information down in my notes. “The Iron Throne?”

“The seat of power over the whole of the known world.”

“Sounds like a big deal,” I say.

“Indeed, it is the biggest of deals.” Cersei’s affect has changed now. She seems looser, more relaxed. “I must say, it feels good to share this secret with someone I’m not related too. It feels like a burden lifted.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “It’s amazing how powerful it can be to verbalize strong and repressed emotions we’ve been carrying around inside.”

“Well said. So yes, that is the truth of the matter. Now, the High Sparrow suspected as much, but there was also evidence that I slept with a cousin, Lancel, because I did. But that was just about sex and obedience, with no implications for the bloodline. So I admitted to that, which satisfied the High Sparrow because it was still reason enough to punish me thus, so I have successfully avoided having to disclose any of this information with anyone outside of my family.” She fixes a steely gaze on me. “Except for you.”

“And my lips are sealed,” I say, intimidated.

“Good.” Cersei seems to have moved on past the emotions of this topic, and is ready for a new one. “I’m curious about why the Sparrow sought to have me attend therapy. Perhaps it’s just something one is expected to do when being punished for their crimes. Perhaps my time here with you is supposed to help me realize how very wrong I was, to see the error of my ways, and be inspired to change and act differently?”

“That’s often the case,” I say.

“That seems like the expectation, but it will not be the result. I have an indomitable will, a long memory, and I’m willing to play the game however I must in order to win.”

“And what is the game exactly?”

“The biggest game of them all. The game of power. You either win, or you die.” And in the end, I shall be the victor.”

I sneak a look at the clock. “Well, we’re just about out of time for today. It’s noted in your paperwork that we’re to see each other seven more times.”

“Very well. Although I have a trial date next week, and if things go according to plan, I might not be back here at all.”

“Okay, well, just keep me updated.”

I rise as Cersei stands up and approaches the office door.

“Ser Gregor!” she calls.

From outside my office the door is opened by a gigantic, helmeted knight in metal armor.

“Maybe the gods go with you,” says Cersei,as they exit.

“Right back at you,” I reply.

I close the door behind them, then sit down to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Client presented with a regal affect, even as her clothes and hair were dirty and disheveled. Client revealed her lack of enthusiasm for therapy, this being a process she was mandated to experience via court order. Client described the events that led her to being incarcerated, and after confirming Therapist’s confidentiality policy, spoke about the crimes she committed, including details about the intersection of her family and romantic life. Client was resistant to therapy at first, but seemed to warm up as session progressed, and confirmed future attendance to seven more mandated sessions, although hinting at the possibility of upcoming events that might affect that schedule.

Diagnosis:

Z65.3: Problems Related to Legal Circumstances

Z63.8: Other Specified Problems Related to Primary Support Group

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

My office feels smaller today as there are four large, muscular men joining me, three squeezed together on the couch and another on a chair to the side.

Tony, well groomed and wearing an expensive looking suit, sits on one side of the couch.

Steve, wearing unremarkable casual clothes, sits on the other side.

Bruce sits wedged between them, wearing a white lab coat.

Thor is in a chair off to the side, dressed in shiny armor, a large steel hammer on the ground by his side.

“Nice setup you got here,” observes Tony. “Where do you keep the shrunken heads?”

“Give it a rest, Tony. This isn’t the place to be cracking jokes,” says Steve, annoyed.

“I don’t know, it seems like the perfect place,” replies Tony, who then turns to me. “Wouldn’t you agree, Phil?”

I shrug, trying to stay out of it. “For some people, humor is a way to reduce tension.”

“Exactly, thank you,” says Tony, satisfied.

“Or to distract from more serious issues,” I add.

Steve nods approvingly. “My thoughts exactly.”

Bruce leans forward from his spot between them. “Can we please not start with this? I’m sick of being stuck in the middle of all your snarky back-and-forths.”

“Right,” I observe. “It’s interesting, Bruce, that you spoke in your intake paperwork about feeling like you always have to be the referee between Tony and Steve, and here you are sitting literally right between them.”

“Hey, nobody asked him to be the referee,” says Tony.

“Somebody has to be,” Bruce says. “I mean, here we are, constantly trying to save the planet, or even the universe, yet I find it actually more difficult to keep the peace between you two.”

I sit with the moment as the men grumble in silent dissatisfaction, and then speak up. “Am I correct in assuming that this interaction is emblematic of the experience you’re here to address?”

Tony points at me. “Ding ding ding, give that man a prize.”

I look over to Thor, sitting on a chair apart from the others.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think we’re doing here, Thor?” I ask.

Thor, who had been playing distractedly with a tassel on his armor, looks up, surprised to be engaged. “What do I think? Well, Tony and Steve are like brothers who never get along. They’re constantly arguing and can’t agree on anything, which makes our work extremely difficult, since a lot of the job entails coming up with a plan everyone can agree on, and overall I’d say their relationship has become a major distraction.”

I turn to the others. “Do the rest of you feel like that’s accurate?”

They nod in agreement, and I continue.

“I like how you used the word brothers, Thor, because even though you’re not related, you’ve come together to form a group, and each of you functions within the group in the same way family members do. A family dynamic can develop out of work relationships. You’re a work family.”

Tony agrees. “Like a band. Did you see that Metallica documentary? Something about a monster? Where they go to therapy?”

“Some Kind of Monster,” says Thor.

“Right, it’s called something something monster,” agrees Tony.

“No, that’s the title, Some Kind of Monster,” Thor replies, annoyed. “You never listen to me.”

“I did see that movie,” I share. “And to be honest, whenever I pitch this take on work relationships in group settings, someone mentions it.”

Tony leans forward, engaged. “I’m not even the biggest Metallica fan and I found it pretty interesting. The way that Lars kept acting like—“

Steve interrupts him, annoyed. “I’m sorry, but can we stick to the work family that’s in this room at the moment?”

Now Tony sits back, annoyed. “You’re such a sour puss.”

“You’re such a child.”

“I know you are but what am I?

Bruce slams his hand on the coffee table. “Will you two please give it a rest? You’re making me angry!”

Bruce suddenly starts to shudders and groan.

“Great, now look what you did!” Bruce says as he grimaces, and then swiftly transforms into a muscular green person twice his original size.

I look on at this transformation, trying to keep my composure. “Are you okay, Bruce?”

Even though Bruce has now transformed into a huge, muscular, green-skinned hulk, his voice and affect are the same as before. “I’m fine, this is just what happens when I get mad. Which, as you might suspect, is happening a lot lately.”

I pick back up the thread of the session. “Okay. Well, speaking of the family dynamic, it seems like you’re the one playing the role of the caretaking parent in this family, Bruce, trying to make sure everyone gets along, stuck in the middle, sometimes quite literally.”

Thor speaks up, now more engaged. “That’s Bruce alright, acting like everyone’s mom, trying to make sure everyone gets along. Which is noble, but it ends up coming off as nagging. And honestly? It’s almost as annoying as the arguing.”

Bruce looks hurt. “Oh really? Well, if we’re a family, then you’re the black sheep younger brother who spends all his time in his room, never talks at dinner, and then goes off to college and never comes back.”

Now Thor’s the one who looks annoyed. “Oh great, this again.”

“Yeah, this again,” replies Bruce. “Because what we’re really here to talk about is everything that happened while you were missing in action.”

“Well excuse me, but I had some very important stuff to deal with.”

“Oh right, that whole Ragnarok thing,” Tony chimes in.

“You could have called,” says Steve.

“I was busy!” Thor exclaims, now fully engaged in the conversation. “Fine, I’m so sorry that I had to leave Earth for a few years to take care of a little thing called the death of the gods!”

I try to take control of the conversation. “Okay, let’s stop for a second to take a deep breath and calm down. I mean literally. Let’s all take some deep breaths in through the nose, hold for a moment, then exhale through the mouth.”

I breath in this way, and reluctantly the group follows my lead. After a couple of breaths the mood of the room seems to improve.

“Okay, good. Now, let’s dive back in to the details of what specifically brought you guys here today. Tell me about…” I read from my notes. “Segovia?”

“Sokovia,” says Steve. “You’re familiar with that whole situation, right?”

“Not really. Catch me up.”

Tony looks surprised. “Catch you up? That was big news. Sokovia? Age of Ultron? They made movies about it. Haven’t you seen them?”

I shrug sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m more of a sports and news guy.”

Steve leans in to explain. “Sokovia was a small Eastern European nation that served as a secret base for HYDRA experimentation that was tragically destroyed during a battle between the Avengers and Ultron, as a result of…”

Steve trails off as he looks towards Tony, who is staring off in the opposite direction, looking conflicted.

Steve stops talking, now apologetic. “Sorry, Tony.”

Tony shrugs, acting as if he’s not hurt. “It’s okay, you can say it. It was my fault.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” says Steve.

Now Tony lashes out in anger. “Oh thank you so much, you weren’t going to say it? But you are going to make sure to tell me that you weren’t going to say it, so actually that’s just as good as saying it.”

Now Bruce chimes in. “As a result of the Sokovia incident came the Sokovia accords, where some of us,” he motions towards Tony, “wanted to cede more authority for our actions to the government, while others,” he motions towards Steve, “wanted to keep complete autonomy over our work.”

I nod, taking this in. “And is that the major point of contention between Tony and Steve?”

“We have to think about the endgame here,” Tony says passionately. “If we don’t submit to some kind of oversight we’ll be viewed as vigilantes, or worse, terrorists. And what happened in Sokovia could happen again.”

“It could happen again no matter what we do,” says Steve, just as passionate. “I don’t trust the government to make better decisions that we can. I mean, just look at SHIELD! Whoever would have thought that it would become HYDRA?”

Thor chimes in. “I had my suspicions.”

“Tony, what about this is your fault?” I ask.

Tony sighs, his shoulders slump. “Sokovia happened because of Ultron, which was my creation. I bypassed safety protocols and didn’t check with my teammates because I assumed I was smart enough to handle it. But it turns out I couldn’t. So all that destruction, all those lives lost… That’s on me.”

“And do you feel guilty about that?”

Tony looks offended. “That’s an obvious question.”

“It is, and I apologize if that’s annoying, but part of my job is to ask the obvious questions.”

Tony continues. “Of course I feel guilty.”

“Which you mask with your flippant remarks and cutting humor,” says Bruce.

“Along with my vast wealth and good looks,” says Tony.

“But it seems to me like some of that guilt gets transformed into anger,” I observe. “And it clearly comes out in your interactions with Steve.”

“Another genius observation,” says Tony, annoyed.

I turn to Steve. “Can you see how the anger that Tony responds to you with might be rooted in his feelings of guilt about the events in Sokovia?”

Tony nods, affirmative. “Of course, but what I’m trying to—“

“Hold on. Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like you to try not to use the word ‘but.’ When we talk to our partners in relationships about issues like this, things that make us emotional, and we say something and then qualify it by saying ‘but,’ well… Everything we say after the ‘but’ gets cancelled out.”

Steve looks a bit confused. “Okay.”

“So, let’s try again. Steve, can you see how sometimes when you and Tony get into it, the anger he’s directing at you might more about his feelings of guilt, and not necessarily caused by you?”

“Yes,” Steve says. I can tell he wants to say ‘but,’ to share his reasons why, but he bites his tongue. I let the moment sit for a beat, then continue.

“Great. Now Steve, I’d like to hear more about your feelings about this SHIELD / HYDRA situation.”

Steve gets serious. “I sacrificed a lot to stop HYDRA, and I spent my whole career fighting them alongside SHIELD. Then I come to find out that HYDRA had actually taken control of SHIELD. I can’t tell you how much of a betrayal that was. I’ll never trust them again.”

“And what have you done with these feelings of betrayal?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how have those feelings caused you to act?”

“Like a freaking maniac! There’s no way in hell I’m ever signing those Sokovia Accords.”

“I can feel the passion in your voice as you talk about this. And I can also see how this passion can turn so easily into anger as you interact with Tony. Can you see that, Tony?”

“Duh, it’s obvious,” says Tony.

“It does seem obvious, but we often avoid engaging with the obvious reasons behind our conflicts because of our own emotional material that we bring to the conversation. We often say we don’t want to be angry and fight with each other, but I think deep down it feels good to be angry, it’s satisfying somehow, so we give in to it. Anger can feel good.”

“Tell me about it,” says Bruce.

I sit with the group in the silence, letting what’s been said sink in.

After a minute or so, Tony speaks up. “So, are we cured?”

“No,” I say. “But you’re on the path to healing.”

“The path to healing,” Thor repeats. “Sounds like a street in Asgard.”

“I think you’re starting to make changes for the better. What we tried to do here is have Tony and Steve understand more about each other’s strong feelings, and how easily they can turn into anger at each other. This understanding is one small pebble in the river, but if we keep at it, keep throwing tiny pebbles in the river with conversations like this, eventually they accumulate enough to form a bridge to the other side. And what’s on the other side?”

“Valhalla?” ventures Thor.

I look at Tony and Steve. “I’m asking you two. What’s on the other side of that bridge?”

Tony and Steve eye each other warily.

“Peace?” says Tony.

“Understanding,” says Steve.

“Everybody getting along,” Bruce adds.

“I think those are all admirable goals. It sounds like you’d all like to get along better, right?”

Everyone nods and grumbles in agreement.

Good,” I continue. “During the next week I want all of you to try to focus on moments when you would normally react with anger to each other, and instead try to make the moment less about getting angry and more about understanding each other. Understanding why you’re angry. And supporting each other in those moments. Does that sound doable?”

“It sounds hard, but we’ve done harder things,” says Tony. “How many times have we saved the universe?”

“Which one?” replies Steve.

I sneak a look at the clock. “Well, we’re just about out of time for today, so we’ll have to pick back up here next week.”

I stand up and cross over to open the office door for the group as they file out.

“So we are like Metallica,” observes Thor.

“We are nothing like Metallica,” Steve says, annoyed.

“We could be, but you’re not cool enough to be in a band,” says Tony.

“Shut up,” responds Steve.

They exit, and I close the door behind them, then sit down to write up my notes, when I notice Thor has forgotten his hammer.

Before I can say anything the hammer rises up on its own and flies through the air, smashing through my office door, and into the hand of Thor, who stands in the hallway.

“Sorry about that. We’ll send you a check,” says Thor sheepishly.

“We?” exclaims Bruce.

They continue to bicker as they leave, leaving me to contemplate the hole in my office door.

Clinical Notes: Clients presented with frustrated affects, each reacting to the conflict between TS and SR in different ways. TS and SR disagree about their approaches to professional direction for the group, but through a discussion it was revealed that the anger they display towards each other has its roots in individual experiences. BB and TO also had concerns, and expressed hopes that a change in the relationship between TS and SR would help everyone. Therapist encouraged Clients to learn to defuse contentious moments by trying to identify the true sources of their anger. Clients were able to empathize with each other, and were directed by Therapist to apply this knowledge to future situations in the hopes of decreasing conflict.

Diagnosis:

Z63.8: Other Specified Problems Related to Primary Support Group

Z56.9: Unspecified Problems Related to Employment

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

Walter White sits on the couch across from me in silence, dressed in rumpled khakis and a beige windbreaker. He looks beaten down and numb, staring off into the distance in an unfocused way. I sit in the uncomfortable silence with him.

After a long moment, he finally speaks. “So, what do we do here?”

“Well, we usually talk about the issues that bring us to therapy. However, sometimes those issues can be so big that we might just sit here and process them. Try to make sense of them, figure out how to react to them. That seems like what we’re doing right now.”

I watch as Walter nods and thinks about this. I give him some space to reply, but he doesn’t, so I continue.

“I mean, you’ve just received a scary diagnosis. Stage four lung cancer. In your intake paperwork you use words like “inoperable” and “terminal.” We can’t expect to just take that news in and go on about our day without some kind of reaction. And the bigger the shock, the longer the news might take to process.”

Walter sits there, still taking it all in. Then he squints and looks closer at me.

“What’s that stain on your shirt?” he asks.

I look down at my shirt to see a tiny yellow dried drop of mustard.

“Oh, that’s a bit of mustard from lunch. Great cheeseburgers at the taco stand down the street, if you like cheeseburgers.”

Walter nods, then sighs loudly. “Lung cancer. Terminal. Inoperable. It’s amazing how much these words have the power to turn my life upside down. Not that it was going so well right side up, though.”

“How long ago did you get this news?”

“A week. But here I am, still walking around in a daze, like I don’t know what to do with myself. How long does this last? This feeling of… emptiness?”

“I don’t know. But I think talking about it here will help shorten that period, or at least help in the processing of the experience.”

“I haven’t cried. Is that normal?” Walter asks.

“It’s normal to react in the way you’re reacting,” I say. “You’ve just had a traumatic experience, getting some scary news, and it makes sense your reaction is to shut down. Some people wail and cry and emote, some people withdraw and go numb.”

“Numb. That’s a good word. That’s how I feel. That and angry.”

“Tell me about the anger.”

Walter sits up, becoming engaged now. “I’m angry that this happened to me. I don’t deserve cancer. I don’t deserve a death sentence. But I also didn’t deserve a lot of things that have happened to me. Things with school, with work, with relationships… I’ve been getting screwed over my whole life.”

“Tell me about some of the ways you’ve gotten screwed over.”

“Well, I’m thinking specifically of a business venture that could have made me a millionaire. Gray Matter Technologies. You’ve heard of them, right?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

“That’s fine, it’s just a billion dollar company that a close friend and I started, built on my research and scientific findings. But the trouble was more about a relationship I was in. That I was scared of. With someone involved with the company. So I bailed on it. The relationship. Which led to me bailing on the company. I took a five thousand dollar payout that would be worth five million right now if I’d stayed.”

“And how did you get screwed?”

Walter cocks his head and thinks about this. “I guess I didn’t really get screwed. I screwed myself. I was scared. I felt small and powerless, and I acted in an immature, childish way to get myself out of the situation. I certainly could have handled it better. And if I had I definitely wouldn’t find myself in the situation I am now, teaching high school chemistry to kids who don’t care making peanuts a day and unable to support my family in the way they deserve.”

Walter leans back on the couch, letting this all sink in. “I think about it every day. How things could have been different. I mean, with work and finances and all. Not the cancer. I supposed that was unavoidable. Unless years of regret and jealousy can cause cancer. Can they?”

“I don’t know. I think we should assume that the cancer was unavoidable. The feelings of jealousy and regret we can work with.”

Walter continues, on a roll. “I know I’ve had these feelings my whole life, and I’ve been carrying them around but pushing them down, they’ve been running in the background, but still there. Always there. And this cancer news was a spark that lit those old emotions back on fire.”

“You know, I often hear clients talk about the regrets they have in life, and how they would like to have done things differently. To have reacted to certain news differently, to have handled a situation differently, to have taken a different course of action. Some of them end up making the changes or taking the actions in the present that they wish they had taken in the past, and after they’ve done that, almost every one of them said to me some version of “I thought it was too late, but it turns out it wasn’t.”

Walter looks at me, unconvinced. “Is that supposed to be inspiring?”

“It’s not supposed to be anything. It’s just an experience that I wanted to share with you because I think it applies to your situation.”

Walter seems annoyed. “Were any of those clients recently diagnosed with Stage III Bronchogenic Carcinoma?”

“No. It’s more common for me to hear clients talk about regrets and it being too late in terms of relationship conflict or career struggles. Your situation is certainly more—”

“Life or death,” Walter interrupts. “And trending towards death. I know I can’t go back and change how I acted, or what I did. I can certainly continue to torture myself about it, but that’s not going to change the predicament I find myself in, I know that. But I guess I should start thinking about what I can do now. What I can do now to change what’s happening right now, instead of feeling like a sad sack for what I could have done in the past.”

“Yes!” I’m excited to hear Walter say this, but try to stop myself from getting too enthusiastic. “I think that’s exactly the kind of attitude that will help as you deal with what’s going on right now and what you can do in this moment, instead of ruminating on what happened in the past, and what you could have done back then.”

Walter looks like he’s got more of a spark now. “Somehow this news of impending death makes me want to finally be more proactive in life.”

Walter takes out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolds it.

“I’ve run the numbers and determined that, in order for my wife, son, and unborn child to be somewhat comfortable financially going forward after my death, they’re going to need seven hundred and thirty seven thousand dollars.”

“That’s pretty specific,” I observe. “How did you come up with that number?”

“It’s the combination of mortgage debt, cost of living, educational outlays, and other assorted expenses.”

“Seven hundred and thirty seven. You didn’t want to just round that to seven hundred and forty?”

Walter gets serious. “I’m a scientist. I don’t round.” Then he looks back down at the number on the piece of paper. “You know, it’s funny, but this death sentence is starting to make me more focused on life than I’ve ever been.”

“It sounds like you’re changing from thinking about what you could have done in the past, which is out of your hands, to what you can do now, which is within your power.”

“Exactly. At first I was sad, but now I’m inspired. Shouldn’t I be, like, grieving?”

“That’s an interesting question,” I observe. “In therapy we often deal with grief. This is usually thought of as the experience we have after someone passes away. But there are many kinds of grief, including anticipatory grief. That’s something we can experience when a loved one has a terminal disease that forces us to reckon with the idea that they’ll soon be dead even as they’re still alive. And this gives us a chance to take action regarding an event that hasn’t happened yet.”

“So that’s what I have, this anticipatory grief, only it’s about myself?”

“I think that concept could apply here. I mean, It’s different for everyone. Some people find themselves stuck, unable to act, until the anticipation of death leads to the actual death. Some people, on the other hand, find themselves compelled to act, to do the things they might want to do now that, if not for this anticipatory period, they would regret not having done after their loved one dies. Or they do.”

“I see. Yes, that certainly puts a name to what I’m feeling,” says Walter. “I do feel like I want to act. Like I need to act. I just don’t know what the action is yet.”

“That can be an upside of anticipatory grief. The event that will eventually cause the actual grief hasn’t happened yet, so there’s still time to, if not change the outcome, change the experience leading up to it.”

Walter nods, sitting up straighter, his mood more upbeat now. “Yeah. I like that. It does make me feel a little better. Like, it’s motivating me to get off my butt and do something. I just wish I could have felt like this years ago, before the diagnosis.”

“Yes, well, life is full of ironies.”

“It is indeed.”

Walter’s watch alarm goes off.

“Sorry, I’m going to have to cut this short. I have to get back to school for a meeting with a student. When are we set to meet next?”

“Same time next week. Also, we discussed the possibility of a psychiatric referral to see if anti-depressant medication was something you might benefit from. Would you like that referral?”

“No thanks, I’m not into drugs. But I’ll reach back out if that changes.”

I rise and open the office door for him.

“No problem. Good luck!”

“Thanks. Pretty sure I’m going to need it.”

After he exits I close the door behind him, then sit down to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Client presented with a flat affect, dealing with the aftereffects of a terminal cancer diagnosis. Client regrets choices he’s made in the past regarding his career, and wishes he was better able to support his family financially, especially in light of new information regarding his health. Time was spent processing this regret, and how holding on to it has prevented Client from taking action to change his life in the present. Therapist and Client discussed anticipatory grief, how Client is experiencing this regarding his own possible death, the idea of regrets in life, and the possibility for Client to take actions now to mitigate that regret. Client exhibited a change in affect after this discussion, and ended session remarking on how he felt better.

Diagnosis:

F43.21: Adjustment Disorder with Depressed Mood

Z71.85: Encounter for Anticipatory Grief

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

Darth Vader sits on the couch across from me, an imposing figure in black full body armor with various digital dials and displays. He wears an imposing helmet and a mask that covers his face, muffling his speech.

“It goes back— huuuuh-pahhh —to when I first— huuuuh-pahhh —Padmé. We— huuuuh-pahhh—“

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “but I’m finding it hard to understand what you’re saying.”

“Right, sorry. I get that a lot.”

Darth Vader pushes a button on his mask, and with a hydraulic hiss it opens, enabling him to remove it, revealing his face, which is pale, hairless, and scarred.

“Please excuse the scars, I had an accident involving a river of lava when I was younger.”

“That’s quite alright,” I say reassuringly. “You were telling me about your wife, Padmé?”

“Right.” Darth sighs, and leans back on the couch. “We met when we were very young, and over time we fell in love, but there were always barriers to us being together. Our respective jobs made it very difficult. She was in politics, and I started out in the military before transitioning to work for a large multi-solar system corporation. And I should note that my company is not well liked by the general public. We’re sort of public enemy number one, actually. The Evil Empire, people call us. And with Padmé’s career in politics, we often found ourselves on the opposite sides of issues. But that’s a whole ‘nother story, we’ll get to that later.”

I nod, and reframe what Darth has just shared. “So, you met at a young age, developed a relationship, and your careers involved you being on the opposite sides of certain issues.”

“Exactly,” he continues. “And I grew to love my job. Except I hit a glass ceiling of sorts. My superiors eventually stopped promoting me, and at a certain point I had to keep my relationship with Padmé a secret from them. That’s how strong the conflict of interest was. At the same time, my boss, the Supreme Chancellor, was leading somewhat of a double life himself. Eventually he enlisted me to join him in sort of a shadow company within the organization. So I was under a lot of pressure.”

“And what was Padmé doing during this time?” I ask.

“She was concerned about me. I was a maniac, working all the time, it’s all I could think about. It got to the point where my wife, this woman I loved, I became like a stranger to her. She would complain about my long hours, and I responded with anger. Always anger.”

Darth shakes his head wistfully. “I was so quick to be angry. And the scary thing is, I liked the anger. It was like I was discovering a dark side of myself. She pleaded with me to quit my job, afraid that it was my work that was turning me into this angry person, but I wasn’t hearing it. I’m sorry, I know we’re here to talk about my son, so I apologize for the tangent.”

I lean forward at the mention of a tangent. “It’s fine, and in fact, it’s the whole point. To me, therapy is an exploration, it shouldn’t have a map. Clients will often start talking about one thing, and then a few minutes later find themselves talking about a completely different thing, and then realize they’ve gone on a tangent and want to return to the original topic. But I like the tangent. I think that the things we should talk about here aren’t always the ones we intend to talk about. So, when a tangent emerges, my instinct is to explore it, because it’s often the subject we should be talking about, even if we didn’t intend it to be. And that’s just a long way of saying, please continue.”

“Thanks. Okay, where was I?” I resist the instinct to instruct Darth as to where to pick back up, and wait for him to choose a thread.

“Right, the dreams,” he continues. “I began to have dreams that Padmé would die in childbirth. Mind you, I didn’t even know she was pregnant at the time. And my boss, the Supreme Chancellor, he started telling me about this new tech the company had developed that could save her if she was in danger. At the same time, Padmé was growing more and more alienated by my behavior, to the point where she told me she couldn’t be with me if I continued down this path. And then there was a confrontation, and her old friend Obi-Wan was involved, and we fought, and in the heat of the fight…”

Darth’s head droops and he shakes it sadly as he continues. “I struck Padmé. In fact, I thought I killed her. And that’s when I ran away. I left to start a new company with my boss, and I put the life I had led previously behind me. And eventually I discovered that not only did Padmé survive, but she was pregnant. And I have a son.”

Darth stops and sits back now, processing the feelings coming up after telling his story. I sit with him for a beat, letting things settle before commenting.

“That’s a lot,” I say.

“I know, it’s complicated,” Darth agrees. “And now we’ve finally reached the issue I came here to talk about: my son. You see, I only recently found out about him. And he was told at an early age that I was dead. So, essentially, neither of us knew about the other. And as fate would have it, recently our jobs brought us into conflict. He works at a start up, a small group of rebels who stand for basically the opposite of what my company stands for. We met for the first time recently in a work setting, and while it was a shock for me to finally meet my son, it was even more of a shock for him when I told him that I was his father.”

“How did he take it?”

Darth chuckles. “Not good. He was really mad. And not just because this was a secret that had been kept from him. I think he was disappointed and angry to find out who I was, and what I did for a living. I think, in his mind, I’m some kind of villain. And of course I let my anger get the best of me, and we fought, and I struck him, and he ran away. And now you’re finally caught up.”

“Got it,” I say as I write this down in my notes. “You mentioned in your intake paperwork that you wanted to work on what you might say to him when you meet again?”

“That’s right. I need help convincing him I’m not a bad guy. Sure, I’ve done some bad things, but I regret them, and I want a another chance to be there for him, as his father.”

I nod at this, and give it a moment before continuing. “If Luke was sitting right here on the couch next to you, what would you say to him?”

“What would I say to him? Man, there’s so much…” Darth thinks about this for a moment, becoming emotional as he shares his thoughts. “I’d tell him I’m sorry I was such failure as a father. That I didn’t know about him, and things would have been different if I had. But that’s not an excuse. I let myself be seduced by my career, and I lost track of what was really important in life: family. And I hope he can appreciate that, and we can reconnect, and make up for lost time.”

Darth sniffles, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. I reach out to push the box of Kleenex on the coffee table between us over to him, but he motions towards it and it leaps through the air into his hand.

I ignore this and focus on taking in what Darth has said before sharing my thoughts. “I have to tell you, what you just said, the words you want to say to your son… It’s beautiful.”

Darth is touched. “You really think?”

“Absolutely. I thought we would spend some time examining how you feel, then formulating a way to express this to your son, and that we might have to dig around a bit to figure it out, but what you’ve just said, it’s clear that you’ve already given this a lot of thought.”

“Thank you. Yeah, I guess I have spent a lot of time thinking about it.”

“I would suggest you take a moment to write down what you just said. Not so you can read it to him when you see him next, but so you can be clear that you’re saying exactly what you want to say, in a simple, direct way. Although that’s a picky note, because the way you just said it was perfect. But I find writing things like this down can bring clarity to the emotions that sometimes make things blurry.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Darth says, contemplating.

I sneak a glance at the clock. “Now, we’re just about out of time for today. Do you know when you’ll see your son next?”

“I’m not 100% sure, but I suspect his company is planning a surprise pop-up at a larger event we’re hosting. So, I suspect I’ll be running into him then. In fact, I hope I do.”

“That’s great. Not just the fact that your work might bring you into contact with your son, but that you hope you see him. Hope can be a very powerful thing.”

“Yes, I agree. It seems I have a new hope. Thank you for your guidance.”

“My pleasure,” I say.

Darth puts his helmet back on with a snap and a hydraulic hiss.

I cross over to the office door and open it, revealing two soldiers clad in white armor and masks, standing at attention.

Darth is already up and striding towards the door.

“Contact the Star Destroyer and— huuuuh-pahhh —alert them to prepare for my arrival,” he says as he exits, his voice sounding much more authoritative now.

He exits, and I close the door behind him, then sit down to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Client presented with a pensive affect, having put a good deal of thought into how he wants to communicate feelings to estranged son about their relationship history and current conflict. Session began with a great deal of backstory involving wife and their relationship that informed current relationship with son. Client showed the ability to clearly share the things he wants to tell his son, and Therapist supported Client in this desire. Client observed that he felt hopeful about the chance to repair relationship with son.

Diagnosis:

Z62.820: Parent-Biological Child Conflict

Z56.9: Other Problems Related to Employment

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email

Mike and Carol Brady sit on the couch across from me, looking very much like a happily married couple. They compliment each other well, and are just plain cheerful.

“We met through mutual friends,” recounts Carol. “I had just gotten divorced, and Mike’s wife had recently passed.”

“We hit it off right away,” continues Mike. “Here was this lovely lady, raising three very lovely girls, who all had beautiful golden blonde hair, just like their mother.”

“And Cindy with her curls,” reminisces Carol, who smiles back at him. “And Mike was busy with three boys of his own. They were four men living all together.”

“But in a way, we were all alone,” observes Mike.

“And the moment we met, I just had this hunch. I knew this group would somehow form a family.” Carol takes Mike’s hand, and they share a smile.

“Sounds like a big bunch,” I observe. “How has it been, this experience of adjusting to living together under one roof? I would imagine there have been some growing pains.”

“Oh, every week it’s another zany situation,” says Mike. “But one thing that has been a constant during our first year together is, we’re realizing we have very different parenting styles.”

I nod and jot this down in my notes. “That makes sense. When you’re a single parent, you have 100% of the parenting responsibility. You get to make all the decisions. But now that you’ve combined your families, and you each have a partner again, you have to learn how to share those duties again.”

“That’s absolutely right,” says Carol. “But we find ourselves butting heads over this. For instance, I think Mike is too hard on the boys. He’s coaching them in baseball, and I think he’s too much of a drill sergeant with them.”

“And I think Carol is too permissive with the girls,” replies Mike. “She coddles them too much, and lets them get away with everything.”

“I see. And how has this frustration shown up in your relationship?”

Mike and Carol look to each other, considering this.

“How has this shown up in our relationship?” repeats Carol, thinking. “Well, I’m less likely to be nice to him when he comes home from work. I have to admit, I can get a little snappy.”

“And I’m less likely to ask her about her day after I come home from work,” admits Mike. “I guess I can be a little less warm, you know?”

“And what about the kids? I’m wondering what their experience has been like. Have they verbalized any complaints about your respective parenting styles?”

“No, I don’t know if they’ve even noticed,” observes Carol.

“But we certainly have,” says Mike. “I just can’t help but think the girls would be better served with some firmer parenting. Higher expectations, stronger rules.”

“And I wonder if the boys would appreciate some gentler parenting. More flexibility, more discussion.”

“This is interesting. And I just had a wacky idea.” I lean forward to make my pitch. “What if you two swapped places? Meaning Carol, you took the boys to practice one week, and Mike you stayed home with the girls.”

They look to each other, intrigued.

“Now don’t feel like this is something you have to do,” I say. “I understand if it sounds too sitcom-y.”

“No, I like that idea,” says Mike. “What do you think, Carol?”

“I think it’s a great idea. I’d like to try being a baseball coach. Touchdown!”

As Mike shakes his head, I hear the sound of an audience laughing from out of nowhere. Before I can ask them about it, my vision becomes blurry.

DISSOLVE TO:

I find myself sitting in my office chair again, with Mike and Carol sitting on the couch across from me again.

“That was a great suggestion you made, Phil, for us to swap parenting roles for the week,” says Mike.

“Yes,” agrees Carol. “It was awkward at first, but there were some laughs and funny moments, and a little bit of drama, and in the end we learned a valuable lesson.”

“That’s great to hear,” I say. “So, tell me about the experience. How was it for you, Carol?”

“I’ll just say this: Mike can keep his job as baseball coach. I didn’t realize how important it is in sports to have the kind of drill sergeant attitude he has. I tried to approach the boys with gentle support and positivity, and they didn’t really respond to that at first. But I got the sense they appreciated that I had actually done the research and was able to help them with some of the technical aspects of baseball. I showed them that I wasn’t the typical girl they’re used to who’s afraid to get her hands dirty. By the end they were actually calling me coach!”

“So it sounds like it was a positive experience?” I ask.

“Oh definitely. Although one thing I definitely learned from all this is that I can’t hit a curveball.”

“Or any ball,” adds Mike.

Again I hear the disembodied audience laugh, but before I can mention it, Mike continues.

“Well, my experience started out as a disaster. When I tried to talk to the girls with the same direct, honest approach I use with the boys, it didn’t help them at all. Turns out women appreciate emotional empathy more than cold hard facts. And then we tried baking a pie, where I naturally applied the rigor and logic I use in my job as an architect, but it failed miserably, creating a complete mess in the kitchen. Which I cleaned up.”

“And then later I cleaned up the clean-up,” chimes in Carol.

“But the funny thing is, even though things didn’t turn out the way I’d planned, I think the girls appreciated my effort,” Mike continue. “Seeing me struggle with what I had thought were simple issues seemed to humanize me in their eyes, and it ended up being a memorable bonding experience.”

“Last night before bed Cindy actually told me she enjoyed her time with you,” shares Carol. “Her exact quote was ‘Daddy’s funny.’”

“I’m so glad to hear it turned out well,” I say. “So, after this experience, how do you feel about each other’s parenting styles?”

“I have to admit, I appreciate Carol’s more gentle approach with the girls now. I can see how it might be exactly what they need.”

“And I can see why Mike’s drill sergeant approach is something the boys respond to, even if I think they did appreciate my different perspective.”

“So, no desire to get each other to change their ways?”

Mike and Carol look to each other, considering this.

“It’s funny. That’s what I wanted at first, to see Carol change her parenting style. But now I see that it was really me who needed to change.”

“And I thought if Mike parented the boys like I parent the girls we’d all be happier, but now I see that it’s actually the opposite.”

“What wonderful symmetry!” I observe. “It’s so nice when a couple comes in with an issue, we explore it, consider how it might change, make some effort to create that change, and then arrive in a place where the issues are resolved.”

“Yeah, that seems to happen to us a lot,” admits Carol.

“Excellent, and I think that’s a good place to end our session for today,” I say, closing my notebook and rising to open the office door for them.

“Perfect timing, we need to get home early. Alice wants the night off,” says Carol to Mike. “She and Sam are going to the movies.”

“Do think they’re, you know, an ‘item’?” asks Mike.

Mike and Carol consider this for a moment, then say, at the same time: “Nah.”

I hear the disembodied audience laugh again. “Do you guys hear that laughing sound?” I ask.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” says Mike. “It follows us wherever we go.”

“You get used to it,” says Carol. “See you next week!”

As they exit the laugh track hits again, this time along with some hooting and applause.

I close the door behind them, then sit down to write up my notes.

Clinical Notes: Clients presented with engaged affects, sitting close to each other and displaying affection during session. Clients are a married couple with a large blended family, and struggle to support each other’s parenting style. At Therapist’s suggestion, Clients spent a week swapping parenting responsibilities. After this experience Clients indicated a new appreciation for each other’s parenting styles, and reassessed their desires to see each other change their ways.

Diagnosis:

Z63.0: Relationship Distress with Spouse or Partner

Z63.5: Disruption of Family by Separation or Divorce

For more therapy sessions with popular film and TV characters, check out The Characters On My Couch: www.amazon.com/dp/B0GZ47G4MS?ref=sp_email