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Dr. Jacobs was thoughtful and measured in her response, emphasizing the trade-off that has come with going virtual. While she might not be able to feel her patients’ presence in the Beginning of an Error january 20th 2021 shirt, hoodie way, she’s beginning to see them in a “wider context” as they walk her around their childhood bedrooms and introduce her to their spouses and children. She’s also noticed that doing therapy at home makes her patients more likely to take action on their issues. “They’re talking about long-standing, unhealthy dynamics with their parents and then, when the session ends, immediately walking out of their rooms and attempting to change them.” Julia McAnuff, a registered associate MFT, views telehealth as an innovation, a “window into [her] patient’s lives.” She’s even noticed many of her patients taking more emotional risks as a result of being in the safety of their at-home environment.
I don’t remember my last session in person. But I do have distinct memories of the office itself: the stack of magazines (if my therapist is reading this, I admit I considered stealing The New Yorker every week), the evaded glances in the waiting room, the Beginning of an Error january 20th 2021 shirt, hoodie purifier in the corner, lazily exhaling a yogic blend of eucalyptus and patchouli, the pleasant neutrality of it all. And it’s that neutrality that worries me: Because it might mean I’ll never return. And if I don’t, what other reasons to leave my home, to enter into the outside world, will I lose when this is all “over”?I’m a lifelong insomniac. Until college, I preferred any bed that didn’t leave me alone in my own, a tendency my parents long suspected therapy could solve. I’ve since spent close to a decade chasing sleep and experimenting with methods that span the therapeutic spectrum, from seeing my mother’s own behavioral therapist, a warm woman (but an obvious mistake), to a short stint with a Jungian therapist on the Upper East Side whose rotating screensaver of Galápagos wildlife I would watch, reclined on her tufted-leather couch; to a few sessions with a male psychiatrist who I associate with Paul Auster novels and a low-level depression that I thought Zoloft could solve. (Couldn’t!)
