Favor

From the oversized bag resting on my office floor, she produced a VHS video cassette. “I’m hoping this,” passing it to me, “will explain, better at least, than I’ve been able to.”

Our session over, she stood and turned toward the door. “S e e yo u t o m o r r o w,” I stammered, feeling awkward as ever – which, by the way, was often.

Partly because I was an intern at the time, but also due to my nature, what seemed to come so easily to others, I found difficult. Suffice it to say, I was no natural therapist. Quite the contrary. I was aware of and deliberate about every action I took and didn’t take, including what I said and didn’t say, when I spoke or chose to remain silent, the movement of my limbs, head and torso, whether I looked away or directly at the person, and for how long.

Anyway, I brought up the hour with my practicum supervisor the following morning. “Let’s see what’s on the tape,” he quickly suggested.

We watched a minute or so, then fast forwarded through a few more.

“Does this mean anything to you?” he asked.

Shaking my head from left to right, “No, uh, I, it doesn’t.”

Speeding through the entire 90-minute cassette, it was clear the video was a carefully edited collection of snippets from various television programs and commercials – some I recognized, others that were unfamiliar. Five seconds of American Bandstand, followed by a clip of a Calvin Klein advertisement, another five or ten second scene from American Bandstand and then extended cuts to the TV series, Dance Fever. If there was a theme, or some intended message, it was lost on me as well as my far more experienced supervisor.

“Did you have a chance to watch the tape?” she asked at the outset of our next session.

“I, I, I did …” falling silent, purposefully lowering my eyes.

“And did it help make things any clearer?”

Looking up, “Could you help me understand what was in the video, what it’s about?” I said, being careful to repeat the words I’d role-played the day before with my supervisor.

A long silence followed.

After 30 years of being a psychologist, there’s little that surprises me about people and their lives – sure, the details differ, but the stories generally have a familiar ring. Then, however, it was all new to me.

Caroline was on the inpatient ward of a hospital where I was completing an extended practicum. Married, stay-at-home mom to several kids, she’d become depressed in the last year. When standard outpatient psychotherapy and medication didn’t help, she was admitted for more intensive care.

And when she eventually said, “It’s about feet,” it all came together. The hour-and-a-half long video was nothing but feet. Feet walking. Feet dancing. Feet in shoes. Feet in flip-flops. Bare feet – loads of bare feet.

For most of the time that remained, I listened, leaning forward, eyes fixed on Caroline as she talked about her husband’s interest in feet. Early on in their relationship, she hadn’t minded. However, when what had started off as a curious, and even intriguing part of their sex life, had warped into an obsession, she ended up feeling alone, unfulfilled, and betrayed.

Years after we met and worked together, I received a letter from Caroline. By this time, I’d graduated, moved out of state and across the country. From the postmark and multiple forwarding address labels, I could see it had been in transit for some time.

“I’ve been meaning to write for some time,” the letter began. After providing some details about her life and family – all generally positive – she explained why she’d chosen to write.

“I wanted to thank you for the help you gave me at that very difficult time …”

Temporarily looking up from the page, I wondered how that could be true. My recollection was I’d done little and understood less. With a mixture of anticipation and dread, I read on.

“I also want to give you some feedback, something I should have said long ago.”

Here it comes, I thought, pursing my lips.

“When we were meeting, I knew there were (many?) times you didn’t know what to say or do.”

Despite hoping my frequent, and often lengthy silences had been interpreted otherwise, her observation was spot on. I smiled in recognition.

She continued, “In case you didn’t know, it’s those moments that stuck with me and were the most helpful. Your stillness gave me the space to hear what I was feeling and accept myself. It was life changing.”

Tucking the letter back into the envelope, I couldn’t help thinking she was returning the favor.