It can be right or wrong, but that discomfort in your body is an invitation to stop, and think about what the discomfort is trying to tell you and whether it’s right or wrong.

A pause will prevent you from lashing out, in obedience to the upset feeling in your insides. It may also give you time to understand that your body is telling you something directly that your mind can’t see yet.

I had two telephone chats with a therapist I found on the internet. I’d contacted him telling him I’d undergone narcissistic abuse recently, that an entire group of old friends was buying into harmful lies told to isolate me, and that I need a professional to exchange insights with as I continue to understand and heal, rather than bouncing things off poor Sekhnet, who has trouble hearing any more about this long-running painful situation.

I don’t need someone to cry to, or hold my hand, or tell me I’m absolutely right. I need someone to bounce insights off and talk with. I need an objective sounding board, the thing I described in my initial request for help.

After session one the therapist announced his clinical findings, presumably speaking out loud as he made his notes. “Beset by negative emotions,” and “with a history of ostracism”. I corrected him on the second point, at 66 I experienced ostracism for the first time in my life.

Toward the end of the second session, when I revealed a particularly poignant detail of a talk the last night of my father’s life, he asked me if I ever cried about that. I did not. He had come to the conclusion (coincidentally shared by the group that cast me out) that my primary way of reacting is as a hurt child, rather than an integrated adult. Suddenly he got excited and gave me homework.

Clinical finding number two: You are still reacting as a hurt child and you need to conduct an imaginary conversation with your abusive father, confront him with the pain he’d caused and vent anger at him, anger so red hot, white hot, so unbearably powerful, that you’d be exhausted by the end of venting. So, based on two hours of talk, he had pinpointed my immediate problem as being locked in unresolved childhood pain and unable to express anger at someone who had abused me when I was growing up.

I began the writing assignment, which is easy enough for me, I do this every single day. After a few pages I realized it was worth considering what my gut was trying to tell me. This motherfucker is not listening very well, in his rush to come to a therapeutic diagnosis I did not ask him for. I could tell him this gently, I could tell it to him in a way that demonstrates I have no hesitation to express anger when it is warranted. For example, by gratuitously sprinkling “fuck” into my fucking comments. At the same time, I’d point out, in fairness to him, that what I’d asked him for was difficult and would require great insight and high emotional intelligence. Is it really fair to be angry at someone who thought he was doing the right thing, the helfpful thing, who didn’t know any better? You’re doing the best you can, man, it’s just not what I asked for or what I need. You know what I’m sayin’?

When you pay someone to listen and react intelligently, and they insist on quickly diagnosing and problem solving, your gut might not be wrong to tell you “fuck this guy, old friend. He’s not able to do what you need him to do for you.”