When I began college, I was excited to take my first psychology class. I had dreams of learning about the human psyche, exploring human behavior and getting more in touch with myself. However, I quickly learned that I am not a sharer. I do not share personal information about myself with strangers and I am uncomfortable talking about myself to other people. That sounds ridiculous coming from someone who writes about their personal life on the internet, but it’s always seemed to me that writing online and sharing personal information about your life with the internet is similar to a Catholic who goes to confession and feels the security of the barrier between themselves and the priest. Through these experiences, I realized my personal motto: It’s much easier to talk about yourself when people aren’t staring at you.
So, back to college psychology class. It seemed like everyone in the class had the same goal as me – to learn more about themselves. We did exercises where we sat in small groups and were supposed to share something personal about ourselves. Immediately, members of my group were discussing their parent’s alcoholism, being beaten as a child or some other deep, dark secret. I had to rack my brain for something that I was comfortable sharing and still not sound lame. I finally came up with this jewel: “I once wet my pants in the first grade and had to go home and change and never told anyone.” That was when the class also realized that I was not a sharer, and I learned that psychology and I would not be getting along very well. I also became the person who no one wanted in their group. Since I have an Irish background, I guess I fall into the perfect stereotype of Freud’s supposed quote, “This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever.”
When class dismissed, people would leave and continue their discussions outside the classroom, including the confidences that were shared there. No one seemed to respect the privacy of each individual and the information they shared. I watched many people laugh and poke fun at some of my classmates and their problems. I think these experiences in college are where my distrust of therapists began.
When I was ordered to see a therapist by a family law judge during my own custody trial, I’m pretty sure I saw the idea of a therapist as all of those former college classmates who laughed and gossiped about each other and their personal issues. Unfortunately, my experiences did not get better, but I have learned one valuable lesson. Never ignore your instincts, even when a professional makes you feel inadequate or unsure of yourself. The story below was originally written in October, 2007 on lonesophist[dot]com.
I Met Your Mom and Dad the Trees, But Please Don’t Get Dutch Elm Disease
Last night I couldn’t sleep, so I watched some show about child psychologists and some of the things to look out for when choosing a therapist for your child. I was glad to see this advice being given to parents because it seems like all I ever see is someone hastily referring a child to a psychologist or a judge requesting therapy for a child without truly evaluating the situation. I’m not quite sure when this trend started, but I have a newsflash for these people: Not all child psychologists are ethical and competent.
I need to qualify that statement, I guess, with saying that I am sure that there are some really good, really qualified, concerned child psychologists out there. I have just not met them. I have had bad experiences with therapists so I am skeptical. There are circumstances where therapy is necessary, i.e. an abuse situation, but I am only talking about problems facing children that are not life threatening or illegal. Translated: Not all situations are a Dr. Phil show, even though your therapist might think so.
When I was going through all of my various battles with my son’s father, my son saw numerous child psychologists and I never saw anything positive come from it. In fact, there were times it made the situation worse.
This television show was discussing invisible friends, or a child who lives inside his head and creates situations and makes up things. It reminded me of Plank. During my own legal craziness and custody trial, my son saw one particular therapist who always struck me as a little gullible for a professional. My son had found an abandoned square piece of wood in my dad’s shop and drew a face on him and named him “Plank.” Plank was his friend and rode beside him in the car and sat in his room and watched him play. Plank even ate dinner with us occasionally, if he wasn’t busy playing GameCube or watching television.
One weekend, my son left for visitation with his father and told me Plank wanted to go. When he returned home on Sunday night, he told me that Plank was mad because he had spent the weekend in his overnight bag, because his father would not allow him to play with Plank.
The following Monday, I received an urgent telephone call from my son’s therapist. “Please call me immediately, I have something urgent to discuss with you.”
These are words of horror to any mother who is going through a custody trial and is dealing with therapists, judges, lawyers, etc. My mind was racing and my heart was beating and I had an anxiety attack, worried what in the world had happened. Turns out, my son’s stepmother had declared a state of emergency over the Plank situation, and they had raced my son to the therapist on Saturday morning for an emergency session. When the therapist called me back, the conversation went a little like this.
“I’m very concerned about your son,” she told me. “He has invented an imaginary friend named ‘Plank,’ and he carries him around with him everywhere.”
“Yes, I know,” I told her. “Plank even has a face on him, did you see him? He actually did a great job drawing his face on him.”
“Trish, I’m not sure you understand what is going on. When I asked your son if he had any friends besides Plank, he told me NO, Plank is his best friend. I’m very worried that he thinks a piece of wood is his only friend.”
“Well, he’s just playing, I did not see where it was anything to be concerned about.”
*HUGE PAUSE WHILE SHE COMPOSED HERSELF TO DEAL WITH A HORRIBLE MOTHER LIKE ME WHO IS NOT TAKING THIS SITUATION SERIOUSLY ENOUGH*
“Trish, this is very serious. I am going to need to see him twice a week for the next few weeks and I think we need to set up conferences with his teachers and the school to find out what is going on regarding his relationships with other children at the school. I want to find out why he feels the need to make up a friend out of wood.”
*ANOTHER PAUSE WHILE I ROLLED MY EYES AND TRIED TO TAKE HER SERIOUSLY*
She insisted that I come in for an emergency family session so she could counsel me on how to approach this issue with my son and help him realize that Plank was not real and was just a piece of wood. So, I did a little bit of investigative work with my son.
“Hey, I have a question about Plank. Do you really think he’s your only friend?”
“No, he’s not my ONLY friend, he’s just my favorite right now.”
“So you do know that Plank is a piece of wood, right?”
“DUH, Mom, that’s why his name is PLANK.”
OK, I don’t know about you, but I just didn’t get the seriousness of this situation. However I was the one accused by my ex and his wife of being too liberal of a parent and not taking my son’s issues seriously enough. During this state of emergency, I took time out to have lunch with a friend. (See the trend here? I just don’t ever take anything seriously. Horrible mother, HORRIBLE!) I filled her in on the whole Plank issue. She finally said, “Wait a second, isn’t Plank a character on that cartoon, ‘Ed Edd & Eddy? ‘”
Hmmmmmmmmmm . . .
I knew my son watched this show, but I had never stopped long enough to actually pay attention to the show. Therefore, I did a little googling to get more info about this show, and lo and behold, I discovered Plank! After that, I sat down and watched an episode and saw the actual Plank video. An entire video called, “My Best Friend, Plank.” (video below)
I called the therapist to have a little convo.
“Hi, this is Trish. I wanted to talk to you about Plank. Did you know that he is a character on a show on the Cartoon Network?” I asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I did a little research on this Plank issue. Turns out, the kids on this show take a piece of wood and draw a face on it and call it their friend. There’s even a song called, ‘My Best Friend, Plank.’”
She was extremely embarrassed and told me she did not know this, and that she would talk to my son about it, blah blah blah. Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly), the Plank issue was no longer a crisis.
The hard lesson I learned from all of these crazy therapist experiences was that no one knows your child as well as you do, and if someone, including a professional, tells you something that you instinctively and intuitively know isn’t true, believe in yourself and your child. After my whole situation was over and this therapist had completed her “assessments” of everyone’s parenting skills and son’s various “problems,” I learned that this therapist had regretted some of her evaluations and decisions, and she even told me that she had seen a therapist herself to deal with how she had handled our situation.
Yet, even though she still walks free, she will always have to live with the sawdust of Plank on her hands.
Photo from Flickr user Cocomariposa.
