The Therapy Group

I bid Dr. Robinson goodbye and headed out to my car, seething. Two factors were the cause of my anger. One, was that I had just agreed to, and was possibly pressured into, group therapy. Two, was that my mother and Dr. Robinson had coordinated this together and left me in the dark. There was nothing I hated more than secrets being kept from me.

I put my key in the ignition and drove down the road with Smashing Pumpkins blaring from the stereo. The heavy music might make me calm down and keep my anger in check. However, I knew that as soon as I got home, my mother and I would be having a talk.

It was about a 20 minute drive from the therapist's office to my house. I pulled into the driveway, gathered my belongings from the passenger seat, and stepped into the house. I was hit in the face by the scent of sausage and pancakes. Breakfast for dinner, Mikey's favorite.

My mother was bustling around in the kitchen, tending to the sausages in the frying pan. Mikey was sitting on a stool, his elbows propped up on the island counter.

"Well, hello. How was your appointment?" my mother asked while wiping her greasy hands on her apron.

"It was wonderful, but we need to have a chat about something involving therapy." I could already feel my anger rising to the surface.

Gee, don't lose your cool too early now. I thought.

"Yeah, sure. What's up?" She pulled a stool out and invited me to sit. I felt uncomfortable with Mikey watching our confrontation. Mikey often didn't understand my issues, and he thinks therapy is just another way for psychologists to try and cure you, rather unsuccessfully.

"Dr. Robinson and I were talking today during our session, and she said you two had talked about group therapy. Now, you know I have social anxiety and I sure don't want others to poke into my business, so why would you even approve?" I explained.

"You have this all wrong, Gerard. Yes, we talked about group therapy, but not as a form of torture. This group is between the ages of 15 and 21. It's targeted towards young adults. We wanted you to see that you're not alone and you might benefit from this. It might help with that anxiety, and you'll realize that people aren't out to get you. This group is all about support. You won't be uncomfortable once you go a few times. Just please, go at least three times. If you still don't like it after those three appointments, we won't make you go any longer," she informed. She placed her hand on mine and smiled warmly. I could trust her judgement. It also wasn't an unfair deal. I expected to be more riled up about the predicament, but I was wrong.

"Alright. I'll go three times. If I like it, I'll stay. If not, I'll go. Sounds like a deal," I agreed while grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle shake.

"That's my boy. How about some pancakes?"

Notes

Sorry, that one was a little short. More to come!
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