Perel: What is your therapist really thinking about you?

For 22 years, I had a private psychotherapy practice in an office overlooking Barnstable Harbor. I’ve recently reopened my practice. I ask you: “Have you ever wondered what your therapist is really thinking?”

I’ve concocted a made-up session to give you an idea.

My imagined patient is named Bonnie. She’s in therapy to talk about her marriage.

Me: “I’m glad to meet you, Bonnie. I’ll begin by asking — what brings you to therapy today?”

But I’m really thinking, “I need a nap.”

Bonnie: “My husband is a jackass. Every time I dump a plate of linguini on his head because of some classless remark he made about my cooking, he has the nerve to get mad.”

Me: “So, what you’re doing isn’t working for you — or him. Have you ever considered an alternative to dumping food on his head?”

But I’m thinking (remember therapists don’t judge), “You sound like a real piece of work, lady.”

Bonnie: “Nothing helps. I’ve even flushed tuna balls down the crapper.”

Me: “Bonnie, I’m wondering if you could calmly express your feelings rather than relocating food.”

But I’m thinking, “I’m sitting with a lunatic.”

I prayed Bonnie’s husband’s name wasn’t Clyde.

Bonnie: “Well, my husband, Clyde, doesn’t believe in sharing feelings. He thinks therapy is stupid and refused to come with me to see you today.”

Me: “I see.”

But thinking, “Thank God.”

Me: “Bonnie, how do you feel when Clyde doesn’t care for the meal you’ve prepared?”

“I feel like telling him my mother’s moving in — with her nine cats.”

I say, “But your actual feelings?”

She paused a moment. “I guess I’m feeling unappreciated.”

“Perhaps you could consider telling him that — nicely.”

But I’m thinking, “This hour is never going to end.”

“How do you know he doesn’t like your meal? Perhaps you’re just imagining vibes that aren’t really there.”

Bonnie: “He yells, ‘This tastes like ____ .’”

Me: “I think you two might have a communication problem.”

She snapped, “No ____, Sherlock.”

Me: “Okay. What would happen if you said, ‘Clyde, honey, sometimes I feel a little unappreciated.’” I paused to see her reaction.

She said, “Did you get your degree at Sears & Roebuck?”

Me: “Communication is a two-way street, you know. Perhaps it’s not all Clyde.” I let that sink in. “There are likely other areas where you miscommunicate.”

I’m thinking, “If you bring up your sex life, I’ll run screaming from the room.”

She said, “He only thinks about himself. Picture us in bed.”

I inwardly gasped, “I’d so rather not.”

But said, “Intimacy has many forms. It’s not just sexual relations. Let’s focus on positive communications. You could say, ‘I’m disappointed that you don’t care for my cooking. Why don’t we make meals together?’ Then you could sweetly take his hand and — ” She cut me off.

And said, “I’m paying for this?”

My therapy sessions are on Zoom, where I’m only seen from my waist up. So I usually put some makeup on and wear a professional-looking blouse and jewelry. But from the waist down, I’m either wearing my husband’s boxer shorts or I’m naked. One time, with another patient, I had to stand up.

You see, there was an emergency with my dog. So I covered my derriere with my little beagle. My patient put her hands to her face exactly like in the painting The Scream and snorted with laughter when she saw my fleshy knees all the way down to my fluffy pink bunny rabbit bedroom slippers.

Back to Bonnie and Clyde. At the second session, Bonnie brought her “charming” husband. I thought, “I should have listened to my parents and been a veterinarian.”

After introductions, I asked Clyde, “Can you tell me what brings you here today?”

Begrudgingly, he pointed: “She did.” He added, “She thinks I’m crazy. But I’m not, Doc. She put a caterpillar in my Caesar salad.”

I’m thinking, “Do they still make straightjackets?”

Me: “Tell me two things you love about Bonnie.”

“It ain’t her linguini.”

I waited.

“And it ain’t her rigatoni either. There. That’s two things.”

I’m thinking, “Maybe my beeper will go off and I can get the hell out of here.”

Bonnie looked at Clyde, who suddenly seemed changed. His tee shirt read, “She’s my better half” with an arrow pointing to her. He looked despondent . . .  and lost. He gazed back at her. The expression on his face said, “You’re my person; you’re my everything.” Ever-so-slowly, he reached for her hand.

“I’ll try to be better,” he said softly.

“I won’t dump linguini on your head anymore,”

They were still holding hands as they left our session.

When I was in therapy, I always wondered what my therapist was thinking. So during one session, I decided to see his notes. I stood up and walked behind him, saying I was on the way to the bathroom.

I expected to see his therapeutic assessments of me. Instead I saw doodles of airplanes and elephants and the take-out menu from Jack’s Lounge where he had circled wing dings and meatballs.

We therapists are only human. We all make judgments; we get frustrated when patients repeat behaviors that get them nowhere. The bottom line, though, is that we want to help.

I am honored to be a part of someone’s innermost life, their hopes and dreams — their loves and losses — their brave determination to face their past … and future. And when it comes right down to it, who cares what the therapist is really thinking?

And so, I’ve checked back with Bonnie and Clyde. The last I heard, Bonnie was no longer slinging linguini onto Clyde’s head.

She had switched to fish stew.

Award-winning columnist, Saralee Perel, lives in Marstons Mills. She can be reached at: sperel@saraleeperel.com or via Facebook. Her column runs on the first Friday of each month. 

This article originally appeared on Cape Cod Times: Opinion: Fictional Bonnie and Clyde seek therapy for linguini issues