Defeating Politeness

Brandi Gollihar
Aug 9, 2017 · 5 min read

Growing up, it was always best to stay silent and stay out of the way. The best child was the child who didn’t speak out of turn. Ultimately, this leads to being a very polite human, albeit one who rarely gets their needs met.

Well into my twenties, I didn’t speak unless spoken to by authority figures. I still have difficulty having conversations, making eye-contact, and most of all, advocating for what is in my best interest. I know this has been a hindrance in my life, especially professionally.

Last fall during a bout of depression and anxiety similar to the one which I’m currently experiencing, I went through all the “proper” channels in order to find doctors and counselors to help me. I called the 800-numbers on the back of my insurance cards and took the ones in my area who would be covered in-network. By my mental state now, guess how that worked out for me?

My first counselor was a man who had to be in his 70’s. Now I’m not one to be ageist, but it’s very difficult to provide my mental and physical health history to a man who is expected to type it into a computer, but has never been taught how to type. He would “hunt and peck” as I would repeat my sentences over and over again until they were officially recorded. Did I step up and say “I don’t think this is going to work for me?” No. I was trained to take what I was given, whether I was happy with it or not.

It took three full sessions for Mr. Hunt (and Peck) to record the basics of my patient history, but then he dropped the bombshell on me that he was moving on, not to retirement, but to another practice. Hopefully they provided him with a secretary. I’m sure he was a wonderful counselor, but given his computer literacy constraints he never stood a chance.

On to counselor number two. I was provided yet another elderly man, though he was only about a year or so away from retirement. He did have the wherewithal to scratch everything down on a notepad as I spoke, thus allowing my thoughts to flow freely. This was a welcome change!

We got along splendidly, but that’s where things went awry. He decided he was my friend. Our sessions consisted mostly of what his grandsons were doing and which colleges they were choosing. Keep in mind, I didn’t know his family, he just wanted to brag about his beloved. I know this makes me sound like a horrible, ageist shrew, but it was almost as if I was visiting a nursing home to give some poor chap a chance to talk to about their absentee family who never visited, but kept him up to date that little “Johnny” was a star athlete competing for scholarships.

Again, I was the “polite, perfect child” (in an adult body). Not once did I speak up and say anything about how I was feeling that day or what may have caused my pain. I smiled and nodded at him like I was sitting in a parlour, fully-corseted in the 1800’s whilst trying to impress my suitor’s father.

In my mind I was doing the proper thing by being genial to this man, my elder. Of course, I would leave the sessions and fret about how none of this was helping me, but I was too damn courteous to tell him to get to the point!

Eventually, he was so happy with my “progress” that he cut me lose. Yes, I was feeling better at the time due to starting my diet, but I know I need years upon years of intensive therapy to deal with the trauma from my past. He would have known this as well if I could’ve told him anything worthwhile. I can’t really blame the guy, because I didn’t speak up for myself, but I was very excited to be free from paying for my bi-weekly geriatric pow-wows.

Right now, I know I need to speak to someone. I just spent the last few hours comparing lists of insurance “approved” providers against those who meet my minimum expectations. Unfortunately, there is still this G.D. stigma towards mental health and no one leaves reviews on websites. People will sit on Yelp and Tripadvisor all damn day saying their tacos were soggy or their beds were lumpy, but they won’t open up about things that truly matter, like the quality of the medical care they’ve received.

I guess this writing has two points:

  1. Teach your children to be respectful. Teach them the proper time to speak, but teach them to speak up if something is truly important. They are not meant to be “seen and not heard,” especially girls. They, most of all, need to be encouraged to speak up when something isn’t right.
  2. You, and only you, will be your own best advocate. Only you know what you’ve been through and what will help. If you have a wound which is gushing blood and a doctor tells you to slap a bandage on it, you damn well better get a different doctor!

Tomorrow I see my nurse practitioner and will start making calls to find “the one” therapist who works with me and can bring me back to my old self… or better yet brings me to my full potential which is layered under blankets of shame, guilt, damage, and disappointment.

As a side note, I have one counselor in-particular who is within walking distance from my house, takes my insurance, and offers Reiki and hypnosis sessions. Please help me pray she has openings and is wonderful as she appears (on her own website.)

Annnnnnd, it’s international cat day. You knew I couldn’t pass up that shit! Here’s to the other man in my life (and the guy behind him) who gives me a reason to get out of bed every morning. Mainly because he’ll eat my face if I don’t feed him, but I like to think he cares on some level.

Love and light to you all,

Brandi

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