Now that I’ve received copies from the Publisher, I’ve been mailing them out to award contests and reviewers. It’s not really “my book” since I can’t just give it away since I don’t have that many copies. And I’m still not comfortable with exposing myself to people I know, but now it’s literally out-of-my-hands.   

Handed my novel (can I say that?) to someone very special to this whole process. A few days ago, my therapist had reached out asking about the book. I haven’t seen her in a few years, but I arranged to drop one off, signed and hand-delivered. I wanted her to have a copy and maybe even read it because, well, I employed her advice many times while writing the damn thing. 

Every time I wrote, “And according to my Xth therapist . . .”, I would imagine us talking while I paced the floor crazily. Crazy, a word she often used mainly because it’s so taboo among counselors. "Ok, you're crazy," she'd say at the onset of every session, "now can we get started?" But that’s why I liked her. She validated my crazy. Or at least knew I could act crazy.

She was the one who taught me about Motivational Interviewing. She didn’t call it that but that’s what we did in all those sessions. In the book, I named it dialogue-driven Socratic therapy, a term I made up and just last night found out the clinical name is Motivational Interviewing, with the first principal, “Express empathy through reflective listening.” Of course it fucking is!  Funny that you have to tell therapists to listen. 

So, when I handed her a copy, I thanked her “for helping me to help others.”

“Well,” she said with a hug, “I do hope that I helped you.”

And I pointed at the book and told her with pride, “You’re holding the proof.”

Made me cry as I scampered off. And that will probably be our last conversation. She’s retiring next year, passing off her clients to another counselor.  Thus, ends my therapy with her. 

Such a finality.

Such a book . . . and although it may not be “my book”, it certainly is a book for me. It’s the book I would want to read, to guide me through the darkness and offer hope. With tears and laughter.