#getting with a patient after treating both her and her husband in couples counselling and then seeing her individually

[andi-o-geyser]

on my anti dr. jacob agenda sooo hard you don't even know. like the level of just how unprofessional, unethical, and fucking infuriating his choices are is putting me into so much of a rage i can no longer maintain my danny rojas level of live laugh love in this economy. bastard. bastard man. my worst enemy. im calling the kansas college of registered psychotherapy and regulatory board of ethics on him don't test me

[akaraboonline]

 The Best Relationship Advise I've Ever Received?

Relationship counsel is difficult to give. It can be irritating and even disrespectful when it is unsolicited (hey, we all have that friend). Yet when you go seeking for it, it can be difficult to get what you're looking for, such as a firm answer on whether or not yours is healthy, and what's genuinely crucial.  The Best Relationship Advise I've Ever Received? Well, there's the tried-and-true advice like "don't go to bed angry" and "respect is essential," but we've all heard it before. That's why we asked qualified therapists for the finest advice they consistently give to their patients. 1. Treat each other with the same kindness as the day you first met. A friend once told me that the reason her marriage has endured for so long is because she and her husband make an effort to consciously be kind to one another on a regular basis. They lessen the possibility of developing a hate for one another by forgoing continuous criticism and choosing positive reinforcement instead. Also, even the slightest remarks or actions are a wonderful way to express your love for one another. I immediately seized her counsel as she placed it on the table, and let me tell you, it's a straightforward directive that has the power to transform. Set up dates so you can talk about your relationship. According to certified clinical psychologist Joseph Cilona, Ph.D., of Manhattan, "commit to investing an hour—on a regular basis—to concentrate on strengthening your relationship, troubleshooting, and making it more rewarding." Have a weekly or monthly dinner where you only discuss relationship-related concerns or objectives. 2. Argue About One Thing At A Time I've discovered that happy couples fight appropriately from study as much as personal experience. Just argue about one thing at a time, I've learned another helpful tip about fighting that has saved my life. Bring up all the things your SO has done wrong over the past year to persuade them to apologize when you're in the thick of a furious quarrel. The problem is that doing this only leads to a pointless cycle of going around and around until you're both blue in the face. This one is quite difficult to carry out, but in my experience, it's well worth it. Instead of yelling at each other for hours on end and forgetting what really irked us in the first place, it makes it much simpler for us to really settle a dispute. 3. Be honest about your feelings, both positive and negative. According to psychotherapist Beth Sonnenberg, L.C.S.W., regularly sharing can help you get closer. "If you begin to believe that your sentiments are unimportant, unheard, or unworthy of sharing, you invite negativity and bitterness into your life." She emphasizes that this also applies to pleasant emotions, particularly when they are associated with your relationship. In a relationship, "people need to feel respected," she continues. 3. Ask each other for favors (And Not Just The Dirty Kind) You'll pretty much do anything for someone you're dating at first. Even though it's out of your way, you immediately comply when they urge you to stop at Trader Joe's on the way home to pick up some special hot sauce. Nevertheless, as time goes on, you're far less likely to be charitable, and Tony Robbins, a motivational speaker and author, claims that's when things start to go south. Don't misunderstand me. You should love and look after yourself first and foremost, but in my relationship, I've discovered that the more selflessly I give my boyfriend my time and energy, the more he reciprocates, and the happier we are as a couple. I know it sounds really corny, but it's true. For instance, if he's been working all day and is really fatigued, I'll unpack his luggage for him, fold his laundry, and ask if he wants a glass of wine. A few days later, when I'm feeling awful, he brings my favorite bar of chocolate and a cup of chai tea, and he offers to rub my feet while I watch Netflix. Determine the problems in your relationship. then do something about them. Each pair have these. Perhaps you argue frequently over your demanding job schedule or your partner's spending patterns. Whatever it is, if you don't deal with the cause of the issue, you'll only keep fighting. Cilona advises that you and your partner deliberate on the resolutions to any recurrent disputes after identifying them. When you do this, it's beneficial to concentrate on "concrete and discrete behaviors" as opposed to labels and interpretations, he says. For instance, it's preferable to remark that when your spouse makes significant purchases without first discussing you, it makes you feel as though they are trying to keep information from you rather than accusing them of being careless. According to Cilona, focusing on the problem rather than the person responsible might lead to better problem solving and a team-based approach. 4. Schedule time apart whenever you can. Have you ever questioned Helen Mirren's secret to a fulfilling, long-lasting relationship? Evidently, "spending a lot of time apart." She and her husband, who have been married for almost 20 years, vouch for this fact. If I may say so myself, my SO and I are also incredibly excellent at this, and I'm confident it's the reason we still feel like we're in the honeymoon stage. Every few months, one of us will go a short distance—even if it's only an hour—to visit a buddy who lives in the neighboring town for the weekend. We find ourselves calling and missing each other like young people who are in love. Also, when we are reunited, things get hot and heavy. But more importantly, this small game helps us maintain our sense of independence, which is essential for maintaining our self-confidence. 5. Don’t expect your partner to be your BFF. These days, we place a lot of demands on our relationships. Our ideal mate should be our closest confidante, co-parent, and companion. The owner of Skylight Counseling Center in Chicago and the author of You Are Not Crazy: Letters from Your Therapist, David Klow, is a registered family therapist. He adds that because of this, we are more likely to feel dissatisfied when our partner is unable to meet our requirements. Some of those demands should obviously be met by your partner, but the need for a best friend is more challenging. Finding "healthy, alternate ways" to meet that need through others is what Klow advises if you feel your relationship isn't best friend material for you. This might enable your connection to provide you delight as opposed to letting you down, he explains. 6. Cool Down Before You Sit Down For A Serious Talk When something nearly unforgivable is said, it is almost always done out of intense, burning rage. Someone once advised me to leave when I'm angry and only return once I've cooled down in order to prevent saying the worst possible things to one another. It's a wonderful idea that works well in practice. We can proceed through the topic more quickly than we would if we arrived at the table brimming with rage if we can get all the strong emotions out of the way before we speak. 7. Before making a comment, repeat their words aloud. It's known as "mirroring." Here is how it works: Before you make a response during a critical conversation with your partner, repeat exactly what you heard them say. "So what you're saying is, you think we need more time just us without friends or kids around?" for example, is more effective. "You will be astounded at how diverse people hear even the most basic statements," Cilona says. "Not only does this greatly improve the accuracy and quality of communication by allowing for the correction of misinterpretations, but it also instills in each partner a strong sense of being heard and understood." 8. Never Put Each Other Down In Public Although there's nothing wrong with a little harmless mocking now and then, embarrassing each other in public is a completely different beast. You should be each other's biggest supporters, not adversaries. Even if you're not having the finest day, my mother taught me that the worst thing you can do in public is treat each other like crap. It not only makes everyone else uncomfortable, but it makes things even worse between the two of you. 9. Remember, don't just say how you feel...show it. Obviously, saying "I love you" frequently is a wonderful idea, but "the act of showing important, since we don't speak those three simple words as often as we should," says psychotherapist and author of The Happy Couple, Barton Goldsmith, Ph.D.He suggests expressing oneself through small gestures such as pouring coffee for them in the morning, warming up their car, or stocking the freezer with their favorite flavor of Halo Top. "It doesn't take much to perform a random act of kindness," he says, "but it may make a big difference." 10. Don't Take Things So Seriously There is no vitality in a relationship if there is no laughter. I doubt there are many happy, long-term couples that don't frequently joke about with each other and keep things light. Laughter is the essential to any healthy romantic connection, according to several people, and science agrees. According to studies, couples who laugh together more regularly are happier and more likely to stay together for a long time. If there's one thing my partner and I know how to do, it's relax and laugh (well, that and eat). Things don't appear to be slowing down anytime soon, so I'm guessing the giggles are helping. 11. Don't be hesitant to bring up the subject of money. It's so simple to argue over money, yet talking about money the right way might actually help strengthen your relationship, according to Cilona. "A couple that discusses their financial goals and is willing to collaborate to attain them will likely have a stronger bond," he adds. Thus, if you know you appreciate conducting research before making a significant purchase but your partner is more impulsive, have that chat before your car lease expires. Alternatively, if you'd rather invest in travel than save for a vacation house, be upfront about your choices so you can find common ground. 12. Every day, choose to love your partner.  "My favorite piece of advise is that every day we wake up and choose to be affectionate toward our partner," says psychotherapist Jennifer L. Silvershein, L.C.S.W. She explains that the concept is simple: love is an active everyday choice, and you have influence over how you feel. "If the first thing we notice when we get up is a flaw in our partner, it will be difficult to feel connected and in love for the rest of the day," she explains. "That sets the tone if we wake up and identify something we love or appreciate." 14. Fight in a productive manner. Every marriage has disagreements, but fighting in a way that advances the dialogue and clearly communicates why you're upset can make a difference. According to Silvershein, you should be precise about how your partner's actions affect you. "When you fail to text when you'll be late, it makes me feel like you don't care," for example. "I find that couples become more flexible and aligned in their daily functioning when we begin altering our language to convey how our partner's behavior makes us feel rather than just telling them what to do," she says.   Read the full article

[themummersfolly]

Here’s an older piece I’ve had lying around for a while. Believe it or not, I actually wrote this a couple months before the pandemic.

The Veils of Illomentum

When we first met them, we thought it was another case of Taliban-style oppression. Only the men came up and spoke with us; their women stood back, silent, hidden behind veils that swept the ground. They never approached or tried to interact with us, but whenever it was time to make a decision, big or small, the man who made it would glance back at them before he spoke. We should have guessed the significance of that gesture.

The veils were one piece – I got to look at one, when a weaver brought it out to show us – draped over the crown of the head and falling sometimes to the knees, sometimes to the feet, both front and back, with a cloth circlet sewn to the inside to keep it on. The sides were open, and there seemed to be no taboo against a woman showing her arms outside the folds. There were no slits or mesh for the eyes; the veils must have been just sheer enough to see through.

We had been called to Illomentum because of a fever outbreak. The locals were remarkably sophisticated, but a recent famine had depleted their resources and the epidemic overwhelmed them. We were surprised to be treating them in their own facilities, mostly with their own medicines. The only thing they lacked was manpower, evidently.

As in diplomacy, the men seemed to be in charge. They handled all the patient care; the few veils we saw were in central stations and dispensaries, where we assumed they performed some kind of minor role. Even the patients were mostly male, and the few women we did treat refused to be seen by male doctors. A few of the children we treated turned out to be female, but the Illo refused to discuss it; despite the way they treated adult women, they seemed determined to make childhood as gender neutral as possible.

I suppose we should have guessed at the truth. As far away from home as Illomentum was, we should have expected the Illo people to be at least as far culturally from anything we were familiar with.

The first real inkling we had came from a female aid worker who had been allowed inside the women’s quarters of a prominent house. Her hosts stayed veiled even then, although apparently it wasn’t the custom indoors. They explained that they had only recently realized that she was female, and they still weren’t sure what to make of her.

“But why do your men make you wear veils?” she asked. They seemed confused by the question, then someone laughed.

“Make us wear veils? Woman, why do your men make you show your face all the time?” The others seemed to find this equally funny or puzzling.

“No man but a husband has any business looking at a woman’s face,” added one matron, and that seemed to settle the matter for them.

As the epidemic wound down and the team’s focus shifted from medical to diplomatic, we had more opportunities to learn about the country and its customs. The Illo were an extremely private people, but our response during the crisis seemed to have won their trust. The third month we were there, our translators informed us that we had been invited to meet with the highest local official, a judge named Dindranen. The Judge, they informed us, had invited us in the first place and wanted to personally thank us for our efforts.

It was an easy day and a half journey to the town where we would meet with Judge Dindranen. About an hour away from our destination, a rider met us to say that the Judge’s welcoming party was approaching. We expected this; the Illo customarily went out to greet guests before they arrived. The rider also advised us to be careful: during the famine, many wild animals had moved closer to the town to prey on livestock, and not all of them had left.

Not ten minutes after that, the Judge’s party came in view. About twenty people had turned out to meet us: as usual, mostly men with a handful of veiled women. We craned our necks to see, trying to pick out which one was Dindranen.

As intent as we were on watching them form up across from us, we didn’t notice our own formation was getting too spread out.

The first to approach us was a man in ceremonial armor, flanked by a banner bearer. Our team lead stepped forward to greet him.

“Honorable Judge Dindranen –”

We had just enough time to register the confusion on his face. Then the horse at the end of our line panicked and threw its rider.

“Tiger attack!”

An Illo Tiger – the biggest cat I had ever seen, tawny like a lion but much larger. We scrambled to fend it off as it lunged for our teammate. Armed Illo men ran at it but shied away when it lashed out. None of us could get a clear shot without hitting our teammate. We were starting to think we would lose him when one of the veiled women jumped out of the saddle, seized a pike from a soldier, and ran at the tiger.

Time seemed to slow down. We watched her move in an arc, veil whipping around her, bracelets flashing as she leveled the spear and struck.

In fifteen seconds it was over, and the tiger lay dead at her feet. The woman handed the spear back to its owner, rearranged her veil, and folded her hands back beneath it.

“Is your man hurt?” Her voice was low and steady, soothing.

“He’s – he’s alright. Some bumps and bruises – he’ll be ok.” Most of us were still staring with our mouths open. None of the Illo acted like they’d seen anything strange, aside from the tiger. “We had no idea any women were permitted to fight.”

Our rescuer tipped her head. The veil hid her expression. “In times past it was necessary for a judge to be able to fight. Sometimes it was the only way to uphold her judgements.”

And that was how we learned who had summoned us to Illomentum.

 ----

Later, seated in her audience chamber, Judge Dindranen answered our questions about her country.

“I am unique,” she said, “in that I am trained in the use of weapons. The women of Illomentum rarely expose themselves to the dangers of combat. We are vessels of life and knowledge. The loss of a matron, before she could pass on her mantle, would be a devastating blow to her clan.”

“But the veils,” we pressed. “Why do your men make you hide behind veils?”

“You speak of veils as you might of shackles,” the Judge said. “As for our men ‘making’ us wear them – I think if it was their decision, they would look upon our faces and forms more often. But that is a privilege we do not grant lightly.

“It must be different in your country; you talk constantly of what women are ‘made’ or ‘permitted’ to do, as though they are children or cattle. But do not mistake us. The veil guards a woman’s counsel, her sacred responsibility, even her life. Why do you think so few of us fell ill with the fever? A doctor’s veil protects her from disease in all but the most extraordinary cases.

“When you first met with us, you mistook our messengers for our leaders. You did not understand our ways, and you pitied us. Now you know the truth, and your pity turns to confusion and mistrust. You cannot ‘save’ us the way you expected; do you regret that you helped us in the first place? Will you continue your friendship with us, now that you know it will not be solely on your own terms? Consider this when you return to your leaders, and ask: were your intentions for us ever truly just?”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Pre-Trial: Introducing Dr. Rosa

I wrote half of this like forever ago and decided to go ahead and finish it, because I love Dr. Rosa and everyone should get to meet her, she’s my favorite random bit character who shows up in everything I do set in a modern universe.

Danny’ s first meeting with Dr. Rosa. 

Timeline: Shortly after returning to the United States, pre-trial.

Tagging @special-spicy-chicken, @spiffythespook, @bleeding-demon-teeth 

Dr. Rosa Martinez has been in the business of treating the survivors of long-term traumatic experiences for twenty-three years. In that time, the methodologies have somewhat changed, as has the understanding of trauma’s physical components interacting with its psychological ones, but she has never wavered in her commitment.

She has worked with the survivors of child abuse, rape, domestic violence, abduction cases involving non-custodial parents, one stranger abduction, a woman who had lost two husbands, firefighters both, within ten years of each other to the wildfires that race through California when the winds are hot and the air stays dry. She’s been working with an increasingly large subset of military veterans returning from war with wounds within them that struggle to heal. She has, as they say, seen (or heard) just about everything. 

Today, though, she is meeting someone whose experience differs from anyone she’s treated before.

Dr. Rosa Martinez, fifty-eight years old, feels something she hasn’t felt since her first year after changing her practice to focus on long-term trauma and PTSD; genuine nerves and concern that she may falter and fall short of a patient’s needs. She pats at her hair, twisted tightly at the nape of her neck to keep it out of the way, only a few of the speckled coarse white-and-black hairs escaping here and there. 

She rearranges the photos on her desk in the corner of her office, over by the window, shifting the framed pictures of her daughters with their own families back and forth, smiles at the only photo with a single person in it - a brown-haired woman smiling under the blaze of sun on their last visit back to see family down in the islands - pressing her finger to her lips and then, lightly, over the woman’s mouth.

Wish me luck, Liz.

She had rearranged the bookshelves this morning, had the cleaners come in twice this week instead of once to ensure everything is well-dusted and spotlessly clean, as she’s been informed the patient is hyper-aware of mess and might become distraught if he is not able to clean it.

She stands by the window, looking out through the blinds at the parking lot, waiting for him to arrive. The patient’s profile questionnaire and basic information rests on her desk, and she’s been reading through it over and over, preparing herself. 

There is a wealth of information hidden between the lines in those questionnaires, when you know what you’re looking for. Rosa Martinez has always had an eye for the unspoken, the unwritten, the details that her patients fear to speak and so tiptoe around instead.

The younger brother is the only emergency contact. The brother’s number is listed on everything, no number for the patient himself. The brother’s name is written in the space for the potential sharing of details if considered medically necessary in the event of an emergency. The brother, the brother, the brother. There’s something to grasp onto there, a detail she shouldn’t let slide. Every inch of the initial paperwork tells her that the brother is trusted implicitly, but no one else is. 

She’s seen him on the news, of course. Everyone in this part of the state has heard about the Daniel Michaelson case, his reappearance after four years of prolonged captivity and essentially total isolation. Everyone has seen his parents on the news expressing gratitude and delight that he has returned home.

But the parents are not on his paperwork, and the brother had been clear, on the phone, that they would not be attending any family sessions, only he and Daniel - and that it would be best not to talk about their parents unless Daniel brought them up himself.

It’s a situation that involves similarities to previous patients of hers, but every similarity was intensified, twisted, rearranged in new ways. The conversations about the parents suggested, to Dr. Rosa, a certain scapegoat/child abuse situation she would consider more in the future.

In the captivity there was abuse and sexual assault, but it was a vicious, ritualized cycle of violence that went far beyond abuse and into pure torture. Torture for torture’s sake, the brother told her, his own jaw shaking with the effort of keeping his voice calm in their initial consultation as to whether or not she would consider taking his brother on. Torture for fun, torture to twist his brother into something else, something less.

Neither of us is going to get through this without help, Ryan Michaelson had told her, all of twenty-four years old but with the gravity of a much older man in his voice and the way he held himself, without some help. I need you to help my brother, please, because-… because I just have no fucking clue what to do. Oh, I’m sorry for my language, it’s just been a bad few days, just… just really since he got home, he’s been-… I don’t-

It’s fine, She had said, handing him a tissue to wipe his eyes while both of them pretended the tears weren’t there. Where is your brother now?

At home with his… with… I don’t know what Nathaniel Vandrum is. But he’s home with him. I’ll bring him for his first appointment, but he’s so fragile… he picked your photo out of the others, so I think he’ll come willingly, but… please. We need help, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make someone believe they’re human, Dr. Martinez. I don’t know how to help him.

This will probably be a challenge, even for someone with her experience, but she can’t imagine turning it down. 

She twists the wedding band on one finger, letting her fingertip play over the square diamond at the top, trace the line of smaller circular diamonds that ran down each side of the band. Liz knows who the new patient is, of course, but she’ll also know not to ask - they’ve always had a “no work talk” rule, protecting Rosa’s patients even from her own family’s curiosity. 

She knows some of her colleagues speak about their patients in oblique terms with their own families, keeping their identities secret but discussing the trials of their day, but Rosa has never done that. Her patients come to her with terrors they trust with no one else, and she would never betray that, not even with Liz.

Only with other professionals, in very specific circumstances, and with all identifying details carefully stripped does she seek advice or counsel when needed. 

She recognizes the car when it pulls up - she’s seen it on the news, when the cameras catch Ryan Michaelson in his array of perfectly tailored suits in a series of richly deep colors when he gets out each day, waving them off, his jaw set as he gives the occasional statement as they prepare to take Abraham Denner to trial.

Today, Ryan steps out of the car in a purple sweater that probably cost more than Rosa’s health insurance premium and she’d swear even his jeans were tailored. Brown shoes, soft leather, perfectly worn. Ryan’s a handsome one, that’s for sure - all bright smiles and warm brown skin, wild black curls. He is smiling now as he turns and speaks into the car, before closing his own door, brushing some invisible wrinkles out of his sweater, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

First, to meet Daniel Michaelson.

She has seen photos of him, of course - but he hasn’t been in any photographs or interviews, so she was not quite prepared for the incredibly tall, thin man who unfolds himself out of the passenger side. He’s wearing an oversized, dark blue heavy sweater, heavier than the weather really calls for, with a high crew neck and cable-knit braids down the front, his sleeves pulled hard to cover the backs of his hands, head dipped down so his wavy red hair falls down over his face, wearing jeans that are clearly too big and, she suspects, only staying up because of a belt. 

Daniel makes it to the curb and then stops, shaking his head, saying something to Ryan and acting like he’ll get right back in the car. Ryan steps closer to him, hands out without quite touching him, gesturing towards the office. Daniel shakes his head again, and she can see they need a minute, and steps back to give it to them.

She watches them for just a second longer, than steps out of her office into the waiting room before they can make their way inside. 

“Krista,” She says in a honeyed voice, slightly high-pitched, with only a hint of the island accent she grew up with. “Send Daniel Michaelson into my office as soon as they come in, don’t make them wait. And be sure to pour Ryan Michaelson a cup of the good coffee we all pretend I don’t know you keep in the breakroom.”

“Of course, Dr. Martinez,” Krista says brightly, looking up from the book she’s studying behind the desk to give her a bright smile. “I serve everyone the same coffee, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmmhmmm. Oh, and don’t try to shake Daniel’s hand,” Dr. Martinez adds, and disappears back into her office.

She has everything ready, but rearranges her desk one more time anyway just to be on the safe side. She has a couple of photos, as well - a photo of Daniel Michaelson pre-abduction that his brother provided, a post-abduction photo she is keeping only for reference. I put this up on Facebook like the week before he was gone, Ryan had said, shrugging his shoulders, as he handed her the pre-abduction photo. I printed it out to bring. God, I don’t even know when the last time I actually used Facebook was… 

22 year old Daniel, one week before he vanished, is at what she assumes is the company Christmas party. It has that sort of look, people milling in the background in cocktail dresses and suits. He’s wearing a navy suit as perfectly tailored as Ryan’s always are on TV, his hair clipped shorter than it seems to be now. The shoulders are thinner in the past, she thinks, but his body overall is definitely skinnier now than then. He’s holding a glass of some brown liquor, one arm around 20-year-old Ryan’s shoulder, the two of them smiling for the camera.

Then the next photo, which Ryan tells her the police took and gave him a copy of. Danny is standing in front of a blank wall, looking at nothing, his eyes focused off to the side. He’s wearing nothing but a thin T-shirt, which could not have been easy for him, since they showed up at the police station in Alberta on December 11th. All the brightness and sparkle is gone, replaced by a dull terror and uncertainty that can’t quite break through the placid submission in his face. She taps one finger over his face, the slightly bloody red wounds that cut into him, and then she slides the older picture onto the top as the door to her office opens.

Ryan steps in first, giving her a friendly smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. She can see Daniel just behind him the taller man has his arms folded, nearly hugging himself, his eyes focused on the floor. “Dr. Martinez, we’re here, they told us to go ahead and come right in.”

“That’s lovely, Mr. Michaelson, thank you, but I’ll have to ask you to sit outside for the duration of the appointment.”

Ryan’s face falters, but only slightly, and Rosa watches with interest and curiosity as he shifts his stance to be even more directly between she and his brother. Only name listed on any of the emergency contacts, only person given permission for sharing of medical information, and he is standing in the hallway of my office trying to protect him from me. “Are you sure? He, um, he struggles being alone-”

“N-No,” Danny says from behind him, so softly Rosa almost can’t hear him. “No, I can do it, Ryan, it’s okay. C-Can, can you let me go in? Can I go in?”

“Hey, if you’re not totally sure, you don’t have to, I can sit right here with you.” Ryan half-turns to face his brother, and they are standing within inches of each other without ever touching. Rosa watches all of it, taking the details in, committing them to memory. 

“I can try to do it. I can be good,” Daniel says softly, and Rosa’s head tilts, unconsciously, as she watches Ryan Michaelson wince at the words. She’ll need to write that down, keep that in her memory, too.

It’s come in deeply handy, over the course of her career, that she has an excellent memory for the details like this.

“Okay. Let me know if you can’t do it, we can try again later, yeah?” Daniel nods, slowly, and Rosa watches Ryan take a deep breath, close his eyes, and then turn back to her. As he does, his shoulders go back, and his voice changes - the softness slides away, replaced by a kind of hard melodic sound, the voice of the company man he is being groomed into and not the caring, worried, frazzled younger brother. “Okay, here’s the thing - don’t touch him, don’t get too into his space, and, um-”

“My name is Red,” Daniel Michaelson says, and he’s still not looking up, he still has his eyes firmly on the floor. “My name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner.”

“… and he still does that,” Ryan says tiredly, and steps back. “Call him Red, he gets really worked up if you call him anything else.”

“Because it’s not my name anymore,” Danny says, and there’s just the barest hint of annoyance there. Ryan rolls his eyes and Rosa fights back a smile; you can hold someone captive for four years, she thinks, but brothers are brothers, still, in the end.

Rosa doesn’t move from her desk as Daniel Michaelson steps into her office. He’s even taller in person than he seemed in the parking lot, all hunched over like he can make the height or his bright and eye-catching red hair disappear if he just curls over far enough. He glances at her, briefly, and she catches a hint of light blue eyes and the circle of red scarring across his face, the scars that wrap his neck like a collar he can’t take off.

She knows about the collar - Ryan warned her it comes up in conversation. She is prepared for this. She has a career uniquely situated to make her absolutely perfect for this. She has the experience that no one else in Northern California has, the experience and the dedication and the passion for helping people like Daniel Michaelson.

And yet the nerves that flutter within her stomach never quite subside.

When Daniel is all the way in and Ryan has closed the door to return to the waiting room, Rosa waits for a beat of silence, watching Daniel put his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like a small child awaiting punishment for an infraction rather than a grown man seeking therapy. “Do you prefer to be called Red?” She asks, finally, with no change to the warmth and welcome in her voice.

“My name is Red,” Daniel says, a little more firmly this time. “You, you have to call me that. That’s my name. I get, I get in trouble if I have the wrong thoughts, and that name is a wrong thought. Puppies don’t have wrong thoughts. My name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner.” The words seem to have a calming effect on him, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders and the way he is holding himself. “Can I, may I have permission to sit down?” 

“Of course,” She says warmly, and then watches with surprise as Daniel Michaelson sits on the floor in front of the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Ah, Daniel-… my apologies, Red. Would you prefer to sit on the couch for our first session?”

“Not allowed,” Daniel says, and she watches him begin to rub, compulsively, at one of the red scars dug hard into his jaw on the left side, rubbing and rubbing with his thumb, his other arm sliding around his legs. His hands are scarred along the lines of his veins, heavy obvious markings. Ryan had warned her about those, too. 

He is curled into the smallest little ball she can imagine someone so tall turning himself into. 

“I’m not allowed. Only people get the couch, puppies stay on the floor. Not allowed. I, I have to be good, I want to be good. I want… I want to be good,” He repeats to himself, plaintively, and Rosa’s heart breaks, just a little.

Nothing shows on her face, but Rosa takes in the moment and wonders if she is perhaps in far, far over her head with this one.

Then she picks up a pad of paper and a pen and settles herself into a small armchair off to the side, nodding. “Is that one of your rules? Your brother told me that there are… guidelines, that you live by.”

Daniel Michaelson nods, his eyes down on the floor. She can see he’s rubbed the scar at his jaw until it’s open and a little bloody, and she takes the tissue box from the table next to her chair and slides it across the floor until it bumps into his shoes - worn-out Converse sneakers that can’t be comfortable in the rainy chill outside.

Probably they were shoes he wore before, and probably Ryan offered him new ones, and probably he refused.

Daniel looks up at her, confused, and she takes in the blue eyes again, surprisingly vibrant in the pale, freckled face. She doesn’t let her eyes drop to his scars, not at all. She holds his gaze and smiles, slightly. “You are bleeding, Red.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He takes a tissue and presses it to his jaw, dropping his eyes back to the floor. Rosa settles back and makes a couple of introductory notes on her notepad, trying to decide where to begin. 

“Th-they want me to testify,” Daniel says, surprising her by being the first to speak. “But I, I don’t want to. He’ll look at me, he’ll look at me. I don’t want to. But they said I, I need to, they want me to. Ryan wants me to. I’m… he’s going to look at me. I don’t want to, but Ryan says, but I need to be good…”

“I understand,” Rosa says softly, nodding. “So is that what you’d like to focus on, as we get started seeing each other, Red? On being able to tape the testimony for the trial?”

There’s a silence, and then Daniel slowly nods. “I want to be able to do it,” He says softly. “For Ryan. Ryan wants me to do it. I want to, I want to do it, but I don’t want to do it. I feel both, at the same time. I want to do it but I shouldn’t, against the rules, against… against the rules. But I want to, Ryan does, Ryan wants me to. I want to but I don’t want to.”

“You’re feeling ambivalent about this - torn in two directions by your competing instincts. That’s perfectly understandable,” Rosa says softly, still writing, a constant stream of her impressions and thoughts and what Daniel is saying. “I think you’ve identified a very strong starting point for us, Red. I’m very happy to meet with you today, and your brother has scheduled you to see me twice a week while we get to know each other and once a week after that. Does that sound acceptable?”

Daniel frowns at her, confused, as though he can’t figure out why she’s asking. Then he slowly nods. “Can you make me able to do it?” He asks, from behind his knees. “Talk to the lawyers about what happened?”

Rosa takes a breath. “I can’t make you do anything. But if you want to, I think that your sessions with me may be able to help you work through what you need to have the skills to make that decision for yourself, and begin building a foundation for future decisions from there. Does that sound like a good plan to you?”

Daniel is silent, tissue still pressed to his face, then he slowly nods. “Oh, okay,” He says softly. “Whatever you want. I can be good.”

Rosa nods, slightly and gives him an encouraging smile. “Wonderful. And if you need to, we can call your brother in at any time. All right, Red. My name is Dr. Rosa Martinez, and I know you’re aware of that, but while you’re in this office, I want you to call me Rosa or Dr. Rosa, is that all right?”

He nods at her again, but a little more of his face comes up from behind his knees. “Y-Yes, I can do that, um, Dr. Rosa.”

“Perfect. That’s perfect, Red. Now let’s begin.”

[andi-o-geyser]

Continuing my Dr Jacob rants, I wanted to mention how... off I've been feeling with how the rest of the characters have been treating the whole situation regarding him dating Michelle. It's so far been exclusively framed as a marital issue that Ted has to work through, and it's being massively downplayed by the people around him and the narrative itself? I feel as if it's being equated to simply struggling with watching an ex move on, which is SO not what is happening here. This is a deeply unethical and damaging relationship to everybody else being pulled into Michelle and Dr. Jacob's absolute fucking nonsense, and I know I've brought this up before, but this is the type of shit you get your license taken away for. Having a relationship with a patient, former or not, is such a full stop unethical crossing of every boundary meant to exist between a patient and therapist that I couldn't explain just how much of a no it is if I had 15 hours uninterrupted and a megaphone.

At least where I live, the college of registered psychotherapy has a half a decade minimum legal time frame that must be elapsed to have a relationship with a patient, but honestly that's just technicalities. Therapists should, under NO CIRCUMSTANCE, have any kind of duel relationship with a current or former patient. Therapy is meant to make a connection to help you work through your problems, but it's not for making a friend and it's certainly not for meeting a partner. And for a therapist to abuse that power and, in this situation, maybe even coerce a patient out of their marriage so they can date them (because come on, that's exactly what fucking happened given the facts), is beyond deplorable. I don't give a fuck if Dr. Jacob gives nice guy energy, he's a professional (unprofessional as he may be) who knows exactly what he did, and he's a piece of shit for it.

I know this is TV, and the way therapists act in media is so sensationalized and dramatized, but considering Ted Lasso is "the show about having good mental health" and understanding and unpacking trauma and issues, the lacklustre reaction from characters regarding the relationship between Ted's ex wife and her (and Ted's!!) therapist are just bizzare. I need at least somebody in-universe to acknowledge how baffling the behaviour is, and I really can't deal with the idea of Ted being left out to dry in this situation. This isn't some simple "my ex is moving on and that's tough for me but I need to accept it" situation, this is a borderline traumatic betrayal of trust Ted is going through, and the thought of it being left unaddressed while Ted has to make nice with Dr. Jacob because "Well, I really need to not make a fuss because he makes Michelle happy and he's Henry's new father figure now!" is soooo fucking awful I honestly can't even think about it. Anyways don't date your therapist this has been my PSA