Holy shit. Mic drop. Melinda just found her self-worth and put Gia in her place all in the same breath. Inside, I’m slow clapping.
Gia crosses her arms and looks away. I can tell Melinda got to her, which is good, but it was enough. Patient sessions are often an ongoing pushing and pulling of boundaries and emotions. Some walls crumble slowly, while others suddenly implode.
“You can drop the façade anytime,” I tell Gia softly. “Just let go of the untouchable bad girl and let us see who’s really in there. We won’t judge.”
She groans. “God, this place is fucking exhausting.”
With that, she gets up and leaves the room.
“Dr. Wells, I don’t mean to question your decisions, but do you really think there’s a chance she’s going to change?” Melinda asks.
“There’s always a chance.”
“Does everyone stay until the end and some graduate and others don’t?”
“Sometimes,” I say. “Patients are sometimes asked to leave before the end.”
“You don’t think Gia needs to leave?” Melinda lowers her brows in question.
I hesitate, thoughts racing through my mind. Deep down, I know I wouldn’t have kicked Gia out of Beckett under normal circumstances. Confronting inner demons often brings out the worst in people—that’s just part of the process. I tolerate anything but physical violence and behavior that hinders the progress of other patients.
But Gia’s ultimatum has me questioning myself. Do I think there’s any way she’ll be ready to graduate at the end of this session? No. Barring a miracle, Gia will still be aloof and dismissive of the idea that her drug use is a problem.
Will I let her graduate anyway, just so she doesn’t tattle on me for my crush on Alexei? No. I’d rather lose my job than do something so dishonest.
Gia deserves to be kicked out just for making the threat. But I didn’t even consider that. I think it’s because no matter how much training I’ve had on boundaries and respect, a part of me that no one ever sees still thinks I deserve to be treated badly.
I’m something of a fraud, really—a therapist who instills self-worth in others every day but struggles to find my own at times. I come by it honestly due to my dysfunctional childhood, but I still feel shame over it.
I have shame about my shame, which is ironic. I identify deeply with the shame so many of my patients feel because, even though they have no idea, I feel it, too. It’s something I’ll always battle with.
Alexei speaks up and saves me from responding to Melinda.
“Let’s trust Dr. Wells to make that decision. She knows things we don’t. We’re not here to judge, remember?”
I give him a grateful look.
“You’re right, of course,” Melinda says. “I’m sorry, Dr. Wells.”
“No need to apologize,” I tell her. “You guys know how I say recovery can be messy? I find it often brings out both the best and the worst in my patients. The relationships the four of you are building with each other will stay with you forever, even if you never talk again after you leave here. And, like her or not, we’re Gia’s best chance at getting clean.”
“How do you get through to someone like that, though?” Joe asks.
“Sometimes people are listening even when you think they’re not.”
Joe looks over at the clock on the wall. “I have to go. My first phone call from home is in ten minutes and I don’t want to miss it.”
“You get to talk to your wife and kids, how wonderful,” Melinda says. “Enjoy it, Joe.”
“Thanks.”
He leaves the room and I look at Alexei and Melinda. “What about you guys? You’re approved for calls to and from home now, too.”
For the first three weeks at Beckett, patients aren’t allowed any contact with the outside world. Their phones are taken when they’re admitted and they don’t get them back until graduation. Most patients eagerly await the first day for phone calls, like Joe.
“I should call my husband and see how he is,” Melinda says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself to do it.
“You don’t have to,” I remind her. “It’s just an option.”
“I know.” She shakes her head. “I love my family, but I feel like they’d be better off without me. It has to be hard, with everyone knowing what I did. I feel like I humiliated them.”
“Who gets to make that decision for your husband and kids? Whether they want you in their lives?” I ask Melinda, not for the first time.
She hesitates. “They do.”
“I’ve spoken to all of them over the past three weeks. They love you and miss you and can’t wait for you to get better so you can go home.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “I miss them, too.”
“Go call them. You’ve been working hard and they’re proud of you.”
She nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thank you, Dr. Wells.”