I've been in therapy on and off for many years. As of late, off. The relationship between a "patient" and a doctor is a delicate and intimate one. I visited Dr. Berger on Wednesday afternoons. It worked out best with my work schedule. He was a middle-aged, Jewish man, walked with a limp. I think of him often. I know he was battling cancer. I know he had just as many neuroses as his clients. His vulnerability made him relatable. It was a good match. I'd seen a handfull of therapists who didn't work for me, somehow he did. I think I pitied him. I'd been seeing him for anger issues and a pool of regrets that I felt I needed to talk through. During a session, I began to explain how I had regretted something or the other and how I wanted to do something or the other. He asked "why?" I explained my logic and he goes "Do it." I must have stared at him for a full 3 minutes out of my 50 min hr. He repeated "do it." At that moment, I felt he gave me permission to live. For some reason, it never occurred to me I could just do it. We were speaking of something very specific but what I heard was," I could do anything I wanted to with my life." It was my mine to do with as I wished. That moment he saved me. I never turned back. I knew from then on, this gift called life could be used exactly how I wanted.
Post Script: I'm pretty sure I owe him about $2500. I've wanted to write him and tell him what he'd done for me. I wonder if he knew. I hope he's alive and survived his battle. 😔