The Third Level

"So Lindsey, what brings you here?" she asks. Her voice is sweet and gentle. It reminds me of my own mother’s. I take a deep breath think through my response. Why was I here? Damn it. Don't cry, don't cry. I blink a few times before answering, feeling my tears get caught in my eyelashes. I take another breath.

"I guess, I just don't really like myself," simple, but to the point. I’m not here to beat around the issue, well, my issues.

"Why don't you like yourself?" Well shit. I knew she was going go for the tough questions I just didn’t expect it to be three minutes into our very first session. “I see a beautiful, cute, young woman in front of me. Why don’t you start by telling me what’s not to like?”

My shy attitude, my loud laugh, my nasally voice, oh, my giant nose, the fact that I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m twenty- two and have never had a boyfriend. I still live with my parents. I don’t have a stable job yet. All my friends live in other states.

“I don’t know. Everything?” I feel my eyes shift to the ground. “I just don’t think I am good enough,” I answer.

“For who?” she counters.

For me.

“For my parents and friends I guess. They seem to have things mostly figured out and I just feel like I’m stuck in this in-between.”

“And this makes you feel less-than?” she asks.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I just graduated from college and I have nothing to really show for it. No job, no sense of direction. The worst part is I don’t even have the motivation to even do anything about it.” The tears are falling now. Great. What a loser crying in therapy.

“Well, we can work on that,” she hands me a tissue from the window sill behind her. “So would you say right now you want to work on self-esteem and self-confidence?” she smiles gently again, “is that an accurate assessment of your goal?”

I take the tissue are gently swipe under my eyes. “Yeah,” I nod sniffing in my snot. “Yeah, I think so.”

As she’s jotting down notes I take an opportunity to look around her office. Its small, but warm. There is an eccentric carpet with lots of fringe. In the corner is a big oversized leather chair with some brightly colored throw pillows. On the wall there are a bunch of poster sized papers she’s tapped up, all with her hand writing scrawled on it. There’s just as many laying in a heap on the floor below. I notice one has a drawing of a brain on it. Another looks like a spider web with words I can’t quit make out.

“The third level.” She says. I take my eyes away from the posters and look back at her as she's finishing up her last scribble; her graying hair the only part of her that gives her age away. She has gray-blue eyes that always seem focused and I like that she's wearing red cowboy boots. She’s not afraid of what people think. I internally roll my eyes at myself.

“Our goal is to get you to start thinking on the third level.” She stands up and starts riffling through the papers still stuck to the wall. “It’s here somewhere.” She mutters under her breath. She finally finds the one she’s looking for, flattens out all the creases with her hands, and gives it a pat. It looks like a ladder with three rungs. I shift on the couch to get a better view. She sips from her black coffee. Placing the mug down on the floor, she starts drawing circles around certain words at each level.

“Level one, is where you are. Its dark, lonely and sad,” I nod. Sure is. “Level two is hopeful. Optimistic,” she continues. “Level three, that’s where the confidence, love and joy is.”

“How do you get to level three?”

“By knowing that you’re worthy.”

“Oh. That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she affirms.