Page 199 of The Holy Grail
He could tell she was dead serious, but to him, not only was it a strange request, but also seemed like an impossible task. Talk for ten minutes? He honestly didn’t think he’d be able to do it—despite the fact he was a lawyer—but just as he was about to open his mouth and start, she stopped him.
“And please do it with your eyes closed.”
He blinked at the new instruction, but did as he was told, and started talking.
To Lauren’s amusement, he started off by saying, “Elephants are pink,” which is usually what all her patients did. She figured it was to show they thought the ‘assignment’ was silly, butit had proven to be incredibly helpful, so Lauren used it often as a sort of ice-breaker. The amount of insight she could gain was invaluable, and just like the majority of her other patients, within a minute, he was freely talking up a storm, almost too fast for her to take notes, even in shorthand.
She spent almost as much time watching him as she did taking notes, and knew that his black eye and bruised cheek were from Evan after an ugly scene with Malcom’s father. However, she’d seen many people with bruises—including small children—so Malcom’s injury wasn’t too much of a concern for her, given the context, especially since Evan had some bruises of his own.
When Malcom finally came to a stop, he slowly opened one eye, and asked, “Are my ten minutes up, yet? I feel like I’ve been talking forever.”
Lauren glanced over at the clock on the wall. “Actually, you’ve been talking for … thirty-three minutes.”
His eyes almost popped out of his head. “What?”
She pointed to the clock. “See for yourself.”
When he looked at the time, and saw he had, indeed, been yapping forthirty-threeminutes, he was stunned. He barely remembered anything he’d said, so God only knew what had come out of his mouth. “I thought you were going to stop me at ten minutes.”
“I never stop anyone once they get started. Well, I did stop one person, who actually ran out the hour, but that was a one-time thing.” She gave him a quick smile. “Most people, on average, go about a half hour before running out of steam.”
He nodded, as if that provided understanding for him, even though it didn’t. “Can I ask what the point of that was?”
“You’ve heard of journaling, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’ve found not everyone is a fit for journaling. Some people just don’t like to sit and write every day, or every other day, or whatever, because looking at a blank piece of paper shuts down their mind, instead of opening it. So, sometimes I have a new patient do the verbal equivalent of journaling, to see if it might be more productive for them.” She tilted her head. “So, I’m sure you know where this is going, but I’d like you to try this method of journaling every day if you can. Find a quiet spot in your house—or better yet,createa quiet spot in your house that’s just for you—and make it inviting and comfortable. I have such a room in my house, and everything in it is yellow. Everything, including the giant beanbag chair I sit on.”
Given her retro vibe, the beanbag chair made total sense to him. “So, you journal verbally?”
“I do both. I always have a physical journal with me so I can write whenever I get the urge. Like the other day, I was at the doctor’s office, and while I was in the waiting room, I was reading an article in a psychology magazine and there was a quote about shame and it was, ‘We cannot grow when we are in shame, and we can’t use shame to change ourselves or others’. Anyway, I thought it was rather profound, and might be something I could use later, so I wrote it down, then put it on my wall.” She pointed behind her to where the quote was, indeed, on the wall in a pretty frame.
“It is a good quote. I have a feeling you might use it on me at some point?”
“Maybe.” Lauren smiled at him, then got back on topic. “So, once a day, go into your space and close off the rest of the world, relax, close your eyes, and talk. Talk about what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, things that might be bothering you, and even things that are going well for you. You can let yourself go for as long as you want, or you can set a timer. It’s totally up to you. The point is to give your feelings a voice and release them into the universe. Especially the negative ones, because that shit has got to go.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, taken aback at her forthright manner and language; he had a feeling she was a lot different than most therapists.
“Is that an ‘Okay’ you’ll do it, or an ‘Okay’ you’re humoring me and have no intention of doing it? Because if you’re just humoring me, know that it won’t make me happy. See, when I suggest you do things it’s because I think they will help you, but any time you don’t do the things I suggest is you not putting in the work, and putting in the work is the only way you get anywhere.”
He shook his head, bemused. “I wasn’t expecting you to be this blunt. I thought therapists were gentle and soft-spoken.”
“I don’t like to waste time—not my patient’s time, or mine. And I also find being blunt can weed out the people who aren’t serious about recovery. And that may sound cold, but there are too many people whoareserious about recovery, who are willing to put in the time, and they’re my priority, not the people who want to just sit in my office and pay to talk to a sympathetic ear who will validate everything they say and nothing more.”
Mal cleared his throat. “I’m not going to waste your time. I’ll make a space, and do the verbal … journaling.”
“Good. Now then, do you have ayard?”
“A yard?”
“You know, with grass.”
“Oh, yes, I have a small backyard, with some grass. Why?”
“Because at least once a day, I’d like you to go and walk around your yard, barefoot, for at least ten minutes. Ideally, you should do it a few times a day, but you should do it at least once.”
“All right.”
