The Day Skype Almost Killed Me

I’m only just recovering from a disastrous session with Nikki two nights ago, in which she was lovely and did nothing wrong, but small thing by small thing slowly pushed me over the cliff.

It started with a voice message on Monday afternoon, letting me know that she didn’t have me booked in for my regular appointment the next day. She didn’t have any availability that day, but could do Wednesday or Friday, and could I call her back?

No, I could not call her back.

I hate talking on the phone, and I felt intensely torn about whether I even wanted a session that week. I settled for texting her back and letting her know that I couldn’t do either of the times she suggested, and it felt good when she persisted – she offered me another two times, including one on her day off, but they were both mornings, and I can’t work after I do therapy. My brain just doesn’t function – it’s like asking a toddler to recite pi to 300 decimal places.

TRIGGER 1: She replies and says she has some childcare issues tomorrow, but offers to do the session via Skype. What is she going to do with her child, then? He can watch TV; I don’t need to worry about her arrangements. Um, apparently I do, if your arrangements are to put your toddler in front of the TV and trust that he won’t interrupt us for a full hour. The feeling of being unsure about whether she’d actually be paying attention to me or thinking about her son and whether he was still in front of Spongebob or drawing on the wall with crayons was really hard, but I agreed.

TRIGGER 2: Five minutes after our session time starts, she texts and asks for my Skype ID, and tells me that the friend request will probably come from her partner’s account because she’s using his iPad. I feel exposed and unsafe.

TRIGGER 3: She adds me; I call her and she doesn’t pick up. I call her again, and it connects, but there’s no video – my camera is turned on, but hers isn’t. I feel like an idiot; I assumed that we’d be video-calling, but maybe we’re not? I feel intensely embarrassed while she says that the call came through on her phone so there’s no video, and she’ll call me back from the iPad.

TRIGGER 4: After we talk a little about my place (which she can see in the background), she asks how my week’s been, and whether I’ve done any socialising. I tell her I went to a music and dance festival with a friend on the weekend, and she says Oh! I was there too, with my little boy! This is a nightmare come true for me. When I’m out in public, I always feel paranoid, inhibited by the thought that maybe my therapist is there, and she’ll see me doing something, like dancing or eating or something I wouldn’t choose to share with her. The festival I was at was very small, and the audience stood in a circle around the dancers, so it’s quite surprising that I didn’t see her, and a high risk that she would’ve seen me. I hate that.

TRIGGER 5: Skype freezes repeatedly for the first 10 minutes, leaving both of us stuck in unflattering expressions, like actors on a children’s show pretending to be fishes.

TRIGGER 6: We give up on Skype, and spend 10 minutes trying to connect on FaceTime. It doesn’t work, so we give up, and she calls my mobile.

TRIGGER 7: She asks about the volunteer work I do (which I’ve never told her about, until I mentioned it as an explanation for why I couldn’t make the session time she offered). Last year I was supervising a research project about outcomes for Indigenous children in out of home care, and the literacy and numeracy outcomes for the kids (and the impact on their life opportunities) were so appalling I wanted to do something. So I signed up for a program that matches people with children in foster care, and once a week I read books and play games with a gorgeous, spirited six year old Aboriginal girl called Immi. This resonates with Nikki, because she used to work in child protection, and she thinks it’s amazing, and points out that most people don’t hold down a full-time job and two volunteer positions, let alone those with major mental illness. I feel like a fraud, because I love Immi, but the thought of going to see her the next day instead of leaving work and going home to bed makes me want to slash my wrists.

TRIGGER 8: She asks whether there’s anything I want to talk about today; there is, actually. I haven’t managed to bring it up, but for weeks I’ve wanted to tell her about why I did the last chemical burn, the one that needed surgery. But I look at the clock, and there’s only a few minutes left to the hour. Don’t you have to go soon, though? She pauses, then says He’ll probably be fine for another 10 minutes. And I mentally flip out, because we’ve only actually talked for less than 30 minutes, and even though she’s offering more time it feels like we haven’t talked about anything and 10 minutes is no good and everything is awful. I don’t say anything for a long minute, and she says We can talk for another 10 minutes, or we can finish now – I’m happy either way. And I’m completely devastated and shut down and the thought of having to say goodbye and hear her tell me to take care and see you next week is unbearable, so I just hang up.

TRIGGER 9: She texts me and says she’s not sure what happened but she’s available for another 10 minutes if I want to talk. I feel like the world is caving in and therapy is awful, I wait for it all week and then it just makes me feel terrible, and I hate it. I text back, and say ‘I hung up you. Sorry. Lesson of the day: phone is not a good medium for us‘. She says that’s no problem, we can leave it til next week, take care of yourself. I completely. fucking. IMPLODE. I’m not okay and she’s GOING and I HATE her. For a few minutes, the urge to send back ‘Fuck you‘, ‘I hate you‘, ‘You’re such a bitch‘ is so strong, all I can do is lie still and breathe. I have a white-knuckle grip on my phone, and I want so badly to lash out. I breathe, and remind myself that I’m feeling a lot of pain right now, but Nikki is not the source of the pain.

I am not intending to take care of myself tonight; I am intending to cut myself open, and I send back ‘Nope‘. She is non-reactive. ‘Okay. Let me know if you need anything‘. I don’t understand what that means; I never understand what that means.

It takes a few more minutes of breathing, but I manage to come up with a response that I hope will come closer to ending the conversation in a way that doesn’t make me want to tear myself apart.

I need to not feel like slashing my wrists every day, and you can’t help with that. And I’m pissed off about it but I know it’s not your fault.

When I get her response, I realise I was expecting her to be defensive, snappy. Instead, she says ‘Thank you for sharing your feelings! I know it’s really tough. I’m truly sorry that I don’t seem to be able to help with that at the moment but if you want to stick with counselling you know where I am. I hope you have the resources to keep safe tonight but let me know if you don’t feel like you do. Otherwise give me a call/text if you want to book another appointment tomorrow or later in the week.’

I soften. How could I not?

The Day Skype Almost Killed Me

15 thoughts on “The Day Skype Almost Killed Me

  1. I too hate talking on the phone. What a nightmare you had with your call though. I don’t think there were many more technical things that could have gone wrong!
    I’m glad Nikki was so supportive to you in the end and you were able to be so honest with your feelings. Also well done for not lashing out even though you were in so much pain. I really relate.
    Big hugs xx


  2. That reads like a “comedy” sketch for the worst therapy session ever. Horrible!! And while I know Nikki was desperately trying to find a way and time to connect with you because she’s worried about you, should she really set up a Skype call when she doesn’t seem at all experienced with the technology? Sorry, I shouldn’t criticize her; that probably doesn’t help. But I was right there with you, cringing and then collapsing with each trigger. I can tell how hard you were trying and yet it just wasn’t working in first one way and then another. I’m so sorry. I’m thinking of you, though I know that doesn’t really help.

    (As an aside, Immi sounds wonderful, and I’m glad you are in her life.)


    1. I was also carrying the baggage of the time (months ago) where she said she has trouble with Skype sessions because they always feel like they go for so much longer than normal sessions and it’s hard to keep the conversation going. So I guess that was niggling at the back of my mind, too. I am still frustrated with myself for being obnoxious, but comments like yours help me feel less like an ungrateful bitch.


  3. Rea, I’m wincing as I read this – I would absolutely flip the hell out if this happened. I’m sorry that you’re in so much pain. I understand why this was absolutely terrible and painful – you needed her to reach out to you and care and be sensitive and attuned to you.

    It is really impressive that you messaged her in such an effective way, and I’m glad she finally responded supportively. Is there any chance you would reach out to her if you don’t feel you have the the resources to keep safe? Sending warm thoughts to you.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It feels unfair to be upset over things that were out of her control, like skype freezing and face time not working, but I suppose whether it’s fair or not doesn’t change how I feel. I don’t feel like I responded in a very effective way, but I’m glad I didn’t send her an abusive message.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Rea,
    I know you’ve said she “was very lovely and did nothing wrong,” but I want to challenge that. I am very unsettled by her conduct, and it’s no wonder that it was triggering and upsetting to you as well.
    At least where I live, it is highly unethical for her to conduct a session with you on her partner’s iPad. It is borderline unethical for her to conduct a session with you when she is home alone with her child. And it simply was not right for her to say she was at the music festival as well.
    I know that Nikki is often wonderful to you as well (as was her text response) but that doesn’t erase the fact that the way she handled that session was really not okay and not in your best interest, in my opinion.
    I’m not saying you should quit on her – I know things are more complicated than that – but it is so hard for me to watch you suffer due to her missteps. I have no doubt she cares about you… and I’m also feeling very protective of you, my sweet friend (and wanting to validate that in feeling triggered and angry, you’re not overreacting). 😘❤️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’ve been feeling like a total asshole over how I behaved in that session, because a lot of it was just bad luck and she was trying to be there for me. I feel a little less guilty, hearing your perspective. And I feel all warm and fuzzy knowing that you want to protect me 😊

      Liked by 1 person

    2. I agree with Lily. I think she was trying, because she genuinely cares, but it turned out to be unprofessionally handled. Of course she’s not perfect, and I think her intentions were good, but still.

      And besides that, you can always be irritated even if she does nothing wrong. Like me, that’s what I do with E, get all worked up over nothing. (Supposedly that’s therapeutic, too, if you talk about it, ha!) Anyway, no guilt over feelings, remember? Your feelings are what they are, like the weather.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. This sounds unreal – that a real therapist acted in this way. I know that your experience with boundaries and therapists hasn’t always been clear (and that is NOT your fault), but, wow. This is something. Something cringe-worthy. And trigger-worthy. No wonder you felt like slashing your wrists, I think most of us would have also felt awful after this “session.”
    And I echo Sophia, you handled this so skillfully. So darn skillfully.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It doesn’t feel effective at all – it feels shameful and wrong. But I also think it really was the best I could do with the capacity I had at the time, even though it was far from perfect.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. The trainers at the retreat I was at this past week in Portland, told us “aim for C work.” I kind of like that, it gives permission to not be perfect or for perfect to even be something necessary. But I still think you did A work, personally. And it is okay to feel ashamed, you aren’t used to speaking up. It is okay to feel ashamed and wrong, that seems normal, given your history. This is very new and scary territory.


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