To understand Melissa—who she was to me and what she was all about—I would have to go back three years, to when I was nearly raped. After this happened, I experienced anxiety more terrifying than anything I had ever known. So traumatized was I by the ordeal that I was recommended to a counselor at my medical group’s Behavioral Health Center. Funny how they call it that, too. It wasn’t my behavior that was questionable, but my emotions.
I was given a date, a time, and a name… Melissa Goldstein. I wasn’t happy to see her at first, I’ll admit. I just didn’t see how talking about what happened could possibly help me, since I’d already gone through it with others several times. I’d also written about it in my journal.
Melissa’s physical appearance didn’t stand out to me in any way at first. She was short like me, with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. She was skinny to the point of being frail, but you could tell she was in good shape. Overall, she was just there—just your simple, ordinary, average woman in her late fifties.
She dressed conservatively in dark colors, wore little to no makeup, and painted her nails in boring, neutral shades. Even her glasses were dull.
The receptionist told me she was an easygoing woman and that I would like her. That turned out to be true. She came across as very calm and professional. She had a low-pitched voice, which I found soothing as well.
I had seen a handful of psychologists in the past for different reasons, but not for the anxiety and PTSD brought on by my terrifying ordeal with my would-be attacker. Melissa was the first counselor I saw for a specific reason.
At the time, I was still married to my ex, Kieran. I told Melissa what happened and gave her a little history about myself. She listened calmly, without judgment and without interrupting. If there was one thing I hated, it was being interrupted—then having to struggle to remember where I’d left off once I could finally speak again.
Sometimes I couldn’t help but cry, though Melissa didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t fazed by it one way or the other. I figured it wasn’t that she was insensitive, but more likely that she’d seen enough tears in her thirty years of service to be used to it—and to even expect it. Sometimes tears and therapy went hand in hand.
Over the next year and a half, we would meet nearly a dozen times. Melissa would turn out to be one of the most brilliant psychologists I had ever met… and one of the most disturbing. She would serve as a stark reminder that sometimes the people we least expect turn out to be the biggest disappointments in the end.
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and then Add to home screen.