“Does she drink a lot?” Her eyes were closer to mine and intense. I suddenly found I couldn’t look into them. She turned her hips toward me on the couch and seemed to be intentionally entering my personal space. She was tuned in to my every word. I felt a little self-conscious, and a little guilty for outing my innocent mother.
“Well . . .” I had to think about what she meant, “when you say ‘a lot,’ do you mean frequently . . . or heavily, although I guess it’s a little of both. I mean, she has a couple drinks after work almost every day now, but more and more often she seems to overdo it.”
Rachel looked at me for a silent moment as an uneasy memory began to materialize in my mind.
“Okay, so let’s talk for a minute about how her drinking is affecting you Scott. Let’s steer away from your mother and her well-being for a moment, just tell me how this affects you personally,” she said softly.
“Well . . . it’s hard for me to see her like that, I mean, like when she’s had too much. I just don’t know how to deal with her, or how to talk to her when she gets like that. It can be pretty annoying!”
As soon as those words were out of my mouth I felt a subtle weight lift. It wasn’t Mom I was getting irritated with, it was my inability to control the situation. I suddenly felt I was getting a piece of my lost mental clarity back.
I took in a long, deep breath, and blew it out in front of me, a heavy exasperated sigh.
“You’re doing fine Scott,” she said, “let’s just take this a step at a time. I have considerable experience with substance use and the affects it can have on families, so I’m just going to ask you some more questions, okay?”
I nodded.
“Honestly, I can feel your strong emotions, and your energy block definitely has to do with your mother. Now, as you’ve probably noticed, some of my healing methods are a bit unorthodox, but I’ve already felt the first signs of this energy lifting from you as we’ve been talking here. It may sound strange, but if you pay attention, I think you can feel it too.”
She was right. I felt it.
She spoke softly this time, “Now Scott, I want you to tell me how your mother makes you feel when she drinks.”
“Uncomfortable,” I blurted out. I couldn’t help it, my mouth just opened and a word fell out.
“Really . . . and in what way does she make you feel uncomfortable?” she probed, her folded knee touching my thigh as I fidgeted with the glass of water in my lap. Rachel was focused on me and completely zeroed in on my every word.
“She’s always, I mean, she . . . I don’t know,” I fumbled out tensely, trying desperately to say what I wanted to say, without actually coming right out and saying it.
I felt her take the glass of water from my hand and set it on the table behind us. She sat back and her hand touched my arm, making a gentle connection.
“It’s okay Scott,” Rachel soothed and leaned toward me like a consoling friend, and the lush smell of her perfume wrapped around me. “I’m the only person here, and everything stays with us, okay? Does she say things you don’t appreciate?”
I thought about it for a moment and then shook my head as I couldn’t think of a time when she did. As I thought about it more, my heart sank as a vivid memory popped into my head which I must have blocked out; but there it was. My mouth went bone dry again and I thought longingly of the glass of water on the table as Dr. Blancet continued.
“No? Then does she get . . . physical with you Scott?”
I looked up at her with a cross between incredulous indignation, and awed wonder that she could have read me so easily. Her eyes looked deeply into mine, letting me know she understood my problem, and that it was okay to discuss it candidly.
“She’s always . . . grabbing at me,” I revealed, nervously looking into my hands. Rachel was unphased by my confession and continued watching me, waiting for me to continue. I couldn’t.
“It’s okay Scott,” she confided quietly as if letting me in on a little secret, “alcohol affects people in many ways, and it’s our job as bystanders to do what we can to help the people we love when they need it. It’s also our responsibility to keep ourselves from being negatively affected by their actions as well.”
I looked up at her again as if a faint light had just blinked on. Her loving eyes were so accepting, so caring that I got lost in them for a moment, finding a glimmer of salvation in her piercing gaze.
“I’m assuming that, since her physical contact makes you uncomfortable instead of say, fearful, her touch isn’t entirely motherly. Is that it?”
I swallowed hard and lightly nodded, a sense of relief running through my limbs that I didn’t have to come right out and say it. She squeezed my arm again in a comforting way and set her other hand on top of the first.
“Tell me about a typical situation Scott. How does it start, and when do you begin to realize that she’s had too much to drink?”
This was difficult, and it helped that Dr. Blancet seemed to understand my situation. I took a deep breath and began.
“She likes to put on music at night, which she always has, ever since I was little. It’s one of the things I love about her, we both enjoy great music. We’re usually having an enjoyable time together, and then later into the evening, after she’s had a few drinks, she’ll end up asking me to dance with her,” I revealed shakily, “Then, sometimes when we do, it’s like she needs a boyfriend or something the way she wants us to dance.”
I was honestly ashamed to talk about my wonderful mother like this, but I had to get it out. This was the only way for me to get through it, and I knew immediately that this was the big problem; the one which had been bothering me to no end!
“I see,” was Rachel’s simple reply. I continued.
“She wants to get really close, which is fine; she’s always been affectionate. But then she starts doing things, like sliding her hands up under my shirt,” I continued. Something inside me was starting to break open as I began getting it off my chest.
“I don’t even mind it so much, and I try to be understanding of her personal situation and even her drunkenness, but then she takes it too far; every time! She’ll either put her fingers under the waist of my pants, or rub over my back pockets, or she’ll start kissing my neck! It freaks me out and I have to push her away and leave her standing there. I feel bad when I do it, I really do, but what am I supposed to do?! She doesn’t even remember anything about it the next day.”
Rachel looked at me for what felt like an hour. It was hard to meet her gaze. I could feel her intense eyes assessing my natural expressions, taking in my ‘energy’ as it were. I was getting a little upset and uncomfortable talking like this, especially with her sitting right beside me, but I also felt justified in my distress.
Then she seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.
“What’s your mother’s name Scott?” she asked calmly.
“Sophia.”
“That’s a pretty name. I can see this is very difficult for you; and I want you to know that I understand, and I can help you. Let me ask you a tough question though, which will help me see the situation more clearly. Just try to answer as best you can, okay?”
Nod.
“What do you think would happen if you just let Sophia continue her little dance with you, I mean without pushing her away the way you do,” she asked, like a sudden punch in the gut. My eyes grew wide and I turned my head to look at Rachel in surprise.
“What? Wh-what do you mean?” I stuttered back