She, Trump, and I

Following the elections, I longed to be with clients who mirrored what I felt. I wished to sit in silence with them and mourn for this country and its people. Several clients were shaken by the events; a woman in her late 20s, whom I will call She, was not. She, who voted for the first time this year, comes from a state that is ardently Republican. My client, however, is liberal and progressive. I do not know whom she voted for, but I assume it was Hillary.

I care about She greatly—sessions with her just fly by. Her presence and the stories she narrates reverberate in my heart and soul for days between our sessions. Following the vote, however, I would either forget names of individuals in her life or mix them up. I would feel as if She were my master— I had to fulfill her every demand, even before knowing it. With her, I found myself tensing up, sitting motionless on the edge of my chair and leaning forward. Noises outside the room that used to be barely audible became loud and omnipresent: a heavy rain felt deafening, crackles of the radiators were startling, and footsteps of anyone nearby sounded like an army marching across the hallway. So much so, in fact, that I suggested moving the noise machine into the room

She was referred to me by an Israeli friend. I wondered if she thought I was from Israel. How would she feel if she found out I am an Arab? Would she feel betrayed or repulsed by me? After all, the president-elect has promised to ban Arabs/Muslims from the United States. How would it feel to her if I was not a welcome presence?

I did what we therapists/analysts usually do: Mull the case, discuss it, and think about it. Finally, I decided to surrender to my inadequacies and listen from a different register: “Think of the session as a dream,” I thought to myself. “Let your thoughts just float with her words and the images they conjure up.”

The next session, she returned to a topic she had been visiting frequently: “Sometimes I am afraid if I kept speaking, I m