As I have shared in my bio, I have been in therapy for more years of my life than not. It wasn’t very long after my father died that my behavior began to change for the worst. My mom took me to a counselor in very short order after the death of my father and the noticeable changes in my behavior. My best guess is that I was 8 years old at my first visit.

I can recall the very first visit to Dr. Wise (name changed). His office was part of the building he rented out to others. Parking was on the street, and he had a separate sidewalk that led to his office. It was your classic therapy scene you would think of when you entered the office. A long brown leather couch with a few other chairs placed throughout the waiting area. There were plenty of children’s books and magazines of all types to read. In the corner were toys for younger children to play with. In addition, free coffee and hot water to make hot chocolate were always available.

The way the visits would work is my mom would go in first and talk, and then I would go in alone for the second half. Then we would all be in session together for the end. Sitting alone in the waiting area, wondering what they were talking about, was probably my biggest pastime. I would usually get hot chocolate and look through the stacks of magazines. I never really read, as the children’s books were for younger children and the magazines were for adults. What I really did more than anything during that time was think. I mostly had thoughts about what my mom and Dr. Wise were talking about or what was going to happen to me due to whatever event took place the week before that I was going to get a talking to about. Occasionally, another person would come into the office early for their appointment and be in the waiting room with me. I always imagined that they were there because they were getting divorced. Trying to fill the time while waiting was uncomfortable at best.

I soon became defiant in wanting to participate in the visits to see Dr. Wise. The defiance started out with light resistance, and eventually, it became flat out refusal to get in the car to go. As I review the tapes, the resistance varied from visit to visit. In the beginning, it was simply stating, “I don’t want to go,” then getting in the car and being fully compliant. There were several occasions where I would refuse to go into see Dr. Wise and just sit on the brown couch and wait it out. I recall leaving the office on a couple of occasions and walking around until it was time to go home. Another method I would use is to sit in the car for the entire hour and never go into the office. My defiance wasn’t due to not liking Dr. Wise. In current time, as I write this, I think about what all that defiance was about. I have come to the conclusion that as a child, I had no purpose for seeing Dr. Wise. The simple fact was that Dr. Wise was not going to bring back my father. He was not going to fill the missing hole. So instead, I took the hot chocolate packets and opened them and poured them into the coffee carafe and dumped the powdered creamer into the hot water carafe and made a big mess by breaking the wooden stirring sticks and dropping the little straws behind the cabinet for him to find.

Something that I had come to love as a child was fishing. My dad had taken me and my brother fishing on many occasions, and it was something that I came to enjoy. As an adult, I have come to learn that fishing was a method of how I used to cope with my father’s death. Memories of my father are far and few between for many reasons. The very first reason is the fact that I was just 7 when he died. Scientific facts support that childhood memories begin in the 2-4 year old range. For me, most of my earliest memories start around age 4. This gave me just 3 short years of conscious memory of my father. Fishing was a method of memorializing my father.

Dr. Wise found out that I liked fishing and for a minute was able to capitalize on that. He negotiated with me and my mom that she would take me fishing if I would cooperate. My mom did not like anything about fishing and knew nothing about it. The very best she could do is drive me to the stream and sit in the car while I threw giant hooks into the water with no hope of ever catching a thing except a bunch of trees and broken fishing line. The fishing trips didn’t last long.

Dr. Wise would become my go-to therapist well into my 30s. I honestly do not recall the “make a mess” incident; however, Dr. Wise would ask me about it from time to time when I would return to his office. As an adult, my response was this: “If you say I did it, then I admit to doing it, as I was certainly capable of that type of vengeful behavior.”

Here is the mind bend: Although all that therapy seemed to be a useless effort, the results were positive. Eventually, I realized the value of what Dr. Wise had to offer. At age 19, I would return to see him on my own accord. Dr. Wise would become my go-to guy as an adult. My wife and I also met with him together along our path until Dr. Wise retired.

As my life circumstances change, sometimes my efforts seem fruitless. I have to wonder what the adults in my life as a child were thinking about, how much effort they put in versus the results they were getting.

Upon reflection of my efforts today, they are genuine. At some point, I realized the value of hard work to change for the better. I have been on a hard drive since the age of 19 to promote change within me for the better of me and everyone around me. Not to be a second thought, but my efforts also include creating and improving my relationship with God.

I do not claim to understand psychology and how it works. What I do know is that caring and loving actions taken by others, regardless of if it appears to be “working” at that time or not, can and does have an effect on us. Even if we choose not to grab the love and care at the time it is being offered, we can always go back and capture it and apply it.

Todays question: What is your mind bend?