"My job is not
to make you happy,"
says Leticia, the therapist
whose name means
full of joy.
I don’t understand.
Then what is your job?
What are we working toward?
What is therapy for
if not to create something
other than depression?
Feelings change.
Be mindful.
Observe.
Describe.
Participate.
Move away
from thinking about what is happening.
Be present.
But—
I notice sadness.
I want to notice happiness.
Is that not a goal?
"You were held back
by thoughts about the situation."
But what if I am held back
by the situation itself?
Consider this.
I once assessed
why a woman needed
a psych evaluation.
"I am here because
I am too happy," she said.
"That is strange, isn’t it?" I asked.
Surely, there was more
to her story.
Or consider Lucia.
Lucia is 14.
Asked when she remembers
being happy,
she cannot remember
such a time.
I suspect Major Depression.
I suggest therapy,
so she can feel happy.
What is your role, Leticia?
Let’s talk about goals.
Because if I asked you—
"Are you happy?"
your answer would
forever change,
according to your philosophy.
But I—
I have known a time
when I was happy.
A time when
happiness lived in me—
not fleeting,
not conditional,
not something to simply observe
and let pass.
A time when,
despite transient moments of sadness,
I was still happy at my core.
And yet—
Even then,
out of habit,
I told the person I loved,
"I am depressed."
Words that no longer fit me.
Words that once defined me.
Words that could hurt her—
make her believe
she brought me no happiness.
But happiness had changed me.
It lived inside me.
It did not deny sadness.
It did not erase struggle.
And yet,
it remained.