Makenna Goodman in The New York Times:
Several years ago, I stopped going to therapy. I no longer trusted myself to tell the story of my life in a way that felt forward-moving. I harbored a suspicion that the therapist held some knowledge of me that she would one day reveal — like whether I should switch careers or move — but she never did.
I’ve always wanted to believe in a magic that transcends the human-constructed world, a universe that sees me, that can hold me when I fail to hold myself. But then again, it’s possible that wanting to believe in magic is a projection of my own laziness, my desire to cheat the system, to skip the hard work of living and summon the answer.
Instead of therapy at $100 a week (I was on the low end of a sliding scale), I invested in an astrological session every few months; at about $200 a session, I saved roughly $3,000 a year. With the astrologer, I didn’t talk much at all, and I wasn’t allowed to give a back story, which made the shocks of recognition that much more delightful when she got the details of my life right.
It was a relief to have someone talk about me in new, abstract terms. I surrendered to information that felt larger than my construction of self. If my sense of foreboding darkness could be explained cosmically, it didn’t have to feel so personal. This gave me the pleasureful illusion of control, and a confirmation of some deeper intuition. It felt like a companion; I wasn’t alone in my experience. It took away the sting of individualized humiliation, of being lost.
More here.
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