After my mother died in September, I decided it was probably time for me to try EMDR therapy. As my mother’s primary caregiver during her rapid six week decline, I experienced multiple instances where I thought to myself, well, this is probably going to traumatize me, even as I continued to stay regulated and present in the moment. Despite having a master’s in psychology and interviewing a wonderful EMDR therapist for my podcast, this form of treatment–where the therapist uses bilateral stimulation to help clients move memories into a less charged area of their brains–remained confusing and mysterious to me. But I hoped its approach would become clear if I just took the plunge and gave it a shot. Maybe it would transform my life and help me bypass the worst of my grief! At the very least, I assumed it wouldn’t make things worse.
The thing about EMDR is that it’s a specialty so it requires extra training and certification. This means clinicians are often in demand and likely to charge more. That’s why I felt lucky when one of the therapists I reached out to was able to get me off the waiting list and into her office after only a week. (I’d found her through one of my trusted therapist friends.) I wasn’t sure what to expect when I entered her lovely Beverly Hills office, but I certainly wasn’t expecting this whole experience to end with me being dumped.