We each went on summer vacation in early August. After we returned, I asked how her vacation had been and she said her plans had been thrown off because, prior to having left for her husband’s family’s retreat in New Hampshire, her young-30’s niece had suddenly collapsed while speaking to Sam at a party, and died.
What happened with my niece… She was mid sentence. She had asked me a question and I had answered and she started to say something and then she just she fell back. And I had the sense that she was becoming disoriented. Actually, what I thought in the moment was that she had asked me if I knew about something and I was saying well kind of, and I thought she was frustrated that I hadn’t known more about it, you know, I’m just in the moment trying to make sense of a lot what was happening but I think what was happening for her, in hindsight, was she she was becoming confused. And then she went unconscious. And you can’t, like you say, it’s a mystery, you can’t know.
It was time for me to play the part of therapist again. We spent the next half hour talking about what happened with her niece, her feelings about having witnessed that moment first hand, death in general, Sam’s religious/spiritual beliefs. Being sensitive to Sam’s recent loss, I offered to move on to another subject, but she encouraged the conversation to continue, saying: “Honestly, Matt, it’s helpful.” I was very pleased to be able to offer her some comfort in her grief. That’s not what patients do, its what friends do. Or therapists.
I later learn her niece’s name was Camsie, about the WASPiest name I’d ever seen. By this point, I did not trust that Sam was ever telling me the truth about anything and a day or two later, as I was reflecting on the session, I felt I needed to verify her story and found an obituary online in the local Woodbury paper.
Trust is the first and most serious casualty of boundary violations, in my experience. It doesn’t just affect one’s trust in the therapist, it affects your trust in everyone, not least yourself.