Do as I Say, Not as I Do

By Dr. Marie Senegal-McNeese

A novel of wry humor and parody on the counseling profession.

After years of guiding and giving friendly advice to others, psychotherapists, Dr. Jane Haven, begins to question the authenticity of her profession, leading her to a thoughtful and provocative search down memory lane.

Dr. Haven proceeds to dissect her past, as well as compelling present day issues that she is presented with, in a comical and light hearted manner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496922014

Dr. Marie Senegal-McNeese

Dr. Marie Senegal-McNeese is a licensed and practicing psychotherapists who has provided counseling services to thousands in her behavioral health private practice. She is the owner and president of Senegal & Associates counseling services. Throughout her career Dr. Senegal-McNeese has been a researcher, Associate Professor and Adjunct Professor in the Counseling Field. Dr. Senegal-McNeese has earned a Bachelors Degree in Psychology, as well as Masters and Doctorate Degrees in Counselor Education. She and her Husband, Joseph E. McNeese reside in Houston, Texas.

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© 2014 Dr. Marie Senegal-McNeese. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/26/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2200-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2201-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911288

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One   Private Practice

Chapter Two   Hometown

Chapter Three   Ms. Whitley

Chapter Four   First Childhood Memories

Chapter Five   Martin

Chapter Six   Child Life

Chapter Seven   Can I Help You?

Chapter Eight   Layaways

Chapter Nine   Integration

Chapter Ten   The Cars—Age Thirteen

Chapter Eleven   College Scholarship—Age Seventeen

Chapter Twelve   On Meeting Timothy

Chapter One

Private Practice

While sitting in my office of the ten-story office building that I had recently moved into, needing a larger office because of an increase in clients requiring therapeutic and self-help services, I contemplate the meaning of it all. This is what I worked so hard for, right? All those years of schooling, years of sacrifice, years of depriving myself of any semblance of a decent social life, years of two jobs in addition to going to school … Is this what it led to? I glance around the office, which is as plushy decorated as my finances and imagination allow, and again ask myself that question. I am half listening to Becky, the thirty-two-year-old depressed client who has been visiting me for the past two years, pontificate about the various ways she felt life had been treating her unjustly. Listening to her story, I think of how similar it is to the thousands of others I have heard prior to hers. Just another half-baked version.

I find myself tuning in and out of what Becky is saying, and after a while it seems that her mouth is moving and no sounds are coming out. When this occurs, I realize I had better do something quickly to right this situation. Something to snap myself out of the doldrums and tune back into what she is saying. She seems so much in need of a shoulder to cry on, what with her head held low, her teary eyes and wringing hands. She deserves me paying attention to the latest version of the vagaries of her life. I thought I’d gotten enough sleep last night, I muse, but maybe I should not have had that last glass of wine with my steak and potatoes.

I jolt myself back into Becky’s version of reality. Looking directly into her brown eyes, I say, automatically, smoothly, and softly, One thing that seems to happen in life, Becky, is that people seem to recreate negative things from their past in their present life, hoping to make them right in their mind, and subsequently their environment.

Sounds like true words of wisdom to me. Wow. Sometimes I even surprise myself with the wonderful pieces of advice I impart to my clients. It seems that I revert to autopilot just when I need to. It must be all those psychology books I have read over the years. It certainly is not that I live by these verdicts on humanity. However, I think they have been emblazoned into my psyche by gurus from the past, and I suppose my motto is, If it was good enough for them, it should be good enough for me. Therefore, I pass on these vague bits of information, and after a few quizzical looks and cross-examination, my clients quickly catch on to their meaning. They then leave satisfied and ready to try whatever version of mental codology I prescribe. And hopefully, without the need for any prescription medications to dull the pain.

Becky quickly looks up, trying to dry her tears with the napkin that I hand her. Do you think so, Dr. Haven? Do you really think that is what is happening to me? When I think of my childhood, all I see are patches of things. It’s not so clear, but I do see glimpses of my mother and father arguing. Today, they seem to have a perfect relationship, but people would not believe how things were for them in the past. Now that I think of it. She cocks her head. "Many of the things that occurred to them certainly seem replicated in my relationship with Jim, my husband. I never quite thought of it before, until you brought it up.

My mother always seems very concerned about how things are going in our marriage, but she is reluctant to interfere, and I do think it’s difficult for her to talk about. It seems she’s observing from the outside, feeling sad and to blame for a lot of things. You know, Dr. Haven, it’s just difficult for me to talk about, or even think of.

I reinforce with Becky the importance of pondering and prodding her mind regarding her childhood in order to unlock the key to her happiness. I give her a couple of homework assignments to work on between now and next week, collect her payment, and send her home. By session’s end her tears are dry, she has smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt, and she grabs her $400.00 handbag before rushing to the elevator, hoping no one she knows will see her coming out of my office.

Prior to her quick departure, I say to her, with a concerned look, See you same time next week, Becky?

Sure, Dr. Haven. Same time next week.

Another satisfied customer, I say smugly to myself, even though I feel like an imposter. I gather my briefcase, glance around at the various certificates and licenses on the wall, and say good-night to Brenda, the receptionist that has been working with me for the past six months. She is new to this type of work, and at times she is amazed at some of the things people say and do. Nothing amazes or surprises me anymore, after I’ve talked to thousands of people over the years and attempted to help each of them struggle through their emotional and mental pain. On some level, I feel I have helped them. However, on another level, I feel some guilt, because a lot of the wonderful pearls of wisdom that drop from my lips are things I cannot possibly live up to myself. I know, because I have tried on numerous occasions, and I have failed. Should I tell them of my failures, I ask myself occasionally, or should I just be quiet? More times than not, I decide to keep them to myself.

So here I sit with them, not disclosing my struggles. I sit, stoic and all-knowing, always perfectly coiffured, with freshly painted fingernails and toenails, with my power suit and pad and pencil in hand, exuding that perfect balance of professionalism and charm. I have perfected it and it seems to work every time.

Whenever I question myself, I glance in a mirror and regain my self-assurance, for I have mastered the aura and the look. My shoulder-length, wavy black hair and slender five foot seven frame, with nice curves, certainly never hurt my image. Easy on the eyes, as they say. Knowing the right people and attending all the right schools, of course, were all a part of the formula.

Despite all this, for the last two years, out of the ten years I have been practicing, I have begun to ask myself, What or who gives me the authority or power to know what is right for anyone? After all, I have my own set of problems, which I seem incapable of solving to any level of satisfaction for myself and most other people in my life.

I have been through therapy through my course of study. However, outside of that I would not have the courage to expose my difficulties to anyone. Not even my colleagues, for fear that they would see me as weak or incapable of helping anyone else. What an imposter, I think. At least the people that come to my office have the courage to reach out and seek help, regardless of what brought them to me. I am sure that some reach out because their mates have been pressuring them or given them an ultimatum. Others reach out because they fear the worst may happen, such as losing their jobs, or possibly hurting themselves or someone else. Others may reach out for selfish motives, because they want someone to totally focus on them, and others may come out of loneliness. Whatever the reason, at least they are trying to help themselves. Of course, at times I wonder about the validity of the whole thing we call therapy, or counseling, or whatever term we are using at the moment. Well, I guess many people also wonder, but it’s a way to