Questioning Everything
*
Not everything is the end of the world.
“Brianna, you didn’t need to lie about our appointment,” Paige said, her voice calm but tinged with disappointment.
I walked into this session feeling triumphant. I couldn’t wait to tell Paige I had shut down Aubrey’s manipulative attempt to force me into a meeting. In my mind, Paige would praise my cleverness and maybe even give me an imaginary gold star for ‘Most Improved Patient.’
Instead, her disapproving grimace shattered my confidence. The moment felt like a bucket of cold water dumped over my victory.
“But I stood up for myself,” I muttered, my earlier confidence slipping through my fingers.
Paige shook her head slowly, each motion dragging me deeper into self-doubt.
“No, Brianna. You didn’t stand up for yourself—you came up with an excuse. Let’s be honest: what you said wasn’t true. My cancellation policy kicks in after two no-shows, and if you called me about a work emergency, I would not have charged you.”
My lower lip quivered. I bit it, attempting to suppress the reaction. Paige frowned.
“Brianna, stop.”
The command startled me. I sat up straighter, unsure how to respond. People told me to calm down or berated my crying, but no one told me to stop. My confusion must have shown because Paige’s lips curled into a knowing grin.
“That reaction right there,” she said, her tone intentional, “tells me that no one has ever asked why you respond the way you do.”
Her observation plunged my thoughts into shame for being caught, anger at her for calling me out, and a nagging unease about where this conversation was headed. I met her gaze, attempting to hide my discomfort, but her steely eyes pierced right through me.
I needed to take back control. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed back.
“So what? Am I supposed to let her mistreat me? What am I even paying you for if all you do is make me feel bad for standing up for myself?”
Paige’s eyes widened slightly, and momentarily, I felt a flicker of triumph. Had I disturbed her calm facade? Could I knock her down a peg? I crossed my arms, battling the smug grin that threatened to appear.
“Bree,” Paige said, her tone calm and measured, “this is one of the clearest examples of Family Role Identification Theory I’ve seen in a while.”
The flicker of triumph vanished. I scowled. “What the hell is that?”
Paige chuckled softly as she flipped to a blank page in her notebook. She sketched five stick figures, tapping the page while she explained.
“This theory suggests that in families, especially those affected by addiction or dysfunction, members often take on roles to cope with or enable the problem.”
I frowned, cutting in. “My family isn’t addicted to anything.”
Paige tilted her head, her expression unfazed by my defensiveness.
“Not substances, maybe. But in families like yours, malignant narcissism often plays the same role as an addiction.”
Her words left me speechless. I pondered the idea while she kept sketching.
“Sharon Wegscheider, a family therapist, proposed this framework. Although it’s not scientifically proven, it can still be useful. Let’s break it down.”
She pointed to the first stick figure. “This is the Enabler—the one who supports or cares for the problem person.”
My dad’s face flashed in my mind—his quiet devotion to my mother and refusal to say no perfectly fit the description. I smirked briefly, thinking how much easier life would be if Robert acted more like my dad. Then, I could spend less time explaining why I’m not a disappointment.
Paige moved to the second figure. “This is the Hero or Golden Child, the family’s savior.”
I immediately pictured Louisa with her perfect family, picture-perfect life, and condescending smile.
Paige added a tiny crown to the figure’s head. “Next, we have the Scapegoat or Rebel, who gets in trouble and distracts everyone from the real issues.”
I snorted, thinking of Jason and Jean. Both of them fit the role so well that it almost seemed redundant.
Paige tapped the fourth stick figure. “This one is the Lost Child, the one ignored until the family needs them for something.”
Matt’s face came to mind, along with Edward’s. I sometimes forgot about Edward, so it wasn’t difficult to picture my parents forgetting him, too.
Finally, Paige drew a smiley face on the last stick figure. “And this is the Mascot—the one who uses humor to hold the family together.”
A smile spread across my face as I leaned forward. “That’s me, right?”
Paige raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. “Bree, I think you’re all of them.”
Her words stole the air from my lungs. My stomach twisted, and I felt the color drain from my face.
“All of them? How is that possible?”
Paige closed her notebook with a quiet thud. “It’s rare, but in families with severe dysfunction, some people take on multiple roles. You’ve adapted to survive.”
Her explanation hung heavy in the room. The realization unsettled me. Was I so broken that I didn’t just choose a role—I auditioned for all of them?
“Do I have multiple personalities or something?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Paige laughed gently, the sound softening the tension. “No, Brianna. You don’t have Dissociative Identity Disorder. What you’ve done is create personas to cope with your environment. They’re versions of yourself, not separate identities.”
She moved to sit beside me on the couch. I flinched involuntarily, the movement betraying my discomfort. Why was she coming closer? Kindness wasn’t just kindness. What if she gave up on me? What if I was too much for even her?
“Bree,” Paige said gently, “you’re creative. You build stories and craft new worlds for yourself and others.”
I nodded, feeling the urge to escape into one of those worlds. My mind begged me to leave this room, to retreat somewhere safe.
“In our sessions, you’ve mentioned things like ‘White Trash Brianna’ or ‘Chic City Brianna.’ It made me wonder how many versions of you exist and why.”
I frowned. I hadn’t thought about this before. Even Robert had never asked this, not once in our seven years together. He thought my stories were charming quirks. But now, sitting here, I realized I had never stopped to wonder about their origins.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to answer.
“I don’t know how many there are, but I think I know why I created the versions of me.”
Paige leaned back, giving me space to continue. I drew a shaky breath.
“I think I compartmentalize to make sense of my feelings, my actions…”
Paige nodded. “That’s part of it, but there’s something bigger.”
I braced myself. Paige sighed softly before continuing. “You do this to avoid conflict. You’ve spent your life trying to be likable, adapting to whoever you thought people wanted you to be. But Bree, I don’t think you know who you are.”
Her words hit like a sledgehammer. Memories flooded back—times I had morphed to fit in, moments I’d abandoned myself to keep others happy. Suddenly, it was as if every version of myself—the Briannas—were standing around me, waiting for guidance I couldn’t give.
“That’s your homework for the week,” Paige said, her voice steady. “List all the ‘Briannas’ you’ve created and what they represent. We’ll start figuring out who you want to be.”
I scowled, defensive. “I like who I am.”
Paige frowned slightly. “Then why are you here?”
Her question echoed in my mind as I left the session. I didn’t have the answer yet, but I had to assume a list of Briannas held the solution.