16. Sarah
Overcoming Obstacles
I glance at the clock on the wall, the ticking hands seemingly mocking me as they relentlessly push forward into the late hours of the night.
My desk is cluttered with medical files, the jumble of papers threatening to topple over at any moment.
It’s been a long day, filled with back-to-back sessions, and now I’m finally alone in my office, trying to catch up on the new client’s files. Dr. Jones, the client”s old therapist I spoke to on the phone, warned me that this client would be a tough case, and I can see why. Her history reads like a tragic novel, filled with layers of trauma and hurt. I make a few notes in the margins, reminding myself to ask her about her relationship with her parents during our next session.
The gentle hum of my office lamp is a comforting sound, as is the occasional rustle of papers as I sift through the files, but the persistent buzzing of my phone shatters that peace. It”s Tyler — again. His name lights up my screen, and I almost feel the phone vibrating in frustration. I had told him earlier that today would be hectic, but that message didn’t stick. I let the call go to voicemail, hoping he’ll take the hint.
A surge of irritation washes over me, momentarily clouding my thoughts. Doesn’t he understand that I need this time to focus? I run my fingers through my hair, trying to untangle both the knots and the chaotic swirl of emotions Tyler’s calls incite in me. It’s not that I don’t care about him — because I do, deeply. But there are times and places for these conversations, and now is not one of them.
I am sure it”s because he”s become so dependent on me with his bull riding practice with Bill. Wanting me to be there at the ranch any time he hops on a bull so I can cheer him along. He tells me it gives him confidence and motivation with me there. I”m glad to hear that, but I am a woman who owns her practice and co-owns a ranch.
Sometimes, I am up to my neck at work, and today is one of those days.
I force myself to concentrate on the task, diving back into the client’s files. Her detailed history demands my full attention. Fragmented notes from previous therapists suggest a host of undiagnosed issues. There’s a glimmer of a breakthrough in the last entry — she had opened up about a childhood memory that seemed pivotal — but then the phone buzzes again, derailing my train of thought. Tyler. Again.
I slam the file shut in frustration, leaning back in my chair as I try to calm the irritation inside me. I know my responsibilities, my promises to my clients, and the standards I set for myself. Tyler’s continuous interruptions feel like an intrusion on a sacred space. I know he worries. I know he means well. But tonight, it”s hard to see past the annoyance.
He texted me, and I decided to read his message, saying he would bring me dinner. I realized I couldn”t afford the distraction, so I texted back that it was okay since I would have a light dinner.
I then checked the time and saw that I should take a much-needed break and walk into town to grab something to eat.
I could have driven, but it”s not a long walk to where I plan to grab dinner, and the cool air feels nice tonight.
As I grab my purse and prepare to leave, I glance back at my office one last time. It’s my little sanctuary, a room filled with echoes of countless therapy sessions, tears, and breakthroughs. But tonight, it feels oppressive, weighed down by the files demanding my attention. Stepping outside feels like reclaiming a small piece of myself.
I make sure everything”s in order before locking up the building. My clinic stands on the edge of town, a steady beacon for those seeking solace. As the key turns in the lock, the finality of the click brings a semblance of relief. It’s time to disconnect, if only briefly, from the endless demands of my practice.
Stepping outside, the crisp evening air embraces me, unraveling the tension knotted in my shoulders. The sky is a deep twilight, with stars beginning to sprinkle across the canvas. My thoughts drift as I walk to Johnny’s Subs, following the familiar sidewalk towards the center of town. The cool air against my skin is invigorating, a gentle reminder of life beyond work’s confines.
The anticipation of a roast beef sandwich and kettle chips grows with each step. Something is comforting about indulging in a simple pleasure that promises a temporary escape. And a large, iced tea—I can almost taste the refreshing chill of it already. The small joys, like a good meal from Johnny’s, often bring a semblance of balance to my hectic life.
The warm glow from inside beckons as I reach the small, inviting establishment. I walk in, greeted by the familiar hum of conversations and the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. Johnny’s Subs is a haven. The staff know me by name and always greet me with a smile. I place my order—a roast beef sandwich, kettle chips, and a large, iced tea—and decide to take it to go.
Bag in hand, I exit the restaurant, feeling satisfied. The sandwich is a promise fulfilled. Its weight in my hand is reassuring. I unwrap it as I walk, taking my first bite and relishing the burst of flavors. The roast beef is tender and savory, perfectly complemented by the crispness of the chips. I alternate bites with sips from my iced tea. The chill in the air is refreshing my senses and washing away the day’s remnants.
The walk back to the office takes about seven minutes, and each step feels lighter than the last. The food, the air, and the release from constant interruptions create a brief, blissful respite. Even though I know the files and responsibilities await me, this moment of solitude and indulgence is enough to fortify me for the evening ahead.
As I approach the office building, I notice Tyler’s vehicle parked next to mine in the lot—the sight of his midnight blue truck mingles with my mundane sedan. My heart skips a beat, wondering what could have happened to bring Tyler here at this hour.
As I get closer, I see him sitting on the steps outside, looking distinctly annoyed. He’s holding a plate covered in aluminum foil and a fountain drink cup, his fingers tapping impatiently on his knee.
”Tyler?” I call out, my voice mingling curiosity with cautious cheer. ”What are you doing here?”
He glances up at me, his brow furrowed. ”Oh, hey, Sarah,” he says with a hint of sarcasm. ”I brought you dinner, but you decided to get your own.”
I hold up the bag from Johnny’s Subs, feeling guilty. ”I told you I was getting a light dinner.”
Tyler’s eyes narrow, and he stands up, the plate balanced precariously in his hand. ”A light dinner? Sarah, I went to the diner to pick up chicken and dumplings to ensure you ate a full meal. I waited about an hour for the order because it”s packed tonight.”
I sigh, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. But Tyler”s sincere effort tugs at my heartstrings. ”I appreciate it, really, but I walked over to Johnny’s because I needed a break. The day’s been rough. Plus, again, I told you I was getting my dinner.”
”Rough?” Tyler”s voice rose. ”You”re always talking about managing stress, but all you do is add more to your plate. It’s like you’re trying to break yourself. And yet when I do it, you jump into therapist mode with your lectures and suggestions on how self-care is important.”
I step closer, the aroma of my sandwich mixing with the scents from the wrapped meal in Tyler”s hands. ”Look, I get it. And I’m grateful. But sometimes, I need to do things my way. I needed that walk, fresh air, and it helped relax me after a long day.”
Tyler shakes his head, still holding firmly onto the plate. ”And you don’t think I know that? That’s why I brought you dinner, so you wouldn”t have to stress about one more thing. But seeing you here with that bag... annoys me for some reason. Like I can”t do something nice for you or be there for you, like you push to be there for me.”
Tyler”s eyes blaze, and I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a summer sun. ”Sarah, you don”t get how much this means to me,” he says, his voice soft but steely. ”I wanted to show you I care, and you just brush it off like it’s nothing.”
Exasperated, I run a hand through my hair, trying to articulate my thoughts without adding fuel to this rising storm. ”Tyler, it”s not that I don”t appreciate it,” I say, my voice tinged with fatigue and sincerity. ”I just needed to reclaim a bit of my own space and routine. It was a rough day, and sometimes I must handle things on my terms.”
He stands there, silent momentarily, the plate in his hand looking like a fragile peace offering. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. ”Fine, Sarah. You win,” he mutters, leaning over and placing the wrapped plate and fountain drink on the steps by my feet. ”Have a good night.”
He turns sharply, striding towards his truck with an air of finality, his boots clattering against the pavement. ”Tyler, wait—” I start, but he’s already opening the door.
”Just... forget it, alright? I’ll see you around,” he calls over his shoulder, before climbing into his vehicle and slamming the door. The engine roars to life, and with a squeal of tires, he pulls away, leaving me standing there, the cool evening air doing little to soothe my roiling emotions.
I let out a heavy sigh, the sound echoing slightly in the deserted street. I don’t understand why he”s acting like this and can’t see that sometimes, space and solitude are the only things that help me breathe.
Unlocking the office door, I bend down to pick up the wrapped plate and fountain drink, balancing them carefully with my bag, holding the half-eaten sandwich and iced tea. I head inside, the familiar smells of paper and ink wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
Setting everything down on my cluttered desk, I take a moment to steady myself, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. The work ahead feels like a mountain, but I must push through.
I need to finish up, head home, and get some sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow will bring some clarity, and maybe Tyler and I can find a way to understand each other better.