That Moment You Realize Your Therapist Is Clippy The Paperclip
By: Hannah K. Allen
Tags: Psychology, Office Supplies, Humor, Therapy, Satire

That Moment You Realize Your Therapist Is Clippy The Paperclip

You just never see it coming.

Photo by Hal Gatewood on Unsplash

He was thin and wiry, in that uncomfortable way where you think someone might not be eating enough. His appearance was off-putting, but I wasn’t there to stare at the man. I was there for help. For guidance. For salvation.

I had noticed his flyer hanging in the basement laundry room of my building, tucked behind notices for upcoming concerts, missing children, and bikes for sale.

It looks like you’re trying to dig yourself out of a pit of crippling despair. Would you like help?

His Yelp reviews spoke for themselves, with patients raving about his abilities to help them hold it together during the darkest moments of their lives.

***** With everything I had going on, I was shocked at how he could grasp all my problems at the same time. — Diana L.

***** No one has ever made me feel so secure. — Brad C.

** I don’t know, did anyone else notice anything off about this guy? — Luke M.

The first session went as expected. I had been in and out of therapy for years, so this wasn’t my first rodeo. I unloaded so much background information on him — a stream of consciousness that didn’t subside for the full hour. He calmly took it all in, expanding to hold as much as he could handle. He didn’t bend. He didn’t break. He just listened.

I left that day with the feeling that I had met this man before. He had stared at me with an almost frozen grin on his face, even as I recounted details of my dark and troubled past. Although disconcerting, his face reminded me of someone who had helped me in simpler times, when my problems, and my life, felt less complicated.

I decided to go back for a second session, where we dug deeper. He helped me compartmentalize my racing thoughts, separating problems into mental piles of what I did and did not have control over. I had a renewed sense of clarity as he helped me sort through emotional clutter that had been building for almost a decade. This guy really knew his stuff.

As he learned more about me, I learned more about him. A quick search on LinkedIn yielded an impressive resume — undergraduate degrees in business and organizational psychology, a master’s degree in social work. He even did a stint at Microsoft before switching to counseling full-time.

His versatility as a practitioner really shone through. He alternated between a gentle approach and tough love, with a few sharp edges complementing his smooth, rounded features. My one complaint was his tendency to interrupt when I was deep in thought, popping in to break my concentration at inopportune times. I let it slide though. He was just trying to do his job.

His office decor was a bit clinical, with most of the furniture made of hard, shiny steel. But he warmed the space with framed photos of his incredibly large family, dozens of nearly identical individuals of a variety of ages and sizes, all sporting bold eyebrows and a sly smile. This man certainly liked to travel in a pack.

I took to providing reviews of my own, wanting others to reap the benefits of my new therapist.

***** So many of my previous therapists have been one-note, only specializing in one method, tone, or outlook. At an astoundingly low price per session, this man has a wide range of skills and uses you’d never expect. — Hannah A.

After several months of meeting, I felt like he had successfully picked the lock that had been guarding my subconscious for years. With an uncanny ability to fit into the smallest and deepest spaces of my mind, he had pressed the reset button on my emotional and mental health. I would be forever grateful.

Our most recent session was a blur. As we sat together at his desk, he provided step-by-step, albeit repetitive, guidance in composing a tragic letter to my mother about how she’d made it impossible for me to trust anyone who was a mother. I confidently sealed the envelope and went to exit his office. Realizing I had forgotten my mittens, I turned around just as he was removing his suit jacket to put on the back of his chair.

The light from his office window caught the silver metal of his body, the whites of his enormous eyes. No arms. No legs. All face.

I should have known. My therapist was Clippy. Clippy the paperclip.

We stared at each other, unyielding, for several seconds. I was the one to break the silence.

“See you next week?”

He smiled as he replied.

“Word.”