Lundyn Bridges Read Online Free PDF Page A

forward to my briefing. Dr. Solis, as I anticipated, was concerned about my inability to establish a relationship with Francine, especially since after Friday she would be required to come in to see me. Although she acknowledged I had been assigned the most difficult client, Dr. Solis also indicated her confidence in my ability to handle the formidable task.
    â€œThere’s something about you,” Dr. Solis smiled. “I’m not sure what it is, but I’m willing to expand your timeline a little.”
    Fear of failure wouldn’t allow me to admit how inadequate I felt to help Francine, and something in me wouldn’t let me give up. Something in me wanted to help her. Something in me wanted her to get better. It would have been novel for her to be motivated by her children, but they were grown and she would have to want to be better for herself. My job would be to help her uncover the motivation to work toward being whole. It was a mammoth task that I felt the need to take on. The answers were going to be in my approach, and instead of quitting I challenged myself to help Francine. Helping her would help me see how different things could have been if someone had helped my mother.

 
    Â 
Chapter 2
    Francine’s door was ajar when I arrived for our scheduled session. She had a smirk on her face, and she sat more erect at the foot of her bed. I anticipated a continuation of the silent game from the previous week and I planned to initiate our dialog. Francine was unpredictable, yet I felt comfortable with the approach I was about to take. Dr. Solis constantly talked about innovation and creativity – if asked to defend my action, I would use innovation as my defense for sharing the Word of God.
    â€œGood morning Francine,” I smiled at her. “Did you have a good weekend?”
    She didn’t respond.
    I continued as if we were in conversation, taking a seat in the chair facing her. “My weekend started out slow, but it got much better on Sunday.”
    Francine was taken aback by my sudden openness. She obviously anticipated my reaction to be the same as the first week. She turned to look at me, almost like she wanted to answer.
    I kept talking. “The sermon on Sunday was on the internal pain caused by the bondage of guilt. I sat there listening to the preacher and connecting the dots in my life.”
    Francine shifted her position so she was facing the window with her back to me.
    â€œPain and guilt are worse than any chain,” I repeated Rev. Morgan’s words. “They can make you think you’re crazy. They can make you hate yourself and others.”
    â€œI know about pain and guilt,” Francine interrupted me. “What do you know about pain and guilt?”
    I started to answer and then cleared my throat. Francine’s role was not to question me. Before I could re-direct the conversation, she continued.
    â€œI hope you know more than what some jack-leg preacher told you.”
    Her response insulted and silenced me. Francine repositioned herself on the bed and faced me. Then she sipped her coffee. More silence. This time I waited.
    Francine sipped her coffee again, this time with a loud slurp. She had to know, from my expression, that the slurping was irritating. “Why do you care about me?” She asked, quickly looking at me and then rolling her eyes.
    â€œMy job is to help you.” I responded before realizing how trite the answer sounded.
    â€œSo, I’m just a job to you, and you don’t really care about me?” Francine finally stared at me.
    Francine was trying to bait me in a discussion to avoid talking about herself. My blank stare let her know I was aware of this tactic which she had perfected in years of prior therapy.
    â€œI’m trying to figure out where you’re coming from and exactly why you’re here. I need to be able to trust you if you’re going to be my therapist.”
    I stood and walked