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<\/figure>\n\n\n\nI see my client\u2019s face. A bit pixelated, true, but more centrally framed now that the camera angle cutting her off just above the chin last week has been adjusted. I glimpse my own image and \u201coffice\u201d in the small rectangle. Oh, no, has the covering slipped from my daughter\u2019s old dresser? How many times will the screen freeze today?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, it\u2019s better than nothing. I\u2019m lucky to have a private space, with no children to homeschool or shush\u2014the daughter whose room I\u2019m in is long grown. Cursed, blessed technology exists now, at least for most people with the wherewithal to find their way into somebody\u2019s private practice. I have been on Zoom support sessions for clinicians, and hear horror stories from those who work with people who are impoverished, undocumented, hungry, homeless, imprisoned, sick, overwhelmed by life even in the best of times. Some people they\u2019ve been unable to reach altogether.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The fact that things are so much worse for others is frequently brought up by my clients who can and want to keep seeing me. They feel grateful and guilty. I feel the same way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, we sit and talk. I talked too much at first, trying to compensate for the feeling of disconnection through excess verbiage. Eventually I remembered the value of listening, with an assist from Zoom, which goes haywire when more than one person (or rectangle) is speaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nothing sounds quite right. I read somewhere that the time lag is part of what makes video calls so tiring. Exhaustion turns to panic when suddenly the client\u2019s voice sounds stretched out and underwater, or every other word is dropped. What if they are revealing something crucial, and I miss it? I briefly wonder if bandwidth, too, engages in repression or dissociation, or if it reflects the client\u2019s usual experience of feeling unheard and my own inattentiveness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes, I prefer just the phone. I came into the mental health field more than 40 years ago as a crisis line volunteer, and like a duckling, I imprinted on the first thing I was exposed to. I\u2019ve always been struck by how people can often go deeper, be more vulnerable on the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, whether via Zoom, doxy, FaceTime, or phone, psychotherapy in the time of Covid has felt a lot like those many check-in calls I fielded on the crisis line. People say the same thing, over and over. It\u2019s the same conversation we\u2019re all having now, as coronavirus infects not only our cells and the economy but every nook and cranny of mental space. My colleague asked two analytically inclined clients if they wished to explore some of what they were delving into before. \u201cAbsolutely not!\u201d they both said. I\u2019ve wondered with clients what we might be talking about if we weren\u2019t talking about the pandemic. \u201cThat\u2019s a good question!\u201d they say, before returning to coronavirus. Remote video platforms aren\u2019t the only ones with bandwidth issues.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Time feels so strange, endless and fleeting at once. Clients wonder, How long will this last? When can we return? And even if we do, will I ever feel safe?<\/em> Wondering the same, we do our best to hold people, not knowing how long we can all hold on.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I see my client\u2019s face. A bit pixelated, true, but more centrally framed now that the camera angle cutting her off just above the chin last week has been adjusted. I glimpse my own image and \u201coffice\u201d in the small … Continue reading