Fanny & Alexander & Therapy & Metaphors

It's one of the most beautiful sequences in cinema - Ingmar Bergman's sibling protagonists Fanny and Alexander (trailer) have finally been rescued from their evil bishop stepfather
(who dies in a fire at his own home), and fully integrated back into the Ekdahl clan.

Their mother Emilie (left) is moving from room to room in the spacious family home, attending to matters between relatives. She is at ease, free of the abusive clutches of her ex-husband; her very posture relaxed, her gait swan-like.

Her son Alexander has been watching his mother's movements. As soon as she disappears into a lengthy corridor (Emilie's walk starts at 5:38), the film cuts to Alexander walking back to his room, happily nibbling on biscuits. Suddenly, the bishop's specter appears behind him, his gold cross hanging ominously inches from Alexander's face.
Within seconds he pushes Alexander to the floor and walks on. He pauses, turns around to look at Alexander and says, "You'll never escape me."

Which brings me to today's therapy session. Bills - insurance, loans, hospital, you name it - are an enormous burden. I get about five to seven of 'em a week. They're a reminder of responsibilities that are mine and mine alone. It's a source of constant anxiety. I told Dr. M I wished I could step away from it all and not be blamed for taking a break. Or at least have someone help me with all the effort it takes to patiently wait on hold with loan distributors, financial aid departments and hospitals. Dr. M asked if there was a way to moderate this stress, maybe a way to approach the paperwork differently. I replied, "To be honest, I wouldn't know what that'd be." I'm so frustrated I even explained it to Dr. M using the example of what haunts Alexander. The bills will always be there. And to me, if I'm not on top of it all, it's as though something truly terrible will happen. Maybe a massive bill that has to be paid off in a week. Maybe a call from a collection agency, promising to send my credit rating to the bowels of hell.

There's a philosophy in DBT known as radical acceptance. It's a practice that lets you, the patient, without misgivings or judgment, accept a certain condition. Your mom doesn't understand depression? Fine - employ some radical acceptance, and take educating your mom off your to-do list. Your father isn't a big fan of medication, and rants about this to you? Radically accept his attitude as something you're not responsible for, and move on.

[Side note: here's an interesting article about radical acceptance that focuses on Conan and his graceful departure from 'The Tonight Show.']

It's not gonna happen today. But therapy is a process. Or so They - my dear mental health providers - tell me. In the meantime, if one of you understands insurance guidelines better than I do - help!