Talking Wall

If only walls could talk….

Actually some walls can talk! I am a wall in a colonial house, built in 1820. In 1982 this house turned into a county office for therapy patients. From a typical family residence to a busy “home” for those needing talk therapy I have heard a great deal. For over a hundred and fifty years I was privy to the family conversations. I have to admit I prefer what I’ve heard since this property opened as a mental health office.

I’m located in what was the dining room but now is the reception area where the patients wait for their therapists to retrieve them for their appointment. This house still has the feeling of a home, warm and safe for those coming with issues to work through.

I’ll never forget a patient, Betty, who arrived early for an appointment regarding a divorce. Discussing, unsolicited, thoughts with the receptionist she detailed how she knew her soon to be x husband would not seek a therapist’s help for anything. “He’s so two dimensional and close minded” she professed. This is why we’re separating. Betty stewed in her thoughts and reflections about her husband. Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs Betty looked up expecting to see her therapist. But instead she looked up to see her husband being escorted to the first floor by his therapist.

Walls are not supposed to laugh either, but I did!

The receptionist Gail was a sweet and reserved lady. Gail was a past patient of the office. Most that she shared had to do with daily life occurrences and noticings. Very little opinion or preference were ever heard from Gail. I think she was afraid to offend anyone or be called on her point of view. One day she came in with added energy and willingness to share. After an hour of checking in patients and answering phones Gail let a random patient know big news. Her boyfriend of seven years asked her to marry him and she said Yes! Anyone who knew Gail celebrated this news!

I just hung in there and felt lucky to be around to hear this news evolve.

Not all were good visits. There were serious and dark patients who walked in, slithered in for therapy. This is not the private home it was a long time ago. It is a county office and treats all people that request help (and those that are court ordered). One such man was ordered therapy for anger issues. Joseph arrived barely on time for most appointments. He would not be there if not for a court order and it showed. He spoke very little, maybe answering questions Gail had for him. This time he didn’t even want to answer those. Gail knew she could not let Joseph go to his appointment without answering the questions. She was expressing this to Joseph when he raised a hand to hit her. Another patient waiting to be seen stopped Joseph’s hand from following through and reaching Gail. This other patient looked at Joseph and said “for some of us this is the only family we have.”

It turned out that this house, now county office, still represented family to potentially hundreds of patients.

Walls aren’t supposed to care but this one does. I care that I’m still surrounded by family and that I get to listen-in for years to come,