To Be Heard
“Nice to meet you, Taylor. I am Dr. Morgan, but you can call me Ashley.”
My eyes drifted around the room. Soft, neural walls. A generic framed photo.
I didn’t answer.
“Why don’t we start with something simple? How was your day, Taylor?”
“It was fine. Average, I would say. I played tennis this morning.” Talking to people isn’t a problem, I just don’t think I need help.
“Average?”
“I mean I guess it was going well. But I lost my tennis match today.”
“So you like to play tennis, but not when you lose?”
“No one likes to lose. When do we get to the therapy part?”
“It’s happening right now.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about tennis.”
“Alright, Taylor. What did you come here to talk about?”
I sat there, this time holding her stare. My back began to ache, but I refused to adjust the pillow, thinking it would make me look weak.
I like to think I’m an open minded person, that I go into new situations with a welcoming perspective. I closed my eyes, took a breath, rearranged the pillow, and sat back down.
“I want to talk about my job. My family thinks it’s causing me problems.”
She didn’t answer, instead waiting, expectantly. Her face wore a disarming smile. I’m sure that smile was honed from years of practice, because it worked.
“Or rather lack of a job, I should say. They think I have anger issues. Which is why they signed me up for these sessions.”
“You sound like you disagree with them.”
Do I disagree that I have anger issues? Yes, I do. They empathise with me, support me even. But they were not the ones that faced betrayal.
“Correct.”
“Can you tell me more about your job, Taylor?”
Did she realise what a tall order that was? Six years I’d been working as an engineer. Practically from the beginning, I was one of the first employees.
But she doesn’t care about that… Does she? I don’t want to walk through it all again, especially not for someone I’ve just met. Maybe if I pretend I’ve known her for a while and if she acts engaged enough it will be less painful.
“I worked as an engineer. I dealt with the data and was responsible for making big decisions.”
I rested my eyes, slowing my breathing. How to continue? I lay down, thinking for some minutes. She didn’t prompt me. She didn’t need to. I sat up again.
“I caused them to lose a major investor.” I looked away, pretending to need a tissue, or water, or something. “So they fired me.”
I felt nausea seeping in. I know what comes next, furrowed eyebrows, gasps, ‘How did you manage that, Taylor? How much did they lose?’ I don’t want to tell this again. Not now, not today.
“How did that make you feel?”
That wasn’t the question I was expecting. I felt slightly alert. Worried that I would say something self-incriminating. These are confidential though, right? The nausea receded.
“Good. It made me feel good. It might have been the best thing that could have happened. Because they totally deserved it.”
I recounted to her the events leading up to my dismissal. Dr. Morgan listened patiently all the while. This isn’t so bad, I thought. Maybe I can do this.
I talked about how one day I lost it, and how I must have seemed like a madman. Declaring that the data said the flagship product simply wouldn’t work. So blatantly that any layman—or investor—would realise what was going on. And that was exactly what happened.
She leaned forward ever so slightly and I trailed off. “Taylor,” she said. “Great work. Thank you for being open today, and I appreciate the honesty you brought with you. Honesty and openness are key to understanding yourself and what you want to get out of this.”
My lips parted slightly and my mouth hung open. What? A few seconds passed before I realised what she was saying.
“Let’s pick back up here next week at the same time. Wednesday at 11:00 AM.”
~
I walked through the wood door into Dr. Morgan’s room to await the start of our second session. The plants near the back wall next to the window appeared to have been moved slightly, but everything else was the same. Dr. Morgan’s chair was positioned right of the coffee table, opposite from the minimalistic couch that I settled down on.
Dr. Morgan arrived. “Welcome back,” she said with the same practiced smile. She began with the same small talk. I knew what it was meant to do, but it still helped.
“So, Taylor,” she said, after we went through enough introductions. Oh no, here it is, I thought. My chest tightened ever so slightly. “Last week you said that leaving behind your job—and the events leading up to it—made you feel good. Tell me more about this. Why did it make you feel good?”
Slow. Breath. She’s just trying to help. “I felt like someone was finally listening to me. And it felt good. To be listened to. I’d been telling management of the issues for months, maybe half a year. And their response was to meet without me. To ignore me. This time, they were forced to give me some answers.”
I felt childish and looked away. Kids complain all the time and adults just tune them out. Was that me? A kid complaining, not knowing how to solve their own problems?
She paused for a moment in thought, before turning to face me, more directly. “Taylor, it seems there are some emotions you feel strongly about, but that part of you believes that you’re not allowed to feel them.”
So commanding, yet calm. I shivered, goosebumps forming.
She continued, “Being heard, seen. These are important to you.” It wasn’t posed like a question, but I nodded in response.
“So, Taylor. You spoke out because you were not heard or seen.”
Again, I nodded.
“You were confident in the results, but not so confident in describing your actions.”
“Well, it feels a bit silly, when I say it out loud.”
“What, specifically, feels silly to you?” There was no indication of judgement.
I imagined myself sitting down with management telling them I didn’t feel heard. They continued to ignore me, pretending I wasn’t there. Silly. My insides recoiled. I pulled myself back to the question.
“Work feels like a place where important stuff gets done. And I just think that my feeling neglected wouldn’t top anyone else’s lists of importance.”
“Do you think the work you did was important, Taylor?”
“Yes.”
“And did you find it easy or hard to work when you felt neglected?”
“Hard.”
“Then, Taylor,” she said, looking at me intently. “If you think your work is important, and your emotions affect your work, we’ve just established that your emotions are important too. I want you to say ‘My feelings are important.’”
If I was a kid before, I regressed to a toddler right then. “My feelings are important,” I mumbled. It shouldn’t have been that hard.
I buried my face in my hands and hid. Though, no matter how bad I wanted to change the topic or quit, a tiny part of me conceded that it felt good to say those words.
I didn’t really feel like talking much more afterwards. Dr. Morgan probably figured that pretty quick, because she talked of the progress I’d made and established what we had covered. She asked me questions, and I answered them as best I could, but I felt slow for the rest of the session. I was in a stasis, still processing our conversation.
Dr. Morgan finally wrapped up the session, similar to the first one, with the promise to pick it up again the following week.
~
“Thank you for coming, Taylor. Before we begin, I want to remind you that today is your third and final session that you have booked with me.” Dr. Morgan followed up with a similar introduction to the first two sessions. Easy, familiar questions. Asking about my week, about something I liked, about my family, or my past. Then into the real topic of the day.
“There is something I would like to revisit, Taylor. In our first session when you talked about the incident, and the… impact you had before leaving, you said ‘they deserved it.’ I want to unpack this more.” She spoke carefully, cautiously.
Dr. Morgan gently crossed one leg over the other, softening her voice a touch. “I bring this up, not because it is right or wrong, but because it sounds meaningful to you. Can you describe what you think ‘they deserved it’ means?”
“I think it means that I was justified in my actions.” I looked down in shame, wanting to hide again. I can’t keep hiding, I thought.
“You think that you were justified in costing a major investor, because you were alienated by your team?”
I closed my eyes. I waited for the pick-me-up. There was none. Silent tears drifted down my still face. “It wasn’t just being neglected, or alienated. They made me feel worthless. And they couldn’t even say it to my face. It was an insidious, corrosive feeling of worthlessness.” I sobbed, covering my face to wipe away tears and snot. “Why would they do that? Why did they do that?”
I tried to steady my breathing. A box of tissues was placed on the coffee table within my reach. They felt thin, cheap, so I grabbed a wad of them.
“Taylor,” she said, eventually. I looked up at her, calm enough to converse again. “It seems to me that acknowledgement holds a great deal of weight to you. I know you feel justified in your actions, and that is your right. But what if instead your team had sat down with you and told you how much they valued your work and efforts? Would that have been an adequate alternative?”
I considered for a long moment then said, “No, it wouldn’t.” It would have, but I didn’t want her to know. Such a simple, obvious solution. And I chose to blow up.
“Taylor, while you have exceptional communication skills—as evidenced by our sessions here—you seem to have rules set in place that prevent you from reaching this potential. Work is about working, therapy is for mental health, tennis is about winning, and so on. Your ability to operate in each of these settings is dictated by your own emotions, and the barriers you put in place. Think about how other people act in these settings: your mother, a friend, your worst enemy, a person you admire. Ask yourself what they do differently than you, if that is something that you can do, and if that is something you want to do. Because everyone has their own boundaries, but they are much easier to spot in others.”
I fixated on her, wishing she would keep going, but simultaneously struggling to parse everything she just said. I wanted to understand. To learn. To do better. Did that mean I was wrong?
“That’s all for today, Taylor. As I said, you’ve done very well. It was great to work with you. If you’re interested in booking regular sessions, stop by the desk on your way out.” She stood up and shook my hand.
An assistant opened the door and led me out.
1910 words_
_Nov 27, 2025
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