Therapist Humor Quotes

You want sensitive and understanding, stick with the therapist.You want great, headbanging sex, get off the fucking phone and come with me.

...personal torture instructor...I mean physical therapist.

Both the five-year-olds looked at me with bewilderment and a bit of fearful uncertainty. I had a sudden horrifying image of the woman I might become if I'm not careful: Crazy Aunt Liz. The divorcee in the muumuu with the dyed orange hair who doesn't eat dairy but smokes menthols, who's always just coming back from her astrology cruise or breaking up with her aroma-therapist boyfriend, who reads the Tarot cards of kindergarteners and says things like, "Bring Aunty Liz another wine cooler, baby, and I'll let you wear my mood ring...

Two fairies were sleeping peacefully on his bed. Dinnie was immediately depressed. He knew that he did not have enough money to see a therapist.

My therapist told me that I over-analyze everything. I explained to him that he only thinks this because of his unhappy relationship with his mother.

I hear they make greeting cards now to thank your therapist... for NOTHING

You're a punk?' 'What?' 'What do they call people from the eighties?' I asked. 'Oh,' she laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. 'I'm my mother, actually. I mean, these are her clothes from High School. I guess I should tell people I'm Cyndi Lauper though, or something, because dressing up as your mother is pretty lame.' 'I almost dressed up as my mother,' I said, 'but I was worried what my therapist would say.' She laughed again, and I realized that she thought I was joking. It was probably for the best, since telling her the second half of my mom costume - a giant fake butcher knife through the head - would probably freak her out.

Words cannot express my disappointment that I must pass on the invitation to once again witness your gelatinous buttocks swaying as you try to climb a greased pole naked in search of athletic glory. Sadly, the last occasion on which I witnessed this event had a deleterious effect on my psyche for which I am still seeking the attention of a therapist. A.C. Kemp as Lady Arabella Snark

The therapist, he thought, and it bothered him a lot more than it should have. After all, he had nothing permanent with Sophie. He just needed to touch her on a semiregular basis or he couldn't finish his sentences.

A comedian is simply a different kind of therapist. A comedian is a psychologist and a psychiatrist rolled into one. Except I can't prescribe medicine. (You still need a doctorate, which is bullshit.) Okay, so I'm not like a psychiatrist. Fine. But I'm still like a psychologist (except I can't diagnose or treat mental illness).

My therapist has helped me learn to understand that if you don't unpack your own emotional baggage it's no longer baggage--it's deadweight.

Because if there’s anything you need to be a physical therapist, it’s a sense of humor.

I've had a lot of therapists, so I've had the opportunity to approach my fear in many different ways. I've faced it head on and sideways and tried to tiptoe up behind it.

He touched the wall and the paint was cold so it probably needed another coat.

This is nothing. One more incredibly dumb problem to baffle my therapist with.

We have been together for 40 years, married for 36. There have been three times in our relationship when we were unable to resolve an issue on our own. We used all the skill that we have and yet it was still unresolved. In those three times we sought professional help because there was a blind spot for each of us. The therapist was able to listen to both of us and help us come to a place of resolution that we both felt good about. I feel very grateful for that help. Most times we have been able to work things through on our own. Sometimes we can clear the issue in a matter of a few minutes, sometimes an hour and sometimes it can take several days. But we still keep working on it until we both say that we feel complete, we understand our own part and responsibility in the issue rather than simply blaming each other, are willing to go on, and there is an even deeper connection and sometimes even humor to the situation. In working each issue through to completion we have been able to retain a beautiful lightness in our relationship that we both cherish.

Repression. Her therapist, Dr. Solomon, loved the word. He'd say it slowly, letting it roll off his tongue. Sometimes he'd add a chin stroke for good measure. He always looked pleased when he did this, like he'd discovered the Caramilk secret or something.

Do you find yourself unable to focus in social situations because your mind is distracted by the minutia of these interactions?” he begins. ​I’m too busy thinking about the way someone’s bone structure works when saying these words to actually respond to them, but my therapist takes that as a yes.

But I saw your aura looking healthy again, then looking sick after a hunt. And you keep getting migraines. You should take better care of yourself,” he added mildly. “Look for ways to not be so tense – long walks, meditation, these things would help.” Alex suddenly felt like Seb was his therapist; he had to resist the urge to shake him.

It didn’t help that most of the therapists in Hell had once been in charge of queer conversion camps on Earth. They were just awful, awful people, and he didn’t think they could help him. Still, there was a bit of happiness involved anytime one of them showed up in Central Processing. The looks on their faces when they found out that most queer people automatically went to Heaven simply because they were queer was divine.

Just before she was about to hit send she deleted the kisses. In case the therapist thought she was leading him on. Then she thought of all the actual kissing they'd done last night. Ridiculous. She may just as well kiss him in a text message. She made it three kisses and went to hit send, but then she wondered if it would seem overly romantic, and changed it back to one kiss, but that seemed stingy, compared to his two, as if he was trying to make a point She made a 'tch' sounded, added back in the second kiss and hit send.

Self-improvement appealed to me, too. I could stand to exercise more often, and be more mindful of salt. I wanted to be more open and thoughtful, more attentive and available to family and friends, Ian. I wanted to stop hiding discomfort, sadness, and anger behind humor. I wanted a therapist to laugh at my jokes and tell me I was well-adjusted. I wanted to better understand my own desires, what I wanted; to find a purpose. BUt non medical monitoring of hear rate variability, sleep latency, glucose levels, ketones--none of this was self-knowledge. It was just metadata.

the new “affirmative-care” standard of mental health professionals is a different matter entirely. It surpasses sympathy and leaps straight to demanding that mental health professionals adopt their patients’ beliefs of being in the “wrong body.” Affirmative therapy compels therapists to endorse a falsehood: not that a teenage girl feels more comfortable presenting as a boy—but that she actually is a boy. This is not a subtle distinction, and it isn’t just a matter of humoring a patient. The whole course of appropriate treatment hinges on whether doctors view the patient as a biological girl suffering mental distress or a boy in a girl’s body. But the “affirmative-care” standard, which chooses between these diagnoses before the patient is even examined, has been adopted by nearly every medical accrediting organization. The American Medical Association, the American College of Physicians, the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Psychological Association, and the Pediatric Endocrine Society have all endorsed “gender-affirming care” as the standard for treating patients who self-identify as “transgender” or self-diagnose as “gender dysphoric.

Divorce is distressing. One does need moral support. Divorce lawyers are professionally adept at persuasively taking your side. A good divorce lawyer will have no trouble agreeing that an errant husband’s adultery killed the marriage and that he is, consequently, tyrannical for holding against his wife her own tiny indiscretion, which was a mere meaningless one-time fling with a friend. Divorce lawyers are the professional adepts at proxying for the kind of emotional support often given by best friends. Attorneys are ready and able to provide you with emotional alliance. But let me ask you: are you ready to pay a divorce lawyer’s hourly rate for emotional support? Why not use lawyers for legal work and reach for emotional support elsewhere? Many people are much better suited to comfort you. Most of them work cheaper or even free: therapists, clergy, primary care physicians. Your mother is often a good choice, and always free. Your best friend may be a good choice—unless your spouse is sleeping with your best friend. Facebook is full of “supporting each other in divorce” groups. Talk to your mother. Talk to your friends. Talk to the fellow-sufferers on Facebook (but do be careful not to give out too many personal details). These resources might not heal all of your emotional scars, but unlike your divorce layers, they are cheap or even free. They will cost less even if you become quite a successful practitioner in the art of stiffing an attorney for his fees.

Handsome Physical Therapist! Oh no!

When you say you were a crack whore,” a therapist once asked. “No, no, no, coke whore,” I replied. Big difference.

I am the second someone. Not the first mentioned when an acquaintance says, 'Well actually, I do kind of know someone famous--well someone who knows someone famous.' I am what comes after the part that matters. I'm more than just that, of course. I know that. I can still name the qualities I know to be true about myself in the way that a former therapist suggested: I am a good friend. A truly top-notch giver of gifts. A person who asks 'How are you?' and means it, who can physically feel when there's an undercurrent of shame or sadness moving through someone I love. I am a hard worker. A problem solver. More likely to get shit done than to complain about it. I am a seeker of beauty. I can see loveliness and humor in almost anything or anyone that isn't me. I do it automatically, unconsciously. I am always pointing and laughing. Isn't it funny? Isn't it gorgeous? But then there's everything else, the things I know to be just as true, that would make my former therapist slowly nod and close her eyes, as if she's heard all of this before (she has) and say, 'Remember how we talked about being nicer to ourselves, Hazel?

The first thing the therapist asked me was, 'Are you here because you're depressed?' I said, 'Not at all--I'm here because I'm Southern.'" Anne Herndon

Because if there's anything you need to be a physical therapist, it's a sense of humor.

...do you want to do the exercises here where you can sit in the kitchen chair, or in the living room so you can slump on the couch after?" "Oh, living room, definitely. Closer to the scotch too," David muttered as he stood and walked in that direction, ignoring the small smile he'd seen on Trace's face. He collapsed on the couch, telling himself to grow up. Being a big baby would annoy Trace, who'd leave, and where would that leave him and his barely healed shoulder? He rubbed at his eyes and told himself he needed to suck it up. "Sling off, please," Trace said as he walked in with the piece of paper the therapist had given David to take home. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he slid on his glasses and started studying the diagrams. "This shouldn't be too bad." "You're not the one with the broken shoulder." Trace didn't respond to the jibe as he sat down next to David. "All right. First exercise. You're going to hold your arm, elbow bent at ninety degrees, and lift it up and out, away from your body." David watched as Trace copied the movement drawn on the sheeet, and he had to stifle a laugh. "What?" Trace glanced up at him. "You look like a chicken," David snickered. "Well, I am the cock of the roost, C'mon, chickadee. Flap that wing," Trace instructed with a wink.

Alistair turns horrified eyes on his wife. "You sent him to a sex worker?" Gail gasps. "Of course not! Sex therapist." "What's the difference?" he cries. "She asks about your feelings while she tickles your pickle?

A few hours ago, the prospect of disappointing someone, especially Calla Thorn, would have sent her into a spiral of panic and self-loathing. She knew that about herself. Her therapist had pointed it out multiple times. Recognizing the pattern was supposed to be the first step to combating it, though most of the time it just meant she was panicked, full of self-loathing, AND acutely aware of how irrational it all was.

We need to find you an outlet that’s going to be healthy and sustainable.” ​I consider these words for a moment. “Like what?” I finally ask, coming up with nothing. ​“Well, you could write,” the bigfoot therapist suggests. “Something creative is a great way to let that illogical side of you come out and play.” ​“Knowing my hyperfocus I’d probably just end up writing hundreds of books expressing every corner of my personality in a deeply intricate catalog of feelings,” I offer with a scoff. ​My therapist doesn’t seem phased.

Around the center leader Muktesh Thomas Forsberg and Jivan Kavya Eva Wells at the Osho meditation Center in Stockholm have gathered people, who systematically have used their positions at the center for power abuses. By using lies and vicious gossip as a means of expressing aggressiveness  ,these people have systematically committed abuse of power and trying to dominate people.These people express envy, condemnation and domination through lies and gross slenderness. It is really the ego that wants to condemn and control.  But these women think that they are aware, but they are really just ignorant, which is the blindness of the ego.When I visited the center, which I had not visited for almost 15 years, I was met by the therapist Moa Bergmark, who told me: "You know that this is a dysfunctional group. But when I began to confront the lies and vicious rumors about me and the dysfunctional structure of the center, Moa Bergmark was suddenly very quiet. This made it obvious that Bergmark was actually a part of the collective unconscious of the dysfunctional group. When Teresa, the center leader who was appointed by Osho himself, invited me to work with therapy- and meditation courses together with her, I felt joy and support  from Teresa. But when Teresa left the center and Muktesh Thomas Forsberg became the center leader, the joy and support disappeared, and I felt that he was just trying to control me.Anutosh Malin William-Olsson, one of the current gossip mongers at the Osho center in Stockholm heard a private conversation between me and my friend Eric Rolf, former consultant to John Lennon, during the eighties, which she had nothing to do with and which she did not understand, but she used this  to spread a lie and a gross negative slender negative rumors about me. Pradeepa Eva Tallqvist, one of the other gossip mongers said: "Giten has suchan integrity" and I thought: "Do these people have any integrity at all." Anubhuti Cecelia Lind commented on two of my students by saying in a  negative way: "Here come the disciples of Giten." Premleena Lena Wettergran told Vanya Pernilla Mårtens that she had done a course with me and said: "It is good that we have someone like Giten in Sweden", which Vanya also turned into something negative and said that I was nothing compared to the visiting therapists. It was Premleena who told me this, but when Premleena got entangled in the involved the dysfunctional structure and the collective unconscious of the center she did not even say hello to me any longer. The center leader Muktesh also joined in with the old woman and confirmed the gross and negative slender by saying: "Giten is so stubborn." My former girlfriend Marga told me that Anna Ganga Hoffman was spreading lies and gross slenderabout me at the Osho center in Stockholm. Marga had been sitting together with Hoffman and the other gossip mongers at the center,and when Hoffman realized that Marga was sitting there, she wanted Marga to confirm  her lies. Marga knew that these were just vicious lies, but she remained quiet because she did not have the courage to confront Hoffman and the gossip mongers at the Osho center in Stockholm  about their sick lies and gross slender. Prem Pathik in Nepal commented: "This must be a few people, who are really not living their lives as they like. These women who are searching  for a deeper space can never know you." It was also these people that my friend, Eric Rolf ,former consultant to John Lennon, met at the Osho center  in Stockholm, and she commented:  "I have been around, but these people just wanted to  control me. I did not enjoy it so much." I wrote a letter to Osho himself about the situation and the reply I receivws was: "humor is the highest state of consciousness.

He had been shuffled out so quickly he didn’t even realize what he was wearing, like a King of Spades who wanted to file a complaint to the playing card company manufacturer for not drawing him a garden tool like he specifically asked for.

yet one animal food critic in particular commented that his dish had a certain ‘je ne sais’, but all that was missing was the ‘quoi’.

Gentleness, humor and abundant support are wonderful resources on this ever-unfolding, stubbornly non-linear journey from control to receptivity.

Setting aside the issues of homicide and suicide for the time being, let us examine what it means to be a true fan. My harried therapist once asked if I could delineate my specific philosophy in a concise and economical fashion, if only for the edification of the vulgar. Hey, no problem, Doc. I just happen to have a tattered old piece of paper in my wallet setting forth the fan canon; it had been given to me as a boy by a rakish carny who claimed to have once been Dizzy Dean’s grocery boy. It consisted of the following items: Never switch allegiances. Show some respect. Visit the shrines. Never give up. Never give in. Never leave early. Neither a front-runner not a Johnny-come-lately be. Accept no substitutes. Wait until next year. Never turn down tickets to see Jordan.

The wolves were now permanently mute out of almost three week long perpetual fear of the penguin, and this was agreeable to the penguin, who was much pleased, contrary to the redundancy of the latter part of this sentence where he certainly was not pleased.

For some reason, possibly known only to my therapist, I decided that Dippy looked so adorable this morning, as she lay gently snoozing on my jacket, that she just had to allow me to cuddle her. This was an error of a magnitude found somewhere between "invade Poland in the winter" and "hold my beer and watch this.

What a therapist is doing is reading/writing your thoughts.