Imaginary Therapy

One November evening, I received a frantic call from a father.
“My daughter has a problem. You have to fix her fast.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked him.
“She’s sick. We’ll be in your office in the morning.”

The next morning, I opened the door to my reception room and found The Three Bears sitting there.
“I’m Papa Bear. And this is Mama Bear,” he said, speaking for her.
“And this is our daughter, Baby Bear. Just look at her.”
Baby Bear was scary. Her face was skeletal and her fur was dull and matted. She was pitifully thin.
“I’m the Bear who’s been dragged here,” said Baby Bear.
“Soon you’ll be Dead Bear, if that’s what you want,” said Papa Bear.
“Come in and let’s all sit down,” I counseled.
When we were inside my office, Papa Bear said, “Let me explain the problem. It’s November and winter is coming very soon. We spend all summer and fall preparing for it. If we don’t gain enough weight in the warm months, then we can’t get through the cold months.”
“Okay,” I said.
“But in June, my daughter decided she wasn’t going to gain any weight. Instead of gaining weight like she’s supposed to do, she’s been losing weight. Now look at her.”
“I’m fine,” said Baby Bear.
“What do you think, Mama Bear?” I asked.
“I’m just worried. I don’t understand it. She used to be happy. I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Baby Bear was busy examining the ceiling tiles in my office.
“How about you, Baby Bear? What do you think?” I asked her.
“I eat,” she said. “But I’m not going to stuff myself.”
“You’re supposed to stuff yourself!” yelled Papa Bear.
Mama Bear shrunk into the couch. “Remember when you were little and you said you were full? I would always say, ‘Are your arms full? Are your legs full? Maybe that was the wrong thing to do.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of anorexia,” I said, “It’s become an epidemic. But anorexia isn’t just about food. There’s a whole constellation of behaviors and feelings and attitudes that are part of it.”
“If she just would do what I tell her to do, she’d be happy. And she wouldn’t look like this,” said Papa Bear.
I persisted. “Most girls with anorexia feel they have very little control over their lives.”
Papa Bear leaned closer to me. “She needs to eat.”
“Before this, our life was perfect,” said Mama Bear. “Everything was just right.”
“What do you think happened, Baby Bear?" I asked.
Baby Bear was silent. I was about to explain how anorexia often involved problems in relationships as well as problems with eating, when Baby Bear spoke up.
“Goldilocks,” Baby Bear said.
Mama Bear and Papa Bear both groaned.
“That was a long time ago, and it was nothing. That has nothing to do with anything,” said Papa Bear.
“But maybe Baby Bear can explain what she means,” I said.
Papa Bear, however, said, “I can explain it. A little girl ran away from home. She came into our house when we weren’t home, sat in our chairs, ate our porridge, and fell asleep in our bed. When we came home and found her, we sent her on her way. End of story.”
“Well,” said Baby Bear, “Goldilocks didn’t break your chair or sleep in your bed or eat all of your porridge. I hope she’s as big as a house by now.”
“I’ve always told you the world is a dangerous place. That’s why you need to be strong,” Papa Bear said.
“But come to think of it,” said Mama Bear, “After Goldilocks, Baby Bear wouldn’t sleep in her own bed for months.”
I needed to end the session. “For next time, I want each of you to think about your own reactions to Goldilocks. But Baby Bear, I have something else I’d like you to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“Goldilocks happened a long time ago.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So why are you still called Baby Bear?”

Papa Bear started off our next session by roaring, “She’s still not eating,”
“So who are you angry at?” I asked.
“Her. Why can’t she understand that she’s not going to survive the winter?”
“Anyone else you’re angry at?” I asked.
“You,” he said. “I came here because I thought you would fix her.”
“I wish it was that simple. And how about Goldilocks?”
“I’m not angry at her. Well, maybe a little,” said Papa Bear. “She had no business coming into our house.”
“But she did, after you had done everything you could to protect your family.”
“Apparently not. But I thought the important thing was for the whole family to go on like nothing had happened.”
“You know,” I said, “sometimes our children, in their own ways, express the pain they can see in their parents. Especially when it’s something no one can talk about.”
“So I didn’t protect you, Baby Bear? That’s why you won’t eat?”
“It’s not your fault. I just know that when I’m hungry, I feel in control of myself. I feel clean and I feel like I’m light enough to fly away.”
“From us?” asked Mama Bear.
“From everything. I know you wanted to believe that nothing had changed, but after Goldilocks, everything was different. Papa Bear stopped telling me stories, and he always seemed angry. We used to have fun. Now all we do is talk about my eating.”
“Are you angry at me, too,” asked Mama Bear.
“How could I be angry at you? You never did anything wrong.”
“I tried...” Mama Bear started to say.
“You never did anything,” Baby Bear told her.
Baby Bear and Mama Bear started to hug and cry.
“And you’re still Baby Bear?” I asked.
“No,” Baby Bear sniffled. “I guess I’ve become Teenage Bear.”
“Look,” said Papa Bear. “I’ll make you a deal. You start gaining weight and I’ll tell you stories again. Every night. Just like before.”
“It’s not like before! Our house - where everything is always just right - isn’t. At least not for me.”
Papa Bear was indignant. “Well, it is for us. I’m trying to solve this problem, but I can’t do it for you. You have to decide for yourself whether or not you’re going to eat.”
“Oh, so now I can make up my own mind?” Baby Bear cried.
But Papa Bear was already out the door with Mama Bear close behind him. Teenage Bear left too, trying to catch up.

One month later, Teenage Bear came back to my office. It may have been my imagination, but I thought she didn’t look quite so thin.
“Where’s Papa Bear? Where’s Mama Bear?” I asked her.
“They’re asleep. After our last session, they got into their beds and went to sleep. They won’t wake up until spring.”
“Don’t you need to hibernate?”
“I tried. When I saw them go to sleep, I crawled into my bed, too. But as I lay there, I felt like I was going to die. I thought maybe Papa Bear was right, that I wouldn’t survive the winter. So I got out of bed, left our house, and started walking.”
“Walking where?”
“Just walking through the forest. I must have walked for a week. As the weather turned colder, it became harder to find anything to eat. It’s funny, but with almost no food around, I felt like I was really starving.”
“So what did you do?”
“I guess I was lucky. I met a whole group of bears that weren’t sleeping. They said they stayed awake all year.”
“How can they do that?” I asked.
“They’re City Bears. They left the forest and live near people. They can always find food in garbage cans and dumpsters. In fact, some of the City Bears are bigger than Papa Bear. They haven’t slept through the winter in years. Now, I’m a City Bear too.”
“But isn’t it dangerous for you to live so close to people?”
“What isn’t dangerous? I’m less afraid of people than some of the City Bears, probably because of Goldilocks. In fact, I once broke into someone’s house! They can’t believe how brave I am.”
“And you can eat now?”
“A little more. I feel safer knowing I don’t need to stuff myself. And I know I can survive on my own, in my own way.”
“And your parents?”
“I’ll definitely go see them in the spring. I want Mama Bear to know that I’m okay. I don’t want her to worry or feel bad. But I don’t think I can sit in my little chair or eat from my little bowl or sleep in my little bed anymore. And there’s something else I want to do.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
”I need to ask Papa Bear to tell me a story.”