Aaron Gleaves is the good guy turned bad guy in my real life therapy drama. Because every story needs a villain.
Aaron Gleaves is not the worst therapist I’ve ever had. That distinction easily belongs to an awful counselor who my mother sent my younger sister and me to many years ago. He was an old church member who was recommended to her by other members.
That counselor literally was the most emotionally abusive counselor I’ve witnessed firsthand. My father was abusive. The counselor told my sister and me that our father had experienced a difficult childhood and that we needed to be better children and help him. Worse things than that were said to us. The counselor didn’t validate anything we shared with him, only reinforced the abuse we were going through. It was horrible, and I refused to meet with him again after that first time. He scared me off therapy for many years after I’d grown up.
With that awful counselor, I never felt safe. He was horrible from the first moment.
In contrast, Aaron Gleaves made me feel listened to and respected most of the time. I felt safe with him up until the end. I trusted Aaron. I was honest with him and held back very little. I felt very free. Looking back, I probably overshared. Experts might say it was all transference. I disagree, but I’ll play along for a minute. Who did I cast Aaron as in my pretend, reimagined relationship?
For me it was like the times when I was a child and playing outside: running through the fields, at the river, exploring in the woods, making forts, having sword fights. I felt safe and happy and free. Meeting with Aaron was like doing all of that cool outside stuff with a good friend. All of our sessions were Telehealth, but to me it felt like we were outside exploring.
At the end of our adventures, I think I hurt Aaron’s feelings or offended or annoyed him. Pretty sure I made him think I was disappointed in him. Then when I sensed that he was upset, I didn’t behave like a friend. I wanted to, but I was so confused and upset. I behaved like a client instead of a friend.
A worthy antagonist makes the protagonist doubt herself and question her values. I’ve been unhappy with how I handled that ever since it happened and wish I’d behaved as a friend first and as a client second. Once the damage was done, I would’ve welcomed the chance to repair it, even if we were still going to terminate. But an antagonist doesn’t let the protagonist make amends or fix anything they’ve messed up. It’s always too little, too late for them. Aaron definitely didn’t give me the chance to repair any of it. He totally shut me out, just like several of my past romantic partners have done to me, which made it even more painful.
Even after we fell apart, I still tried to repair things and be close with him again. He didn’t want that, and I respect it, but it was confusing and sad.
Aaron Gleaves is the antagonist of this story because he made me stumble and fall, mentally and emotionally. A worthy antagonist gets under the protagonist’s skin, and Aaron definitely did. When it felt like he was “breaking up” with me, it was far more painful than when that mean old therapist told me I was a bad kid. I’ve had romantic relationships end where I’ve felt much less pain than I’ve felt from my termination with Aaron. In true antagonist fashion, I can picture Aaron now either being proud of how much pain he caused me, or not giving a damn at all. Either one works. A good antagonist has options.
In summation:
- A good antagonist can get through the protagonist’s defenses and get close enough to hurt them. Aaron Gleaves felt like a friend who I laughed and cried with while we built our secret fort. Who better to hurt me as my enemy?
- A good antagonist knows exactly how to hurt the protagonist. Aaron Gleaves abandoned me and shut me out and ignored me—the very behaviors I’d told him had hurt me the most in my entire life. With that knowledge, he knew exactly how to cause me the most pain.
- A good antagonist is powerful. Aaron Gleaves is more powerful than me. He has more education and more friends. He has family who love him and colleagues who think he’s great, and the perfect wife, and multitudes of clients who are his adoring fans. I have an ultra-conservative, judgmental, fucked up family of origin who I barely speak to for emotional health reasons. I have a good job, but I’m not really close to any of my colleagues. I’m divorced, with no partner prospects at the moment and several ex-lovers who still try to contact me even though they’re blocked. I’m in a much weaker position than Aaron and I doubt he’d ever consider me to be a worthy antagonist. I feel like I have very little power compared to him. This is one of the reasons why I didn’t think it was cool of Stacey to complain about the critical review that I left for Aaron and Calmed Counseling. One of the few powers I have is to express myself about my experience.
- A good antagonist is formidable, or looks remarkable, or has memorable quirks. In other words, a good antagonist stands out. Aaron Gleaves looks like what happened when God got sick of everyone talking about how hot Ryan Gosling is and decided to prove that he could make a hotter version of Ryan Gosling that Hollywood would never get to see. Then the Universe thought it’d be a fun prank for Ryan Gosling 2.0 to become a therapist.
As the protagonist, I have no idea if I’m sort of cute or if I’m basic or mildly unattractive. I’d tell you if I knew for sure. But anyway, I’m what happened when God mixed in a little bit of cuteness with a lot of spunk, and then the Universe thought it’d be a fun prank to send little Bella Swan 1.1 to a fucked up family where she wouldn’t fit in, and let her be too poor to afford braces for her teeth, and oh yeah, let her go talk to that Ryan Gosling 2.0 guy, that educated country boy liberal therapist who seems trustworthy, so that he could have the opportunity to destroy what was left of her spirit after her family, bad exes, and shitty jobs had gotten done with her.
And here we are.