“I’m Calling the Police” (Irvin D. Yalom, 2011) is one of the ten short stories collected in Yalom’s book The Spinoza Problem: Ten Tales from the Therapy Room. It is a poignant, unsettling narrative about a therapist’s limits, boundaries, and the encounter with raw psychological danger.
Plot Summary:
The story revolves around Yalom’s therapeutic work with a highly narcissistic and volatile man who becomes increasingly controlling, entitled, and menacing during their sessions.
- The patient is intelligent, articulate, and charming, but increasingly reveals traits of malignant narcissism, sadism, and manipulativeness.
- He disrespects Yalom’s time, invades boundaries, shows no empathy, and begins to mock therapy itself.
- At one point, he shows up outside scheduled sessions, pressures Yalom to extend the time, and even issues veiled threats.
Eventually, Yalom has to draw a firm boundary—and says, “I’m calling the police.”
This sentence marks a turning point in the story: the therapist moves from compassionate witness to self-protective agent, affirming that therapy is not unconditional surrender—and that the therapist’s safety matters, too.
Themes:
- Therapeutic Limits:
The story explores how therapy is not a “safe harbor” for all behavior. There are moments when ethics overrides empathy, and the therapist must act decisively. - Power Dynamics:
The patient seeks to dominate the therapist, using charm and intimidation. This challenges the traditional idea of “client vulnerability” by flipping the dynamic. - The Shadow of the Therapist:
Yalom subtly reveals his own discomfort, fear, and guilt—wondering if he failed the patient, or whether he should have seen it coming sooner. This self-questioning reflects Yalom’s radical honesty as a therapist-writer. - The Therapist as a Human Being:
Ultimately, the story humanizes the therapist—not as a blank slate, but as a person with boundaries, fears, and a right to protection.
Why It Matters:
“I’m Calling the Police” is not a typical “therapeutic success” story.
There is no breakthrough, no catharsis, no healing.
Instead, it is a story about recognizing danger and the cost of vulnerability in the therapeutic role.
It reveals the dark undercurrent of clinical work that most literature avoids:
What happens when the therapist is not the healer, but the target?
Would you like a comparative reflection between this story and Yalom’s more hopeful tales (like The Gift of Therapy)—perhaps titled:
〈當療癒失效：Yalom 的黑夜故事〉？
Or a haibun-style summary, meditating on the line: “I’m calling the police.”?
