After all of those conversations about my fear that she would leave and trying to believe she really wasn’t going anywhere — my therapist is leaving.When we had those conversations, she didn’t know she would be leaving anytime soon. Intellectually, I know that. Emotionally, it is a lot more complicated.
I’m sitting at my favorite probably-wont-get-covid-here bar-with-a-couch, ostensibly writing my next piece for ADDitude magazine.
I have recurring therapy dreams where I go to an appointment and other people are in the room during what should be my time. I’m angry because she should know better. I’m hurt that she doesn’t care enough about me to give me one hour of her life. During the dream, I feel a twisting countdown as I watch the clock, hyperaware of every passing second that I won’t get back. I want to express my feelings but feel helpless to do so. There’s even part of me that feels relief to have one of my deepest fears confirmed. To not have to worry about it anymore.
I have mixed feelings about emailing my therapist. But I can say for sure that I’d be a very different version of myself if she didn’t allow me to express myself through writing. Sometimes it’s philosophical and intellectual musings. Sometimes it’s a funny meme that accurately sums up something we have been talking about. But sometimes it’s a dive into my brain with no Coast-Guard-approved life vest.
Originally posted January 2018
January 2022 update: Scroll to the bottom for comparisons of Adventurefuls and between Lemon-ups vs Lemonades.
My boyfriend-turned-friend-turned-boyfriend-turned-friend-turned-pandemic-boyfriend-turned-friend who sometimes sees things I don’t see in myself – good and bad – points out the flaw in my drive to embrace vulnerability.
There are certain times in life that feel like dividing lines etched into a window to your psyche. Natural confluences of moments that come together to make you contemplate the “what next” of it all.