Breaking Up

I just broke up with my therapist. At least, that’s what it feels like.



The relationship between a therapist and her patient is a complicated one. It is a professional relationship, of course. But it is also a kind of friendship, albeit one-sided. A very self-centered, almost narcissistic friendship.There is no-one else who will listen to your boring monologues without ever expecting you to return the favor. There is no-one else who will get to know you quite as thoroughly. Not your parents. Not your siblings. Not your spouse. Not even your very best friend. You can forget that you know nothing about this person in return.You can even forget that this is all coming at a price — usually one not covered by your insurance.

I’ve known my therapist for the last eight years, and I’ve shared the most intimate details of my personal life with her. We’ve explored my childhood, adolescence and adulthood in great depth, over hours and hours of one-sided discourse. But over the past weeks or months, I’ve felt the magic waning. It feels like a relationship that’s stuck. We don’t seem to be moving forward any more. We (by which I mean, I) still talked, but it kept feeling┬álike words, only words. So, after persistently avoiding the issue, I finally cut the cord today. She was very nice about it, which compounded my twin feelings of relief and guilt. Now I have to figure out what comes next. Just like every adult does.

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