My Therapist Broke Up With Me
My therapist broke up with me today, so I'm listening to my sad playlist.
Ironic right?
Although, she once told me that listening to music that fits
your emotions helps you process those emotions in a healthy way. But I still
want to talk to my therapist about, well, my therapist.
More irony.
Ugh. I miss her already.
She said that it wasn’t me it was her. Something about out
of state or state lines or some sort of state bullshit.
I believe her though. I believe her because I trust her. I
have feelings for her. In a patient therapist sort of way. Like a good friend
that is always there to listen. A good friend that I pay, that is always there
to listen.
I'm concerned that she is not replaceable. For fuck's sake,
she knows everything about me. She knows my pain and my sorrow. My trials and
tribulations. She knows my joy and elation. My agony and defeat.
I've been in therapy on and off for almost 45 years.
Most of those years were off and I don't think I've ever
really stuck with one therapist for more than 6 months.
Some of them were great. All of them had the credentials and came to play. But anyone who has experienced therapy can attest that it is a two-way street. Like any intimate relationship, both parties need to be ready and willing to communicate with honesty, vulnerability and most importantly for me, the willingness to explore unhealthy behavior.
Aka,
"The bullshit".
In many ways, therapy was a waste of time for me before I
got sober. I wasn't ready. I wasn't willing. I wasn't able.
I truly believe that I always started therapy with the
best of intentions. If you hooked me up to a polygraph machine, and asked me if
I wanted help, I would have honestly said, "Of course I want help. I'm
drowning over here. Just tell me what to do." But my follow through was
always for shit.
I was too afraid to share my truth for fear of being
judged. I couldn't bear to think that someone would finally see the real me and
figure out that I was a fraud. The shame and self-loathing were hard enough to
process on the inside, let alone out in the open.
I can't go for that. Noooo. No can do.
I know enough now to recognize that the only way out, is through.
Fast forward to the beginning of the pandemic.
I had more than a decade of sobriety under my belt, but the
effects of isolation were starting to settle in and for an alcoholic like me,
isolation can be the gateway drug to depression, anxiety and eventually other
not so good stuff.
I did not want to go back to where I was. I had made too
much progress.
Even with all the support I was getting from all the
different tools in my recovery toolbox, I was still feeling stuck.
I decided to give therapy another shot. I just needed to
find the right match.
Because we were still stuck in the house and in-person was
not on the table, I did some research on virtual therapy, and I found a legit
option. Betterhelp.com was something I kept hearing
about via ads on TV and in my social feeds, so I signed up.
After answering a ton of questions, they matched me up
with a therapist from out of state. I swiped right and we had our first
session.
I felt a connection instantly. She was approachable, funny,
seemed genuinely interested and easily relatable. She kind of reminded me of
one of my good friends from college. She was also a little bit younger than me
and had kids, so she knew words like "Bruh" and "Riz".
Sold.
I didn't hold back anything. Not even once. I mean fuck it right? I'm a grown ass man. What did I have to lose? I kept telling myself, I didn't get sober to not be happy. Recovery is supposed to be about growth. It's about evolution. It's about change.
Right?
I looked forward to every session. I would talk. She would
listen. I would say, "Now what?" She would say things like, "What are you
afraid of?" or "You deserve to be happy." Talking to her was
always so inspiring. I always came away from our sessions feeling empowered and
heard. It was refreshing to have a different and impartial perspective.
She motivated me. She stirred shit up. She ruffled
feathers. She poked the bear. She didn't let the sleeping dog lie.
She walked me through the decision to pivot on a 30-year
career, when the thought of it scared the snot out of me. She encouraged me to
get back into writing and use it as a healthy outlet to express myself. She
became a sounding board and a beacon of light or a lighthouse or whichever one makes
more sense.
It doesn't really matter.
She suggested I pick a new therapist so I can continue all
the great work I have done but I don't want another therapist.
I want my therapist.
I need to process these emotions and use the treasure trove of wisdom I've gained under her tutelage. I shall reach for every arrow in my quiver.
Maybe it's just time for me to live in the new world I have manifested for myself. Time to enjoy the other side of that light at the end of the tunnel that everyone talks about.
I need to pause for a bit and listen to my sad playlist.
I'm going to miss her.
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