Relationships July 2, 2018
Where is the after school special on this?
The longest relationship I’ve ever had is with my therapist. For the past two years, we have spent two hours together every week, whether via FaceTime or in-person couch time. That’s 208 hours of contact, which doesn’t even include the time outside of her office that I’ve spent reflecting on her words or completing the mental health homework she has provided me. Few people have had as much real estate over my thoughts as my therapist.
On a FaceTime call in my local Starbucks this morning, I received the bittersweet news that she would was beginning a private practice that would not accept my insurance, and thus, that our time was coming to end. I giggled the uncomfortable giggle I get whenever I hear bad news, congratulated her and shifted the conversation to scheduling in order to avoid sentiment.
As I began my walking commute to work, I could feel the sadness shadowing my eyes and the wrinkling of my stomach. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. As an out-of-state college student, I have gotten pretty used to goodbyes. There were the emotional moving out goodbyes with family, the messy high school boyfriend goodbye, and now–at the start and end of every semester–a series of see-you-in-a-while goodbyes. By now, I’ve perfected the half-frown and head tilt that comes with the goodbye exchange, as I move and grow through my young adulthood.
Without a well-tested plan to follow, I feel unprepared for any kind of final exchange with my therapist. Because my therapist is a good one, she knows transitions are tough for me, and she warned me about this transition with ample time before the termination of our relationship. But I can’t help but feel a little wobbly as I picture our last session.
And this feels a little odd. Because in a lot of ways, this relationship is a professional one. A business transaction occurs during every session, as she manages my mind and I swipe my debit card. Feeling sad about it seems like a breach of contract. It feels like crying in my cubicle.
But after at least 208 hours together, there is some form of friendship that has developed between us. That was inevitable, right? We laugh and chat and catch up, just like gal pals do at any quality brunch. There have been tears and frustrations and breakthroughs. But my therapist can’t be my pal, can she? I mean, I certainly don’t pay any of my other friends to listen to my rambles.
At times, my therapist has felt like an extended relative. She knows all the family gossip, will scoff at the wacky things a parent may do and knows my history like she’s been here all along. She fulfills the role of the cool, older cousin little girls dream about, who has all her sh-t together and is super willing to help you sort yours out.
Because she fulfills all of these personas for me, I have no idea how to go about saying goodbye to my therapist. What is the proper bookend on a relationship that doesn’t fit within just one definition? As I picture that last session, I can’t imagine the words said before I walk out the door. Do I hug her? A handshake? Should I write her a letter? Bring a gift? Do I pay her before or after I’ve said goodbye?
The longest any of them lasted was four months. I never really felt an attachment to any of them (which is partially why they didn’t stick around), so saying goodbye was easy: I didn’t. I would just stop going. Now I have all this time to prepare for an absolute moment of goodbye-ness, and I’m at a loss.
Moreover, what is the procedure for the time post-goodbye? Is this like a breakup with a toxic boyfriend? Should I delete her number and end on a clean break? Or maybe I should follow the casual-friend-from-high-school protocol, keeping in touch once every six months by texting, “We need to be better at keeping in touch!” Do I friend my therapist on Facebook? Can I comment on her new profile pictures with a, “Miss you! Xx”? I don’t think so.
Perhaps this is such a struggle because goodbyes are rarely about making myself feel better. Usually, my mission in a goodbye is to provide adequate comfort and kindness to the person I’m parting from based on our past relationship. For instance, with my best friend from childhood, each goodbye includes an outpour of love and mentions of how “proud I am of your growth” and a secret handshake comprised of ‘Hannah Montana’ references. Every goodbye with my mother, on the other hand, is packed with reassurances that “yes I will call when I land” and “yes we will still talk every day” and “no I won’t start resenting you because we talk everyday.”
Conversely, therapy is very much about making me feel better. Throughout our time together, my therapist has provided anecdotes about or little glimpses into her own life. However, I have definitely done most of the talking. How do I step away from this dynamic long enough to express all the deep and meaningful reasons I think my therapist is so great in my thorough and elaborate goodbye speech? And how do I avoid making those deep and meaningful reasons about me? Because it seems only fair that she get at least one session dedicated to her when I’ve had so many.
For instance, one time downtown, I spotted my therapist and some guy I had never seen leaving a Thai restaurant. I panicked and ducked into the pub next door. Who was this man? Were they on a date? Did she regularly enjoy Thai food? Were these things I should’ve already known about her? We had a session the next day, and my heart was beating rapidly as I dared ask if she was downtown the night before. Really, I just wanted to chat to her about it like I would’ve amongst other girlfriends. I wanted the full scoop on this guy (who turned out to be her husband). I wanted to know exactly when her love of Thai food began. But I didn’t and I couldn’t, because she was my therapist and our time together was more than valuable, it was expensive.
Still, I feel close to my therapist. In fact, I love my therapist, which seems like it would be impossible. How can I love someone I don’t really know? Surely I can’t. Isn’t that why everyone bashes on ‘Cinderella’?
But I do love her. She is funny and grounded and smart and gritty and not here for the bologna. I know all of this, and none of those things have to do with me or the things I’ve said.
Which, on a bigger scheme, makes me question how we really come to know people. Is it about getting personal, or just about proximity? Sitting here in the ENTITY office, I am sure that I could confidently describe anyone around me if prompted, even though the fraction of people I actually know solid facts about is fairly tiny.
But, I know how their voices lilt, how they sit in the blue chairs, what they eat for lunch and what their laughs sound like. Somehow, the details aren’t the defining matter. And I cherish everyone who works here, without knowing a sister’s name or first kiss story, just as I cherish my therapist.
So maybe I’ll declare all the mushy stuff as I hug my therapist goodbye. Or maybe I won’t. Or maybe she will know how I feel because I’ve been telling her my feelings and she’s been analyzing them for thousands of minutes and hundred of days, and, as I swipe my debit card for the last time, a simple nod and a little smile will be just enough.
