I ghosted my therapist (part I).

I ghosted my therapist. Cheated on her, perhaps. Saw other people behind her back.

For real, though … After the “break” and my subsequent running back to her, I told her I didn’t think she cared about me as a human; I was just a paycheck. Later, she would tell me that that moment was one of the most profound of her career.

Let me back up.

I began seeing Joyce in April 2021 as part of marriage counseling. In November of that same year, as my marriage was on its very final leg, I told my husband that if he wanted a divorce, he would have to say it out loud to our therapist.

In hindsight, I am not sure why I created that stipulation. I guess some part of me believed that if he had to say it out loud to someone else, he wouldn’t be able to.

Well, I was wrong.

I distinctly remember my first time going to see Joyce as an individual. I am not sure why I booked that appointment. I was humiliated. Humiliated is actually an understatement to what I was feeling. As someone who has spent my entire life in advanced writing classes, I assure you that there is no word to accurately define what I was feeling.

I would be returning to our MARRIAGE therapist … alone. To me, it was the ultimate representation of defeat. Of accepting defeat.*

It was one of the most painful – yet, courageous – moments of my entire life. I sat down on the couch, and I said, almost in a whisper, not trusting my own voice, “As you can see, it’s just me.”

An undetermined amount of parts to this blog will follow.

*This is something I am actively working on reframing in therapy.

P.S. - This seems silly, but physical space is huge for me. One of the reasons I picked Joyce when searching for a therapist was because she had pictures of her office on her website. I remember thinking, "I bet I could feel comfortable in that space."