Breakups have never been easy for me. The thought of ending a relationship with someone — looking them in the eye and telling them I didn’t want to see them anymore — makes me faint. But breaking up with my therapist? The woman with whom I had a more intimate relationship than any guy I’d ever been with? That’s truly terrifying.
Similar to exes I had severed ties with, Lori (not her real name) wasn’t a bad person. She was kind and warm with a sly sense of humor that occasionally surfaced during our sessions. As a fellow mom, she was attuned to the anxious fear that engulfed me after I gave birth to my daughter and the painful frustrations I vented about in my romantic relationship. And she often gave me a new way of looking at situations in which I wanted to play the victim role. She was the first therapist to tell me that I had agency in my life, if I chose to own it.
