When You Have To Break Up With Your Therapist

It was a surprisingly humid day for a September afternoon in Boston.

Despite this day being quite a significant day—my last session of insurance-covered therapy,

my mind was all over the place trying to orient myself back in Boston after a year+ quarantine prevented me from coming back to the city I call home.

Remembering last minute that my session was about to start, and I had just been strolling down Newbury St, I dashed into a nearby Starbucks to hop onto their wifi.

And while the wifi connection was working surprisingly well, the atmosphere was loud af-- it was like someone was having their family reunion up in that bitch.

Luckily, someone had just cleared a table on the outdoor patio and I managed to snag it as I answered my therapist’s Face Time call.

Anyone who has ever been down Newbury Street on a nice day knows that it was just as busy as the inside of the Starbucks, but the sound was, surprisingly, better--only ever so slightly, but it would have to do.

So, there we were—my therapist, me and the cozy fall New England backdrop—coming together for one last time to reflect on what three years of therapy had done for me.

The temperament of the day could not have been a more fitting metaphor—I felt light, bright and and the most clear-headed I had ever felt…maybe in my whole life?

I don’t want to be one of those heavy hyperbolic writers, but if this picturesque fall day is to serve as the picture of where I landed, then you can only imagine the self-destructive tornado hurricane that blew onto my therapist’s zoom screen 3 years earlier.

I had known for a while that I needed to be back in therapy. 

But after a crappy therapy experience I had in college while I was trying to process a very traumatic event that had happened to me when I was 19, I had been a bit turned off by the idea of trying again as an adult, especially now that I would have to pay for it.

Anyone who has been in therapy knows that it is very much like dating when you are first starting out-- awkward, slightly uncomfortable, a little fearful and hella expensive.

And since I’ve always been identified by others as a faux therapist, I just decided that I could work through my bullshit on my own.

(In case you can’t tell, it was the worst mistake ever. I highly, highly do not recommend it.)

When I decided to go back to grad school in 2018, one of the benefits that I was extremely excited about--in addition to health insurance, was low cost therapy. 

As much as I loved therapy when I was in high school, that high price tag (usually in the hundreds) can definitely be a barrier to entry for people with nothing or shitty health insurance.

But when I started school, it was only $10 a session and by the time I left, it was free.

When I met my therapist in early 2019, I was truly at my breaking point.

I had just broken up with my boyfriend, started my master’s program, was struggling with money for the first time in a long time, was entrenched in a few toxic relationships and had an unhealthy relationship with social media.

I had been dealing panic attacks, emotional outbursts and suicidal thoughts. I would wake up crying in the middle of the night for no reason other than I was so sad and I knew I didn’t want to feel this way.

So, even prior to the pandemic, I had been engaging in virtual therapy, which I actually liked because I have always been an on-the-go person. I liked that it gave me the ability to keep up with my sessions even when I was traveling.

While it definitely was a bumpy start finding a therapist this way because meeting any stranger virtually for the first time can be awkward as hell (especially before the pandemic), I knew from our first session that she was the one for me.

One of the qualities that I have always appreciated in my therapist is her directness. But she’s not direct in the way that rude people are and then they try to mask it as directness.

She is one of those direct people who’s realness was always offered in the service of helping me achieve my personhood goals.

It’s a type of realness that is not demanding, but considerate—a realness that always reminded me that I was in control of my life, so what kind of life did I really want for myself?

One of my favorite questions that she loved to ask me was “how was I choosing to protect my peace that week?”

I came to love this question because it wasn’t until meeting with her that I realized how often I let other people control what type of day or week I was going to have.

For example, in grad school I let myself get sucked into a group activity being run by others in my program that I knew I really didn’t want to do.

But as many people do, I kept going along to get along because I think I hoped that at some point I’d be able to enjoy it or get something out of it-- or who knows what bullshit I was feeding myself. But I can tell you that it was indeed bullshit and that it was only pushing me further and further into unhappiness.

But when my therapist asked me how I was choosing to protect my peace, that was the moment I realized how often I had been betraying my peace by allowing myself to get roped into things that I knew I didn’t want to do.

Naturally, as human beings, we never want to come off as assholes to other people. 

And while I’m not advocating for you to become one, I do think that this question has made me realize that we have an unhealthy obsession with looking nice to others in a way that is actually a betrayal to our own happiness.

“I LOVE THAT I HAVE GOTTEN TO A PLACE WITH MY MENTAL HEALTH WHERE I TRULY BELIEVE I KNOW HOW TO BEST TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. ”

Sure, there are certainly times where you might have to bite your tongue, and do some shit you don’t want to do. But it is definitely not as often as we’ve been trained to believe that we have to.

Through working with my therapist for the last three years, I’m so proud of the difficult, but necessary decisions I have taken to protect my own happiness.

Yes, these decisions have led to fights, to hard conversations, and to the end of long-standing relationships. 

But it has also led to a deep sense of contentment and happiness that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

When I finally took myself out of the group activity, I’m sure my classmates were pissed at me. But, to be honest, it really didn’t bother me because I was finally in that mental place where honoring my happiness meant more to me.

When my therapist and I were wrapping up our call that day, I let her know what an immense amount of gratitude I had in my heart for the person she helped me become. I have always been someone who knows what they want out of life, but that could definitely get sheepish when it came to executing my vision.

But through our nurturing real talk sessions, I definitely feel so much more in charge of my life.

At the end, she told me that she had no worries about me being able to take care of myself going forward, and I... actually... agreed with her.

I know, hella crazy, right?! But it was also a super boss feeling to have.

While I know she’s always there for me if I need an emergency session, I love that I have gotten to a place with my mental health where I truly believe I know how to best take care of myself.