Today marks six months since Zooey terminated therapy with us. I actually have session with the new therapist at 4pm – which is the exact time of that termination session. Weird.
I thought I would feel different about it at this point. Better? More resolved? Less consumed with grief and confusion and shame? I don’t know, exactly. Just…different.
I suppose I do feel better overall. But in other more subtle and pervasive ways, I feel worse. I think I understood that her actions would ripple in ways that might take a long time to even see. But I felt determined to master it.
Looking back, I think so much of what held me to therapy in the aftermath of her abandonment was the absolute determination I felt to not allow this woman to have any more impact on my life than she already did. She hurt me profoundly. I didn’t want to let her continue to do so.
Yet…somehow she does. I don’t see her. I don’t speak to her. I don’t even know her. She is a ghost now. But, like a ghost, she haunts me. I see and hear her everywhere – in the words and expressions of the people I work furiously to trust. The very moments of connection and attunement that I long for are the same moments that snap me back to her. Her words. Her expressions. The naïveté with which I embarked on that therapeutic journey.
I am reminded of the vast discrepancy between what she often said versus what she actually did. She betrayed my trust without intent or malice. I think that’s worse. I prefer to imagine she deliberately compromised my treatment and progress than to accept the harsh reality that she just didn’t know better.