Firing your therapist

I fired my therapist. Maybe I fired her because she knows a truth that I have been blind to but have always felt. Maybe she saw something in me that I spent my life burying. But I am tired looking into the past and looking into my wrongs.

I fired her because she made a surprised look when my husband confessed that he had never expressed his unhappiness and doubt about the marriage to me before and went straight into telling me he was divorcing me.

The therapist and I had spent time and money dealing with my issues, never seeing the paralleling issues growing in my husband. I was always broken and mending. No one thought to see that he had created a monologue of pain that remained hidden.

My cousin looks at me and says she sees that I am stuck, that there is something deep inside me that causes despair in my life. She says she doesn’t know what it is but I am a prisoner to it. I can feel it. A thorn I can’t find. I don’t know where it is or where to look but I feel it radiate within and throughout.

When I thought I would be able to save this marriage alone, my therapist said that I could be a small sailboat in a storm getting toppled and tossed in the waves. Or that I could view myself as a ship, battered but persisting through the waves, pushing.

I thought I could be the ship but I am realizing that I can’t push. I am tired. My destination is unknown and too blurry now to persist. She said the storm and divorce are things without emotions. They do not have intentions. They simply exist as they are and I have to decide how to navigate through them.

I found a new therapist to work on healing rather than always focusing on finding all the knots and twists in my life. She says do the things that make you feel a little bit okay for now. She is allowing me to be me. She makes me feel like it is okay to be me and okay to be messed up.


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