How to dump your therapist after seven years
...because therapists aren't lifelong companions, they're temporary guides along your journey to a stable baseline.
Housekeeping & Reminders
HAHA, y’all it’s a BONUS JONAS POST! (Two for the price of one— I have a lot of feelings lmao)
I have a couple of things to remind you of while I’m here, and before this essay begins. First off, the 2024 Midwest Love Fest in Indianapolis happens in August this year, and I’m presenting a talk about how disability justice frameworks (care pods/constellations, wellness action recovery plans, etc.) can be applied to non-monogamy to decolonize the nuclear family and relationships.
If you use my code ‘CHRISTALEI,’ you get 10% off registration. If you do register, please let me know. If you have any non-monogamous or polyamorous (or fuck, even monogamous) friends who live in Indianapolis or nearby, share this with them!
With this, I’m editing old pieces of work for the newsletter up in a queue. I’ll be working on my 90-minute presentation (it won’t be recorded, so if you want to see it, you either have to come to the conference or you can email me and tell me you want to see this recorded) and honing that. Because of this, I’m not writing more new content for a bit (until things settle down.)
I’m also travelling a lot this summer, starting soon. So, you get to see baby Christa and her tender words. You can read my commentary in the footnotes (against your will!!! Actually, you opted in, and if you don’t want to read it, you can close the post or unsubscribe…)
Also, if you want to support my disabled ass and my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber of my newsletter. Every last bit helps me survive and give Mommy & Our Dogs TM a good lifestyle. (Let’s be honest: Mommy aka my spouse, is the breadwinner, so I’m taken care of, but I want to be able to survive and thrive and also use some of this money to support my other disabled, queer friends who may need it more!)
The impetus to meeting G was a combination of a mental breakdown after failing two exams in one week, and a desperate attempt to cobble together appropriate therapy for my ADHD. Even when I took medication, I couldn’t sit down for long stretches to focus. I had no motivation to do anything, and paired with the fact that I was also adjusting to adding an SSRI to my already extensive medication regimen— I was exhausted. I was out of luck. Even Ritalin couldn’t save me from disorganization and lack of executive function.
The fucked up thing about living in a capitalist tech-centred place is that money permeates everything. The tech industry claims to act as a disruptor, and that people should put money into disruption because they’re changing the status quo. I think start-ups mean well, but the bottom line is still capitalism. Because I was living in the epicentre of innovation, many therapists are in demand and therefore, opt to not take insurance. This brings up a whole host of issues relating to accessibility, but suffice it to say: none of the therapists I was searching for took insurance if they specialised in ADHD-related behavioural therapy, and the therapists that did take insurance were not experts in ADHD.
At the suggestion of my psychiatrist (at the time,) who worked on quelling my symptoms with medication, I decided to look out of the insurance complex for help, and she sent me to a centre that specializes in ADHD. They sent me their best and brightest soldier: G.
G was the first to extend compassion and empathy when I felt too stupid and worthless to function. An accomplished East Coast-trained therapist, G moved back to California with her family when they wanted to set down deep roots. In our first months of work together, I found myself in lockstep with her— attempting to dance around the issues but finding her block me at every turn. We shared an anxious-avoidant waltz set to the soundtrack of my mental breakdown. She challenged me when I tried to give up, and prodded me when I avoided our sessions because I wasn’t ready for the amount of discomfort and pain that comes with growth.
When I ran away, shut down and pushed everyone else away, G urged me to persist with our sessions. Previous to G, I often jumped from practitioner to practitioner, leaving crumbs of my mental health for others to nibble, but never digest. She checked in with me at every stage and called me— even using my now-spouse as a way to keep me accountable— whenever I missed a session due to my brain (and bed) rot.
ADHD is a double-edged sword that hangs over the heads of those who have it.
When my spouse and I first moved into our jaw-dropping abode on Guerrero Street and started arguing about household chores, G asked if bringing him into our therapy sessions for a spell would help. While not a full-fledged couples therapist, she sat us down, asked us about the troubles we were up against, and advocated for my neurodivergence while validating and holding my spouse’s hurt and feelings. The ease and empathy that G has for each of her clients astounds me.
It almost made me forget about the increasing price tag of our sessions throughout our seven-year run. (As of Jan 2024, I believe G’s current rate runs ~$425/hr. Her expertise is worth the time and money— especially with her breadth of training and expertise, but it’s something that I could no longer afford with my disabilities.)
When I decided to move to New York with my spouse and our dog, G pre-empted this by remaining licensed on the East Coast, and we started the remote therapy process early on. This was in 2019, so pre-COVID pandemic lockdowns. We learned to navigate the liminal space and time zone differences— at least I didn’t miss any sessions! It changed from going to her office in FiDi and trekking there with my service pup, Clark, and my partner (when he was invited to my sessions.) But given that Clark was a hospice dog at this point, we all welcomed the change to virtual sessions.
Hell, even when I was sick and too busy with school to manage going in person, we switched to virtual sessions. G and I were early adopters of the telehealth therapy movement simply due to accessibility and my upcoming grapple with sickness. As I played with medication with psychiatric providers, G served as a captain of the behavioural therapy ship— implementing and giving homework, seeing how I would respond, and adjusting to my disorganized attachment with compassion.
Over the seven years together, G became not only my therapist but played the role of a wise elder— almost like a mother, to me. For those unfamiliar with transference, it is when your feelings for a relationship with one person transfer onto your therapist. The relationship can be reciprocal, as a therapist can develop countertransference. This dynamic can be positive— there are instances of transference-focused psychotherapies used to assist with disorders like Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD.) But to me? It was the realisation that our work was wrapping up.
Other signs included her asking me if we could switch to bi-weekly sessions. While our schedule remained in flux, a professional psychologist ex and I discussed how my therapist and I were slowing down and ending our time together.
“Does this mean I’m winning therapy?” I asked, curious to hear his take.
He agreed.
“Yes, you’re winning therapy.”
Transitioning your care to someone better suited for you sure doesn’t feel like a win. It stayed in my chest, the guilt and shame rising because I couldn’t handle the craziness of planning a wedding while also working through deep-seated trauma— something that G did not specialize in.
Breakups are hard.
Romantic ones are heart-wrenching. Friendships are bittersweet, with the ghosts of those relationships lingering for longer than they are welcome. But practitioner breakups? Someone who was on my health team for a long time? I don’t have a lot of experience with that— at least not with someone I spent the last seven years intimating my deepest, most shameful truths every week. As an adult, G was the longest-standing relationship I had with anyone as a practitioner. I tend to jump around from doctor to doctor, never quite feeling safe enough with any of them to stick around for that long.
But this was different.
I am aware of the increasing media coverage about people leaving their therapists, or therapy altogether. I didn’t want to leave G for nothing. But our work together was done. Her ability to be a good psychologist equips me with skills I utilise to navigate the world.
The process was slow and painful. It brought me back to the patterns of my unhealthy attachment style. I missed our sessions, avoided her phone calls, and dodged her text messages. I found myself untangling from the financial hand of my family, and transferring my care to a therapist who was covered under health insurance (thank you, $20/session co-pay) and specialised in non-monogamy, trauma, ADHD and other somatic therapies, I took a long time to draft a message to her, explaining my situation.
I can admit: Breaking up with my therapist over text message wasn’t the healthiest way to end the relationship. But I also felt myself crumble under the pressures of health issues, tending to my spouse and ex-partner’s health, and a whirlwind diagnostic process for my endometriosis. It was a long but kind message about the things I was dealing with and no longer being able to afford or commit to sessions with her. It was time for me to move on. Maybe I needed her guidance again someday, but I wanted to stand alone and deal with life using learned techniques (that she taught me!!!)
Showing me the greatest compassion, she responded with a lengthy message, offering to hop on the phone in case we ever wanted to de-brief and unpack this goodbye together. We expressed gratitude for our time together, she offered to find me resources for more affordable therapy, and we commiserated over our long professional relationship. It was too painful and felt necessary for me to move forward alone— so I denied the chance to talk over the phone.
That brings us to now.
I miss my old therapist dearly, and now that we aren’t working together, I hope that we can somehow cross paths. Maybe we could collaborate on a patient advocacy initiative. Or talk about our journey together in the open. I think she’d be impressed with the work I’ve done on myself and the advocacy I’ve been marching through despite our less-than-stellar end. I know she’s kicking ass and working with clients that deserve her time and attention. I know she’s also contributing to the learning and care of other accessible, empathetic practitioners. I am proud of the work I’ve done with her, and the work she continues to do, whether through teaching, individual therapy or consulting. I feel lucky and grateful that I had seven years with her walking me through the wilds of my untamed mind.
When I work with my new therapist, we discuss the techniques I’ve learned from my old one. My couples therapist also notes the sense of strength, resilience and maturity in my words (being in therapy helps you develop a language lol) and wonders why I’m not working as a couples therapist myself. (Because, baby— I am crip, disabled and cannot hold space in that way. Maybe in the future lmao.) My friends see me as a calm, grounding force with exceptional emotional and relational intelligence. This is all due to the work that G and I toiled on together over the last seven years.
Like many relationships, ours came to an end. Not because we didn’t care or love each other— in our own ways, in a therapeutic setting, we did. We developed deep love, professional camaraderie and intimacy that I haven’t developed with many other practitioners. But this relationship opened up a wider world for me to network and build a care team that supports me and vice versa. G taught me about community care before I knew what it was.
We reached a fork in the road and it was time for me to continue on my own for a little, before finding a guide who could help me on the next part of my journey.
I forever hold gratitude, love and compassion for the care this person showed me during some of my toughest times. But, as G once told me, the point of therapy is to no longer need it. It is to build yourself to a baseline where you can bounce back. It is to build resilience.
I may be down right now, but thank you G, for showing me that despite all the mess— I am wholly beautiful and multi-faceted in the ways I show up in this world. Thank you for believing in me and not dumping me when you definitely could have lol. Thank you for the work and care you put into this therapeutic relationship. G, from the bottom of my heart, I hold love for you in an expansive way that doesn’t quite encompass how grateful I am that you were part of my life.
Thank you for seeing me through this chapter of my life and I’m excited to see what the next one brings for the both of us.
I really appreciate this post.
I really appreciate this post.