Today, I officially broke up with my therapist of ten years. The real deed was done via email—because nothing says “emotional maturity” like a Dear John letter that fits neatly between a DoorDash receipt and a coupon for aromatherapy.
In my defense, I recently found out that I’m neurodivergent. This explains why 90% of my in-person social interactions do NOT go well. So before hitting “send,” I consulted both ChatGPT and my husband, to make sure I wasn’t too direct, too defensive, or too honest. A tall order for anyone, but especially someone whose internal monologue frequently sounds like a squirrel addicted to cocaine.
She suggested we have a final session for closure. I googled “closure,” and it sounded less like an emotional process and more like a subscription box for people who enjoy campfire renditions of Coldplay. I’m more of a want-to-know-why-as-soon-as-possible kind of gal. And I’ve learned that most people (potentially all mentally healthy people??) don’t analyze every decision to check for logical inconsistencies—they just have feelings and do shit based on whatever those wily fuckers suggest.
Closure, it seemed to me, was a sentimental waste of $300 that I could better spend on my latest obsession: finding the most comfortable compression socks. Or as I call them, emotional support hosiery.
But, I thought, maybe closure is one of those human things you’re supposed to try once—like ayahuasca or improv. And I did learn something. Though I’m still not quite sure what.
Me: I want to go over some key terms to make sure I can practice identifying them correctly by myself. What does your “Self” feel like?
Her: Think of it like… how it felt to move through the world before trauma.
Me: But I was told that trauma adds seasoning to life.
Her: Who told you that?
Me: My mom.
Her: When? Recently?
Me: Preschool.
Her: Sigh…
Me: How do I know which is a “Part” and which is the “Self”?
Her: It can be tricky. You need to wait for a so-called Part to say something vulnerable and true—a statement without ego. That’s probably the Self.
Me: OK…
Her: Of course, all the various Parts can also mimic the Self to manipulate you into doing things. You know some of the Parts, but there are many you haven’t yet discovered.
Me: K.
Her: And then Parts can block the Self using defenses. And sometimes you can think you’re talking to the Self, when really it’s a manipulative Part.
Me: So… I could A/B test it by writing down what I think the Self said, then get each Part’s feedback, cross-reference the overlap, and run an integrity check?
Her: I guess that’s one way you could do it. Or you could look inside yourself for the thing that feels pure and true.
Me: I think imma go with the A/B testing. Feelings are just data points with extra drama.
Her: Your greatest strength is your curiosity.
Me: Really?
Her: Yeah. You’re willing to learn hard truths and face cognitive dissonance to do right by yourself.
Me: Jeez, wow. It just feels like I have to analyze everything. Like, is this healthy? Is it projection? Is it a manipulative Part? Is it a Part being manipulated? It’s exhausting.
Her: Yeah, don’t do that.
Her: You have, like, magic.
Her (later): Our work was magic.
Her (even later): You just have this magic.
Reader, though she said “magic” the magic number of times, she did so WITHOUT summoning a rabbit, a dove, or a coherent metaphor. Why is therapy always so disappointing?
Her: You are quoting me incorrectly. I worry because this is our last session, and I don’t want you to walk away with untruths. But I can’t convince you.
Me: I’m not quoting you. You talked about this for like 30 minutes. I’m taking the essence of what you said and amalgamating it into something I can actually use. Then I file that version in my brain cabinet under “Useful” and move on until it’s applicable again.
Her: But it’s missing so much!
Me: Yes, but you talked for HALF AN HOUR. How could I possibly remember everything?
Her: You’re smart! You remember tons of facts and details.
Me: Exactly! Facts! Details! Not abstract feelings that have one answer when Mercury’s in retrograde and another when you’re burning sage. I can’t live like this.
Her: But it’s not accurate.
Me: You are NOT allowed to play the accuracy card with a neurodivergent woman.
Her: You know, I think more like you than you realize.
Me: Oh! You also wonder what you’d do with all the time you would’ve saved if you didn’t have to go to the bathroom?
Her: Oh my god, yes!
Me: And how amazing life would be without emotions?
Her: Agree to disagree.
Her: It didn’t feel good to keep matching your energy. For a long time, it was an organic connection—us enjoying each other’s company. But then it didn’t feel good for me. So I stopped.
Me: So you thought about it, weighed the pros and cons, and decided to show less affect because it wasn’t healthy for you?
Her: Hmm?
Me: Sorry, I mean… how would you handle this? Um, you meditated on it? Reflected on your innermost Self? Made a plan? Because when I decide to change, I research feasibility, estimate statistical success, internalize the goal, execute it, and only revisit it if I’m prepared to make a new analysis.
Her: No, I just felt not great about it for like five minutes and course-corrected. In retrospect, I probably should’ve talked to you about it.
Me in my head: Probably! Given this is therapy and talking is sort of your thing.
Me out loud: Oh.
Her: I didn’t feel like being so lighthearted—laughing over your life falling apart.
Me: Please explain to me why that’s not exactly the right time to laugh.
Her: I’m not afraid of discomfort. A lot of our work has been uncomfortable.
Me: Oh, really?
Her: Sure, tons of times.
Me: So what makes you uncomfortable? Because it seems like I was rewarded for big emotional displays, so it can’t be that.
Her: Curiosity is uncomfortable.
Me: Holy crap, really? I had NO idea. Curiosity always feels like a driving force to me.
Her: Yeah, like when you were a journalist writing an article and it wasn’t coming together and you didn’t know if it was going to work out.
Me: Hmm, so curiosity is kinda like anxiety?
Her: No, more like when you’re unsure if the approach you took will help your client.
Me: So curiosity feels like the fear of the unknowable?
Her: Forget I said it.
Me: Out of curiosity, how do you define hope?
Her: Hope is the feeling that something good will happen.
Me: Hmmm. I think hope is a huge flaw in human logic that leads us to make stupid mistakes. But it probably also keeps us alive. I was going to kill off all my hope, but now I’ve decided to double down on it.
Her: Well, good. Good for you.
Me in my head: Yeahhhhh, boi. Self-sabotage, but make it optimistic!
Me out loud: Thanks.
Her: The cat was making us miserable. I just thought, I have one life, why do I have to suffer? Someone else can give her a better home.
Me in my head: Huh. I see we have very different interpretations of “responsibility” and yours is wildly disappointing.
Me out loud: That’s valid.
Her: I hope you remember that I adored your quirkiness. It was refreshing, and I enjoyed our work together.
Me: You used to say I was dismissive and often offended you by being too direct.
Her: I enjoyed the majority of our work together.
Her: Having this relationship with you for so long… you’ve truly helped me become a better therapist.
Me: Oh, I know. That was the most annoying part. I didn’t even get a continuing education fee.
Her: I care about you deeply.
Me: Aww, thanks. ¡Lo mismo!
Her: Is there anything you’d like to share with me?
Me: Um, no? I think I said it all in the email.
Her: You can also say it out loud.
Me: Ugh, god, why??!! Fine!!
Me: I miss the memory of you. Like, who you were to me before you emotionally checked out. You were reliable and stable when nothing else was. You taught me a lot. It wasn’t all awful.
Her: Mmhm.
Me: Oh! You taught me emotions. That was pretty big! And I learned that love was an OK thing. And I also feel more free now that therapy is over, which is nice. Like, I could never fully be myself because I was always so worried about being misunderstood or stupid or annoying. It’s like… it’s like I was speaking French to you the whole time, and you only understood bits and pieces.
Her: I speak French.
Me: Sometimes when I talk, I can feel myself picking the wrong dialogue option.
Her: You’ll always have a special place in my heart.
Me: I don’t mean to be dense, but that reminds me of a tumor.
Her: It means you’re thought of as warm and won’t be forgotten.
Me: So exactly like a tumor. Cool, cool, cool.
Me: When I was diagnosed, you told me you were “trying hard” to learn about neurodivergence. But you wouldn’t give me specifics. Why?
Her: I figured you should just trust me.
Me: Wait. Trust? I don’t trust anyone. I don’t even trust myself. You know that. And I love specifics. I crave specifics.
Her: I thought our history would count. It seemed invasive and rude to have to list the things I was doing.
Me: Okay, so what did you do?
Her: A continuing education course, talked to many other therapists, went to a conference talk, listened to podcasts, bought books… things like that.
Me in my head: You should get your money back. Needing specificity is Neurodivergence 101, and you did NOT pass.
Me out loud: Impressive.
Her: You have been very special to me. You are just filled with so much wonder, and I see you… hmm… what’s the word?
Me: Exploding? Like a balloon? *gestures
Her: No! Mollie, no, I see you doing great things.
Me: Great things like finally writing that book on aquatic snail husbandry? I’ll put it higher on my to do list!
Her: You’ve taught me a lot.
Me: Like where to get the best period underwear?
Her: No. What? Well, actually, yes.
Her: We had so many moments of rupture and repair. We’ll always have that mutual love and care.
Me: And the mushrooms.
Her: What?
Me: We’ll always have the mushrooms.
Her: Well, I guess. Yes, that, too.
Her: Well, that’s our time.
Me: Okay! Here’s your check. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
Her: Ooooh, wish I didn’t have to bring this up. But what about the check for the session you missed?
Me: ?
Her: Several weeks ago…
Me: Oh. You mean the one session I missed because I was so sick I couldn’t sit up or talk? The first and only session I’ve missed in a decade?
Her: Yeah, hate to mention it. You’ll mail it?
Me: Ahh, yes, this must be a Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
It’s funny, the whole “end of an era” thing. Ten years of emotional excavation and all I got was confirmation that the line between genius and insanity is thinner than the toilet paper at a meditation retreat. I still have no idea which side I’m on — or if there even is a side.
I keep waiting for that big, cinematic swell of meaning people describe after major life transitions. You know, that slow-motion montage where you walk away in soft lighting, feeling wiser and freer. But instead, all I feel is the urge to alphabetize my feelings and delete half of them for being really fucking irritating.
Still, I learned something. Not about closure, exactly, more about the industry of therapy itself. Some things are just made for certain people. Like skincare serum commercials or cults — both offer the illusion of improvement and cost way too much. And you’re left wondering if what you got was transformation… or just really flattering lighting and a fresh layer of delusion.
So, yeah. The breakup was successful. And I unlocked the “closure” achievement. Now, to try ayahuasca!
Image Credit: Lidya Nada