Yesterday my therapist retired.
We had worked together for seven years. It was a sad day for sure. (For him, as much as any of us patients… He is spending this week saying goodbye to people he loves. As excited as he is to move into post-therapy life, it was a hard day for him, too.)
As I prepared for our last session together – by making biscotti, and writing my therapist a heartfelt letter of thanks – I realized how far I’ve come in seven years.
In spring and summer 2014 I was at my lowest ebb.
I was in tremendous pain; I had almost no use of my hands due to the tendon disorder that I still live with today.
I had multiple symptoms of anxiety, everything from full out anxiety attacks, to pain and tingles all over my body.
I did not know what was causing them, and I had no idea how to recover.
I was as close to suicidal as I’ve ever been. I felt like such a burden to my husband Ben, and our two sons, who were then 13 and nine years old.
And then I met my therapist (whom I think of as “Dr. G.”)
When my primary care doctor recommended I contact Dr. G, I felt some trepidation. I had had some pretty bad therapists over the course of my life by that point! Trying the therapist-patient relationship once more felt truly scary. But I knew I needed something. I knew I needed help. Continue reading “I graduated yesterday”