We had two appointments a week this month but only engaged in therapeutic work for two sessions. The others were no shows, cancels or walkouts without any memory/ healing work taking place.
It felt like we were walking in to a trap each time we arrived at the office.
The unfortunate analogy repeatedly heard was that it felt like therapist "was throwing rocks at our head." Therapy had become majorly unpredictable and too emotionally painful to endure.
All the warm fuzzies of being heard and unburdened melted away. The office turned into a frozen wasteland and my fingertips grew cold and blue.
There is no return date on any horizon that I can see. I feel perfectly okay with this. I didn't quit or bail, rather, I was painted into a corner. Leaving was the only way to get free.
I fly solo now. No friends, family or foes to bog me down or contort and twist for.
I think I heard some one talking out of my mouth try and explain that we had reached the end of our rope and were unwilling to fall for anyone but ourselves.
Therapy had been deteriorating right along with the rising pandemic restrictions. Distance. Distance, we know thee well. We cannot speak well or much when we have to shout to be heard.
We are on our own. The most common and normal atmosphere.
It's all good
