Meeting Her

I’m just getting back from helping my wife at her work. She works at an assisted living facility, and tonight they were handing out candy to kids and making caramel apples. I usually stay home for stuff like that, but I’ve been trying to get out of the house more, so I went and helped. It was nice to see all the smiles.

I met with my new therapist for the first time today, via telehealth. I was always adamant that I never wanted to do telehealth long-term, but honestly, this feels safer. After our couples therapy experience, I realized I can be more present with a screen in between us than I can be in person.

The session felt organic. I like her. You’d think that would be good, and it is, but I still have this panic feeling stirring around in me, like I can’t quite feel at ease about it.

I can’t remember the whole session, but I remember she respected when I didn’t want to talk about certain things and she thanked me for being able to say that.

When we brought up my past therapy experiences, I couldn’t contain my emotions. I started to cry. That’s when the conversation opened…a small crack into my history with therapy.

Before this therapist (let’s call her T), and after my second therapist (P), I saw another therapist who was really nice. She would’ve been perfect for different life experiences, but not for my specific trauma work. Anyway, she once mentioned that it was possible I fell in love in a romantic way with my first therapist (L).

I brushed it off at the time because my love feels complex and hard to pin down, but I’ve processed it a lot since then. The truth is, I think a part of me has always known it was true…that I loved her in a romantic way. I just felt ashamed to admit it. Who wants to admit to that kind of love when it’s one-sided? And when most of society believes you can only love one person this way at a time?

Well, I don’t believe that’s true. I know I love and care for my wife deeply, and my feelings for L are also real. My outlook on love and relationships is nontraditional, and I think that’s okay.

Realizing this, admitting it to myself and speaking it aloud today made me wonder if this is the kind of love that always stays in your heart, no matter the time or distance. I hope so. I just hope the pain doesn’t stay so intense. Or the sadness.

Later in the session, T clocked that I’m autistic. She didn’t name it for me, but asked questions that gave me space to name it myself. I could tell she knew and was being gentle about it. It was nice not to have to explain why I might seem “off,” or why communicating with me sometimes takes a little extra work.

I was also able to give her a brief overview of what happened with P. She didn’t go quiet. She said she was sorry that happened to me. That meant a lot, after having some therapists just stare blankly and move on.

Now I’m left wondering: what does it mean that I’m more scared now that I’ve met her, and she seems like she might actually be a good fit?

I know it’ll take more sessions to really know, but I’ve gotten pretty good at reading this, and I think it’s going to work.

But I’m scared. I’m scared to be hurt. To be left alone in the middle of the work again.

Author’s Note:

This piece doesn’t have the usual emotional depth my writing tends to carry. I feel pretty disconnected from myself right now.

Writing about the kind of love I hold for L feels exposing for me, because I hold it tenderly within me and I know putting it onto the screen for others to see gives people the opportunity to judge me, to judge my feelings, to misunderstand. But isn’t that what I’m doing with everything I put on here? Letting it live, and not letting shame or fear take away a cathartic experience for me. So if you judge, that’s okay and if you misunderstand that’s okay too. I am going to hold onto my truth.