Dear Anita – It’s Been Three Years.

Dear Anita – It’s Been Three Years.

Here we are again. Another year has rolled around and once again it is the anniversary of you breaking my heart – I don’t usually refer to our ‘end but not end’ in that way, it seems overly emotional and hyperbolic, perhaps – but that’s exactly what you did when you abandoned me so carelessly back in May 2023.

It’s now three years since you came back from your holiday, and having had a health scare whilst you were away – which I am pretty sure was all panic and anxiety related- announced that you were going to have to bring the counselling with me to a close because you needed to “cut the stress” out your life. In that moment, complex trauma clients like me represented a stress that you no longer wanted to carry…or could no longer carry. And I get it. By the time you crashed out, you were totally burnt out and had been on this collision course for the best part of eighteen months.

But your life stress stuff isn’t an adequate excuse or justification for the harm you caused me in the time leading into the end and during that terrible couple of weeks before I walked out the door for the last time – because there was so much you could have done to mitigate against the situation you found yourself in. You chose time and again not to do anything about the strains you were put under in your personal life and instead buried your head in the sand acting like you had no choice or agency in what was happening and that “things getting worse before they get better” was somehow inevitable. You continued down the path of what I called the “slow motion car crash” and ended up taking me out with you and that just isn’t fair.

The first time you had a big wobble with me and I realised that things weren’t ok with you was eighteen months prior to our ending. You dropped the ball with me in a massive way and then you fell apart with/on me as we tried to repair the rupture between us. It was the first time in the time that we worked together that I had consciously taken on a role of caring for you, it was a total role reversal and you commented at the end that maybe you should pay me for the session because it was “meant to be your session not mine”. In that session I gained a huge insight into how you manage (or don’t manage) stress and conflict in your life. I learned of your family dynamics, and the patterns you fall into in your personal relationships. I saw then how you avoid and avoid and avoid until you break.

I guess, I trusted that having me shine a light on things and your recognition that I “saw it” all long before you did, that you would then put things in place so that you didn’t find yourself in a place later down the line where you were so overwhelmed by your private life in so big a way that it would creep into your therapeutic work and cause even more harm to people that did not deserve to be damaged. I assumed, then, that you would go back into your own personal therapy and take more supervision…because isn’t that what ethical practitioners do? And you have always prided yourself on working ethically. I am not sure, now, that you really understand what that word means.

As it turned out, you did what you do best when things get too hard, you pretended (to yourself) that things were ok. You assured me that you were feeling better and that things were better. And I guess they were for a couple of months – on the surface at least. But then I started to sense once again that things were not as fine as you perhaps suggested.

When I brought that to you, you denied it. You told me that you had a handle on everything and yet I still felt things were off but perhaps it was a me problem – perhaps it was my trauma skewing the reality of the situation and causing me to panic unnecessarily? You admitted to “running away” and “hiding” at weekends by driving six hours to escape home and to avoid having uncomfortable conversations with your family. You insisted that it was helping to get some headspace even if the driving was exhausting and you were frequently tired on our Monday morning sessions having driven home late on Sundays.

Over the next months, your behaviour changed towards me, subtly at first. At first, you just felt less ‘there’, less attuned to me somehow. And then it became tangible. You were less prepared for our sessions, you text and responded to me less, and our longer sessions got taken off the table altogether. There were all sorts of small (but big) changes that really unsettled me over a period of several months. You just weren’t the you that I knew so well anymore, but frustratingly maintained time and again that there was nothing wrong between us, that you “loved me” and that it was all going to be ok. I was not the problem and I was “not even on the list of things to change”.

It didn’t feel ok, though. As time went on my insistence that things felt off somehow started to get met with, frustration instead of reassurance. When I listed the various ways in which I felt you had withdrawn or were less available and attuned you eventually doubled down on me, turned it around, and suggested that perhaps I was “too dependent”. That really hurt me. Nothing had changed from my side. I was no more or less dependent than I had ever been. But you had changed. Your capacity had changed. And you were reaching a point where you were experiencing compassion fatigue and burnout. You eventually admitted to all of this to me – but not before gaslighting me for months first. It was crazy-making for a long time…and just not fair – especially given my history.

Your complex clients are such good barometers to the weather in the room – and outside it. We are sensitive. Yes. Hypervigilance forged in childhood is both a blessing and a curse. We see things ahead of time. We sense it. And our bodies do not lie. If I start to feel weird in my body and my nervous system isn’t calibrated then something is off…and that needs looking at with curiosity and openness. We may shine a light on uncomfortable truths but you as a therapist need to be able to ground yourself and be prepared to shine a light into your own dark corners and face whatever is there.  

It’s really devastating to me to realise today that the impact of our ending has been hurting me for almost as long as the time we were actually working together. I went into therapy with you hoping to heal some significant trauma and yet, I feel like more core wound has been left more painful and open than it was before we started. Of course I am not upset all the time now, but May is always hard.

I was so clear and explicit with you from the beginning about what I needed and what my wounds were and you assured me that you were completely capable of working with somebody like me, that you understood complex trauma and how delicate the work was, you knew what a commitment this kind of work was on both sides of the therapeutic relationship, and importantly – you were totally horrified by what I told you about my therapy with Em.

For a long time, you really were brilliant. I can’t deny that. We built a relationship that was so healing to me. You gave me the space to bring exactly what I needed and held it all so carefully. The first eighteen months or so with you was truly life-changing… and I miss that version of you so much. I miss the Anita that felt so steady. You were so warm. So present. So good at what you did. I sometimes find it hard to believe that that person doesn’t exist anymore and sometimes I doubt if any of what we had was even real. But it was. I have so much evidence of the love and care…

Sadly, I also have so much evidence of the carelessness that came about when things went to shit for you. I am quite an understanding person. I tolerate a lot, often to my own detriment and I understand that your life imploded. I get it. Mine has – over and over. But, I cannot forgive how you mishandled our ending. I deserved better than what you delivered. You should have had a plan that day you came back from holiday. You should have sought supervision first. You can’t just fudge your way through this kind of thing and hope for the best…or not with clients like me.

The mixed messaging from you at the time was just so fucking wrong. I know it wasn’t easy for you, and had you been in a better place you wouldn’t have had to end, but struggling or not, you had a duty of care to me (and to your other clients) to not cause any more damage than was absolutely necessary and you were like a loose fucking cannon. You told me time and again that “this isn’t what either of us want” and that “we would figure something out” and “find a way to connect” straight off the back of telling me we had to end and that gave me false hope but equally felt like it was the truth – because how could we possibly go from the relationship we had to nothing? It didn’t seem possible.

But you were like a yo-yo for those couple of weeks before I walked away. In the end you couldn’t tell me whether we were ending long-term, or taking a longer break, or whether we were going to be renegotiating our relationship altogether but not as a therapist and client. You mentioned meeting for walks and coffee and finding “another way” and of course I didn’t want it to end so clung on to anything you were saying.

I didn’t want to leave. But in the end, your lack of being able to be a container for any of the mess meant I had to leave without proper resolution- you just couldn’t do it. I cried so many tears – so did you. And the day I left (it wasn’t planned to be the last time – but I couldn’t keep hurting myself) I asked you if we could leave things as they were because it was all to painful (on both sides) and for us to agree to meet up three months down the line and figure out what needed to happen when you were through the immediate stress with your health and sick family member – whether that meant ending fully or finding a path through. You agreed. We hugged and I walked away, never for one minute thinking that would be the last time I would see you.

I sought out a new therapist in the meantime and did my best to hold myself together.

When three months rolled around, I contacted you and you told me:

I know it’s hard so so hard for you. Things haven’t improved my end and I am sorry to say my own inner child is really suffering and in no fit state to help others. My workload has shifted into couples work which is much more head than feelings. I also know this really isn’t helpful to you and I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect myself to react the way I have to my situation but I guess how could I know if I have never experienced it before. Xx

I knew there was no return to therapy with you then, and after the initial setback with Hannah, I found Elle and committed to working with her and tried to process all the hurt and pain from what had happened with you. I still wanted an ending though. I felt like the work we had done deserved that, at least.

At intervals I have reached out to you to try and get that ending and you have sent me variations of this sort of message every time I have asked to meet:

I’m still not in a good enough place and still running on empty.

The more time went on the more ridiculous it seemed. I know you got married last year – so I would imagine that if you are both working, and able to plan a wedding then the very least you could manage would be an hour in the room with me saying goodbye…acknowledging what was lost…

But no.

Your avoidance, I guess, is understandable. Why would you want to retread old ground when you have moved so far beyond what happened? You’ll have notched all of what happened between me and you, and you and others like me, to your burn out and act like none of what went on is a problem now. You weren’t firing on all cylinders and made some mistakes. You’ve neatly compartmentalised it.

But this isn’t about you Anita. Yes, your life imploded – but your clients deserved to be treated with more care. If for no other reason than we paid you to be our therapist. You weren’t a friend or a parent or someone who can ride roughshod over us. We expected a degree of competence – or I did. And instead… you added to my trauma. That’s not ok. You cannot repair what you have done to me, the damage is too great – but you should at least have tried to repair a bit and end well even if that was way down the line.

Part of me feels stupid for still caring about this still. I guess I am just frustrated that we never got to really end things in a good way. A good enough ending is so important in therapy – and after the shitshow with Em, I never in a million years imagined that you wouldn’t want to try and provide some kind of corrective experience to that hideous situation.

Our ending was due to unfortunate events in your world – and so all the more reason it could have ended well. There was no rupture. You said that it was nothing to do with me, or about lack of love or care. It was just a set of crap elements all coinciding at once and you breaking. We should have been able to come together and celebrate what was good, and give space for what was lost and I am so sad that that hasn’t been possible because I can’t help but wonder why you wouldn’t want to do this with me, or for me…if the three and a half years we spent together were what I thought they were.

This letter may seem full of blame. It’s not. If I were to see you now, it wouldn’t be about blaming or anger or anything like that- I just would like to see your face, see that you are better now, and say goodbye to someone that I loved.

May Is A Miserable Month: Termination Anniversary AND A Therapy Break

I can hardly believe that it has been three months since I last posted here. I’d like to say my life has dramatically improved and I have simply been so content and happy that I haven’t even thought about blogging… ha…that’d be the dream, wouldn’t it?!

Sadly, that version of events is nowhere close to the reality. I’m literally limping my way through life and am completely amazed that I haven’t conked out altogether. I may well do this week – Elle is on a break and ugh… you know the thing about the straw that breaks the camel’s back? It feels a bit like that.

I have, quite honestly, been surviving my way from one therapy session to the next since January – that precious harbour in the storm has been enough to just about patch me back up with my trusty rubberbands and chewing gum so I am not completely full of holes before sending me back out into the tempest where I am quite literally sinking week on week… or perhaps it more ‘man overboard’ drowning – although as per usual most people seem to think I am waving and in no need of assistance despite my screams.

So, it’s felt especially hard not seeing Elle this week. I mean breaks are hard anyway, that’s nothing new. But this one has a particularly bleak quality to it. I haven’t helped myself at all with this, though. I’ve known this break was coming and, of all the breaks Elle takes in a year (which are notably few), it was bound to be a fucking humdinger because it falls right at the time that everything so dramatically disintegrated with Anita three years ago. She went off on her holiday for her birthday promising that “nothing would change” and she’d “be back soon” — only to come back and tell me it was all ending…and yeah…make of that what you will.

Elle always goes away at this time of year for a week and so it triggers all the panic about maybe her not coming back…you know, history repeating itself…but also, you might remember last year that whilst she was away a massive rupture got underway when I found that Elle had posted about me (albeit) anonymously on a therapist Reddit group and I lost my absolute mind about it. It rammed a knife right into one of my sorest places and I was left floundering in that until she came back.

Of course, we resolved it, but anniversaries hit hard and there are enough of them that I can’t help but panic. I have a gnawing ache in my stomach and that nauseous feeling – a horrible hangover from a horrible time, or should I say horrible times?! As if on cue my brain is serving me up all the dreams to make it all feel a million times worse. Unsurprisingly my fears are coming out in my sleep and are totally related to the stuff I am churning over in my brain whilst I am awake.

Last night, I had one where I was with Elle and I just couldn’t seem to connect with her. We were together, walking where I live, and it seemed fine enough on the surface but on a level it felt like she didn’t really see me or understand what was going on. And to add insult to injury, she just kept talking about how much she loves all her clients and I felt myself getting more and more upset whilst trying not to be a baby about it (this was some of what last year’s rupture was about). In the end – in the dream – I pulled my jumper over my head and just curled up in a ball on the grass. Elle didn’t notice.

So yeah.

Not a totally awful dream but enough to set things on the wobble.

We all know that being one of many is one of my big triggers in therapy. And the fear of not being valued or important enough to Elle is huge…I know this is partly the age old mother wound stuff playing out but it’s also got roots in the more recent ending with Anita – where she continued to work with some clients but ended with me (and maybe some other complex clients?-so she says). It is still really painful (even three years down the line) that she continues to work and advertise her services listing trauma and you know *all of the the things* that would make someone complex on her site despite swearing blind that she no longer works with trauma clients.

Anyway, I feel like the fallout of this situation and ending with Anita is that I am always working doubly hard to be ‘manageable’ and ‘palatable’ and ‘not too much’ because maybe that way, if things go to shit in Elle’s life, I won’t be collateral damage. So, yeah. I didn’t mention that the break was a big deal, and I didn’t ask for us to put anything in place before she left like spraying Monty with her perfume, or writing me a note to open midway through the break…and so I am freestyling my way through this break and … it’s starting to look a lot like that breakdancer who was in the Olympics…and really didn’t seem to know what they were doing!

Ugh.

So yeah, this is a really bad month for feeling like I am not enough…and too much… and I just have to navigate my way through it and not get myself in a massive pickle (failing at that quite spectacularly!).

I was so sad this morning to wake up and realise that I have spent nearly as long trying to recover from the relationship with Anita and the damage of the ‘end but not the end’ as the time we were actually doing the therapy. It’s tragic, really. Any hope of a final meet has totally disappeared now, as over the last six months I have sent a couple of short messages to her suggesting that I would still like to meet to say goodbye whilst also acknowledging I don’t want to go back to therapy because I have a therapist whom I have a really good rapport with now.  

*CRICKETS*

Like total radio silence.

So that tells me everything I need to know. So far as she is concerned it’s finished in her mind and she won’t honour the thing she promised back in May 2023. I am not surprised. She’s been so avoidant around this whole end/not end that I think it would just be far too uncomfortable for her to have to face what she did. I am sure the narrative she has in her head now is something that is completely different to the reality of what happened…which is disappointing but not surprising.

The feelings of abandonment and rejection are not as live as they were. I no longer think about what happened every day. But, it hasn’t gone away. Just like the pain of being called a “tick” by Em in 2020. That ending will never not hurt me. Most of the time now, these hurts and harms at the hands of therapists are manageable. I’ve healed enough around the shrapnel pieces for it not to cause searing white-hot pain every time I breathe or move – but there are times when I knock myself unexpectedly and it’s as agonising as the day it happened.

May is like being banged HARD against a wall. It hurts a lot…and then as a result all my fears and anxieties and crap around attachment get really big and I find myself in this place. It’s a place where the child parts are terrified of being left and I feel as though I am smothered in thick tar-like shame for still being in a place where I stupidly allow people close enough to hurt me. And by that, I mean therapists – namely, Elle.

Like, by now I should surely understand that this is the formula: the relationship is imbalanced, the care is real in the room but outside it… well… you’re pretty much on your own.

And of course, that is how it is meant to be…but it doesn’t change how the feeling of being left or put down for a period of time hurts and makes me doubt the entire therapeutic relationship. As much as I would like to be able to rationalise my way through what therapy is and isn’t (I know – I’m not stupid), that information hasn’t filtered down to the youngest parts who are so upset right now. No amount of explaining that Em, and Anita, and Elle were/are just talking to us because that’s their job makes any sense. The small parts love Elle..and Anita, still…and if I am really honest, even Em – despite everything.

Every time there is a break and every time an anniversary of an ending happens and really, any time I just leave the therapy room at the moment I am thrust deep down into the painful wounding of loss and grief, of being on my own, unseen, unsupported and I feel the stress and strain of just having to cope on my own acutely. And I get it, I am an adult and that’s what adults do and I am good at adulting – truthfully.

But this being left mirrors so clearly what it was like when I was a little girl and my mum would leave on a Sunday and not come home until Friday. The longing and the missing is real…and I feel it in my body. It feels sometimes like it’s a life and death situation like I literally feel like I am in survival trying not to die because it hurts so much. This week I’ve had the baby screaming and now I am back the little three- or four-year-old standing alone in the cold grey wasteland – and there’s no one there but her. She needs picking up and holding and taking somewhere warm and safe. I wish I could do that, but this one, of all of my parts in the system is completely inaccessible. She has her back to me and I can’t reach into that space. All I can do is observe. It’s hard to describe how visceral that feeling of loneliness, lack of safety, and sense of total abandonment is.

And it feels like Tuesday and seeing Elle is a terribly long time away… but then it is for the child parts of me. It’s too many sleeps. Six days may as well be six months for those little parts. And of course, the re-entry into therapy is rarely straightforward. False Adult usually shows up for the first couple of sessions because it’s way too fucking embarrassing to have to admit that, once again I struggled terribly with separation and felt the disconnect so acutely that part of me wanted to run away and end the therapy to stop me getting hurt.

The only good thing is that I know this pattern inside out. I know my system. I get what it does and why it does it. I have all the insight. I just wish, for once, things would be easier. I wish that I could go in Tuesday and Elle would miraculously know what’s going on and be able to reach straight down into the parts that are protected or in hiding… but that won’t happen. Not because she can’t do that. But because I will do such a good job of smoke and mirrors and “everything is fine” that she could never know.

I am lucky, I have some great friends whom I can talk to this about and who endeavour to remind me that it’s naturally going to be difficult right now and that just because bad things (terminations after holidays) have happened before doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s going to happen again… but … yeah I just can’t really hear it today.

The other day I wrote a letter to my friend’s child part, trying to reassure them about something that is hurting them. I may try and do that for myself…

Anyway, I’ve loads to catch up on here – but today I just needed to waffle about how hard it is and how bloody tough breaks are.

Ugh.