Endings don’t have to be horrible.
I’ve thought a lot about how I would’ve wanted my therapy with Aaron Gleaves to end if I’d been allowed to help decide how it happened.
I’d made some notes and plans for my future termination session(s) with Aaron back when I felt like I’d reached a point where I’d accomplished so many of my original goals and was starting to ponder what to focus on next. Shortly after my real life termination session, which was utter crap, I discarded those notes because it was too painful to think of what could’ve and should’ve happened compared to what actually had happened.
Several times during the making of this little blog, I’ve considered doing a rewrite of my termination session and making it everything I would’ve wanted it to be. I’ve decided not to do that, at least not for now, because it feels forced to me, and the few times I’ve started typing an imagined termination scenario I end up crying and stopping and not getting back to it. Whatever happy version I write is never going to be real, and the logical side of me is good at reminding me of that. The bad real life version will always be canon.
I’ve also been inspired several times to write fiction that’s loosely based on my therapy experience and have written several scenes that would be fun to see grow into a bigger story. I’m not going to give any details about my idea in case I write it one day. For now, I’ve decided not to pursue that either.
What I know are a few of the things that would’ve been on my Therapy Finale Wishlist, if I’d had the chance to make one.
I wish that Aaron had told me that he was happy for me and for us, for what I’d accomplished. For me being willing to be vulnerable in therapy even though many people who I should’ve been able to count on for support irl had turned their backs on me and had hurt me emotionally and some also physically. I wish that he’d shown that he was happy that I’d been brave and faced my anxiety healed from it. Happy with how I’d worked through painful stuff from my past. And happy for both of us for how he’d supported me while I was living with someone scary and how, with his encouragement, I’d managed to get out of there and into a safe environment.
I wish that Aaron had told me that he’d meant it when he’d said that we were a team and I wish that he’d reiterated that we’d made an excellent team.
I wish that Aaron had told me that he cared if I was okay and safe and that even if we couldn’t talk anymore he still wanted the best for me.
I wish that Aaron had told me at least one thing he’d learned from me or one way he’d grown from having me as his client, so that I’d know if I’d made any sort of positive difference to him.
I wish that Aaron had timed my termination better and let me have more than one termination session so it would’ve been a less painful transition for me. Abruptly leaving me with no therapeutic support, especially at Christmastime, seemed unnecessarily cruel.
I wish that he’d not helped me get started with the Container Method and then left me without helping me with it. I wish that he’d been understanding when I said, “What about my container? There’s bad stuff in there.” And he said, “Can you get someone else to help you with that?” but I didn’t have other therapists at the time, only him, so no, there wasn’t anyone who I could go out and get to help me with it real quick. I wish that he’d understood how scary that was for me, especially after he’d told me that it was important to do the Container Method with proper help.
I wish I’d made him smile or laugh one more time.
I wish I’d met him in person and shaken his hand.
I wish I’d told him that he’d helped me more than he knew and that he was awesome, and I wish that he’d accepted that compliment confidently. And I wish that we’d spent the next few minutes humble bragging about how incredible we both were!
I wish that I’d felt the confidence from my successes at the end instead of feeling like I failed at therapy and had failed my therapist.
I wish that when it was time to say goodbye, that Aaron had looked even the tiniest bit sad to see me go, instead of how in real life he’d seemed so eager to get out of the session and excited to never have to see me again.
An ending session with those things would’ve been much better than the one I was given.
Speaking of endings, this is my last entry here. I’m sure I could find more to write about, but I’m not sure that I need or want to.
To anyone who managed to find this site and has read through it, thank you for visiting, and I hope you’ve been able to gain something good from what I’ve written.
To anyone who is going through something similar to what I’ve gone through, and to anyone going through any kind of heartbreak, please know that you matter and that you’re valid. You can heal. It will take some doing and it will hurt, but you can heal. I recommend the book Love Life by Matthew Hussey. I’m not affiliated with him or his work in any way, in fact, he might be embarrassed if he ever sees he’s mentioned on here, because his writing is always top quality, but I can’t hold back recommending a resource I feel confident about.
To therapists, please try to be caring, even when it’s difficult. I promise it makes a difference to clients.
To Stacey Bolt, I believe that you meant well. It was good of you to offer to speak with me. I didn’t take you up on it because I felt like, based on our emails, that you didn’t seem to understand where I was coming from. To be fair, you weren’t in the room when it happened and I think that only Aaron would’ve been able to help me sort it out by that point. If I’m ever able to write your business a five star review and honestly mean it, I totally will.
To Tim Irving, thank you for being great to talk with. I find you insightful and patient and real and I respect you. Thank you for giving me a (therapy) happy ending.
To John S. Paul, I felt so energized and uplifted after our one and only session. It was wonderful. Thank you! I’m sorry that we were so far apart that I couldn’t fit that long distance drive in my schedule to be able to continue with you at your new practice.
To Scott Mosher, you helped me to save myself many years ago and I’ll never forget you. You’re a hero.
To the other therapists I had while I was moving around constantly, even though I only met with each of you briefly, you made a difference and I’m grateful to you.
To Aaron Gleaves, you’re welcome that I let you be the leading man in my therapy story. Don’t get cocky. I’ll never rate you a 10. Never. Even if you’re the last man on the planet and you spend the apocalypse hiking and going to the gym and you get toned as fuck, you will never be a 10. A 9 tops, you smug dude. Lol. Seriously though, Aaron, thank you from the depths of my soul for having my back for a long time through some really bad stuff, and for putting up with me and being gentle with me when I was high maintenance. I wish I’d been able to be at a better level as your client back then. Please know I tried. I really appreciate you being patient with me and I think you’re a good man. This didn’t work out at all close to how I wanted it to, and I’m sorry it ended like this. If I ever hurt or upset you or did more than just irritate you a little bit, I’m sorry. Oh Aaron, you’ll never know how super I think you are. I wish you the best of everything.
To the Universe, endings can be scary, and they often are, but in his song “Fear” Sam Gleaves sings “love is stronger than fear,” and I agree with him. I love life and love myself and love a lot of people, and that love gives me the strength I need to walk bravely from the end of this therapy story into a new story—hopefully a really good one.
I reckon I ended up disappearing into that post-therapy termination oblivion after all, didn’t I?
Very well.
Let the record show I did not go quietly.