When To Stop Seeing A Therapist

[Listen to an audio version of this blog HERE.]

“I meant what I said,” he said.

And I said, “I don’t think you do mean what you said.”

And he said, “Sarah, you’re being unreasonable.”

And I said, “I don’t care.” And he said, “We’re finished here.”

And I said, “No, we’re not.”

And he said, “Sarah.” And I said, “I’m scared.” And he said, “I know, but you’ll be okay. I promise.”

This is a conversation I had with my therapist during our last session together. He told me he thinks I’m good now. “In remission,” or something like that. My next therapist won’t specialize in eating disorders because I’m well enough now that any old therapist will do. No need to take up space at the “specialized” table anymore.

Therapy is a funny thing. Lately, my eating disorder has not been the biggest, brightest, most prominent problem on my plate. Sometimes, it’s off my plate entirely, and that’s a really damn good thing. But sometimes, especially when the world’s got me stressed, my eating disorder crops up again. If it’s a good day, I can take the tools I’ve learned in therapy and whack-a-mole the eating disorder away. But sometimes, it lingers, loud as ever, knocking at my skull and begging me to let it back in. Sometimes I do…