Climbing Without a Net

At the end of my last two therapy sessions, I asked a question.

The first time it was, “Do you feel comfortable so far?”

The second time it was, “Did any of that freak you out?”

She asked me if I expected it to.

I said yes.

She told me she wasn’t freaked out. That she felt comfortable. That she could hold her role and was competent to work with what I bring in. And that she would let me know if that changes. That’s not a direct quote, I can’t remember the exact wording, but that was the meaning.

And I find myself struggling to trust those words.

Right now, I can feel the urge to cry building in my chest, because I’ve had the rug pulled out from under me more than once. Each time it hurt differently. But the one that burns the most is the time I was told, “I can work with this, but can you?” and then was terminated by email not too long after that.

What makes that moment stick is that I remember the session vividly. I remember how dysregulated she was. I remember noticing it in real time and naming it. And when I did, she didn’t deny it, she acknowledged it and made sure to tell me it wasn’t on me.

But I also remember something else.

When she said “I can work with this, but can you?” I could almost see her stepping back cognitively. Like she had realized she was getting close to reacting instead of responding, and that sentence was her way of reeling herself back in. Of creating distance. Of stabilizing herself.

That plays in my head often.

Because the words didn’t stand on their own. They were said in a moment where I noticed her changing how she was showing up with me. And then, not too long after, the work ended anyway, by email, without warning, without processing, without care proportional to the depth of what had been opened.

I don’t think I’m looking for a reason anymore.

I think I’m just angry.

Angry at how poorly it was handled. Angry that something so delicate was dropped and stomped on. Angry that I was told one thing and then shown another.

So when my current therapist tells me she’s comfortable, part of me hears it and another part knows that words are just words.

I plan to bring all of this into our next session. Because I know my questions will probably continue. Because I can’t trust yet.

Because right now, trusting it feels like climbing straight up a ninety-degree wall with no safety net.

The thing is, the first time the rug was pulled wasn’t anyone’s fault. And maybe that’s true of the second time too. Maybe I need to allow more grace.

But that’s hard.

No… actually, fuck that. After everything that happened after termination, I think it’s pretty clear that grace isn’t something she gets to receive from me.

Anyway.

What I was trying to say is that the first termination wasn’t something anyone could have planned for.

Which means words can mean something today and carry no weight tomorrow, not because they were false, but because reality shifted.

So how do you trust words that can forever be changing shape?

Author’s note:

I think the part I’m struggling to trust is the idea that I’ll be told if anything changes. Most shifts don’t happen overnight, they happen slowly, in small ways. I don’t want to be blindsided again. I want to know if something is shifting, and I don’t fully trust how easy it is for people to notice those shifts as they happen, or to name them out loud to the other person. And in therapy, that all feels even murkier.