It's Not You, It's Me

I have had more grief and debate over dumping my therapist than I had over ending any of my romantic relationships.

Maybe that's because I was usually the one who got dumped. But besides that, on the rare occassion I did need to shake loose a hang-male, it was sort of easy. Because I didn't care if I appeared insane and, in fact, that often made it easier.

The exact opposite holds true with my therapist. I want to appear so sane to her, so reasonable, that I don't need her anymore. The evidence has to be so blatant that the dialogue would go something like this:

Me: Um, I was thinking that maybe I don't need to come to therapy anymore.
Therapist: You're so right.
Me: I know.

Unfortunately, every time I suggest that I would like to reduce my visits to bi-weekly, my therapist nods slowly and settles deeper into her chair.

Therapist: You know that when a patient resists therapy it means that we are starting to touch on the issues that are the core of your problems.
Me: My problems?
Therapist: Yes, let's talk about what is creating your resistance. How did you handle stress when you were a child?

Next thing I know it's the end of the session and I have been convinced that not only do I need therapy, but the reason I need it is because I have so many issues with it.

I laughed at this week's New Yorker ditty on dumping your therapist but it also stressed me out. Maybe I need another therapist to talk to about my therapist.