I wanted to write a post on layering. I wanted to answer the last two weeks worth of daily prompts. I wanted to feel like life was still in flow. Last Tuesday the therapist we’ve worked with for the past five almost six years informed us they were moving, transitioning our care to a new therapist in January. In between shut downs and crying we managed to eek out something to show them we were still here, wildly flailing in emotion, but still here. That whole session is a blur. I mainly remember crying a lot, then stopping and struggling to speak. It was as if my mouth was full of glue. All I could hear was the shouts and cries of the Littles, the overwhelming sense of loss and confusion.

And the news came on the heels of a sudden apartment inspection, something we’ve never been through. Naturally panicking about it and deep cleaning like hell in an effort to soothe the chaos. We know we have nothing to worry about, our apartment doesn’t have structural damages or major issues. Cosmetic wear and tear to the carpet from our cats is about the extent of it.

Even still, on the whole we’ve been in and out of crying spells, grieving the loss of our therapist. We know it’s a natural part of life, and still it hurts like hell to say goodbye to a person who saved our life. It’s bittersweet. I know we’ll miss them terribly, and I know we’ll be okay. We only wanted to end it on our terms, but life doesn’t work that way.

Nearly six years ago we were so dissociated, in denial of our multiplicity, and horribly depressed that getting out of bed was a triumph. Surviving was all we knew. Our first session we almost ran before it started. We were in between failing relationships, dead end jobs, and devoid of any hope, our going to therapy became a lifeline.

Slowly we cut out toxic friends, and slowly it became easier to get out of bed. We remember when they said “anger is just another way of hurt manifesting,” which now when we feel angry we ask ourself what hurts. We remember how once we raced RC cars for a few minutes after a very difficult session. We remember the comfort of being gently wrapped in a blanket while stuck in a trauma state. The soft “gently, gently” to coax our beating hand to stop hitting ourself as a traumatized child wept bitterly another time. We remember how inside the Littles couldn’t wait to share progress we’ve made with them.

We remember how they could see us, they could hear us, they could meet us where we needed to be met; we weren’t simply existing, we were reminded we were alive.

We hold a profound respect and care for this therapist. Human as they are with flaws, they were never afraid to call us out when we needed it. To hear they worried about us during our short period of overnights (much of it we don’t remember due to well, dissociation and suicidal ideation then) cracked the belief we weren’t cared for. The fact they helped us understand that things as a kid were awful, and we have every right to grieve the loss of our childhood. The last five years have been an honor to work with them. We don’t know what going forward will look like. We don’t know what to say in our last session with them. All we do know is there is a deep gratitude for their patience, their kindness, and their ability as a therapist.

-Dex