My therapist is retiring, and while I could start the search for someone new, I’ve decided not to, at least, not right now.
So, today was my last day in therapy.
After sitting with it for a while, I realized I simply don’t have it in me to start over, to retell everything from the beginning, to reopen old wounds, and to slowly rebuild the kind of trust that took years to grow. Therefore, I’m choosing to pause. To take a breath, and see how things go.
Honestly, it’s a mix of feelings. It’s empowering in some ways, and definitely bittersweet. I’ve been in therapy a long time, working through layers of trauma and CPTSD. And for the first time, I actually feel… ready. Not “done,” not cured, but ready to try life outside the therapy room for a while. I’ve got tools I didn’t used to have. I know myself better, and I’ve built strength I wasn’t always sure I had.
That said, goodbyes are rarely easy.
The Complexity of Goodbyes
Yes, I feel proud. But I also feel sad. This therapist really got me. He understood the language of trauma and gave me space to be fully seen, no judgment, just care. That kind of connection isn’t easy to find. Losing it, even on the best of terms, still stirs up a lot. There’s sadness, a touch of fear, and gratitude too. A lot of gratitude.
He didn’t just listen; he met me in places I didn’t think anyone could go with me. His presence helped me learn how to exist in my own skin with a little more ease, a little less shame. Saying goodbye to that isn’t just about parting ways with a therapist; it’s parting with a chapter of healing, of growth, of being witnessed in a way that changed me. I know I’ll carry what I’ve learned into the next steps, but right now, I just want to honor what it meant to be held like that. And to let the grief be real, because it deserves space too.
Bravery in Both Starting and Pausing
Starting therapy was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done. Choosing to step away, knowing I might stumble but trusting myself to get back up, that feels brave too. After all, I’m not starting from scratch; I’m standing on a foundation I have spent years building.
Every session, every tear, and every hard truth I faced helped pour the concrete. I’ve learned to sit with discomfort, to name my fears, and to speak kindly to myself even when I didn’t believe the words. That work doesn’t vanish just because I’ve paused. It lives in how I breathe through anxiety now, how I notice when I’m triggered and don’t shame myself for it. It lives in the space I’ve carved out inside myself for rest, for boundaries, for joy.
Therapy taught me how to return to myself, and that’s something I carry with me, whether I’m in a therapist’s office or not. This isn’t the end of my healing. It’s a chapter shift. And I get to decide what the next one looks like.
Giving Myself Permission to Be
So, I’m giving myself permission to just be for a while. No pressure to have all the answers. No need to label this as a forever decision. Just… a pause. A breath. A turn of the page.
If at any moment I do feel overwhelmed, I will simply remind myself that healing isn’t a straight line. There’s no perfect destination where everything just magically clicks. It’s more like an ongoing adventure with its ups and downs, twists and turns.
This moment, this little transition, is just another chapter in my story. Who knows, maybe I’ll head back to therapy someday. Maybe not. But for now, I’m just grateful for this space I’ve carved out for myself, the freedom to simply exist. It’s a privilege and a step toward trusting myself and trusting life, even with all its unknowns. I’m learning to make peace with the uncertainty and enjoy the quiet in-between. The road ahead is mine to figure out, but I’m proud of how far I’ve come. And honestly, that feels pretty good.
Photo by Syuhei Inoue on Unsplash