I haven’t written about this before because a) I wasn’t ready yet, and b) I don’t want to scare anyone away from therapy. For years, I have been a staunch advocate for therapy and its healing power. Part of me is still this advocate. I still believe everyone should go to therapy at some point in their lives. It can help with both severe mental illness and “smaller” life matters. And on the other hand, I also now know that therapy itself can be traumatic.

Two and a half years ago, my therapist essentially quit overnight. She had been my therapist through most of college, helping me through some of the hardest years of my life. She helped me get out of that deep depression and reclaim my life from borderline personality disorder (BPD). Then I graduated, and we went our separate ways. Incidentally, we both happened to move to Illinois. So, when a few years later I was struggling to find a therapist I connected with, I reconnected with her. I even paid out of pocket. She wasn’t in network with my insurance, but that’s how much I valued our already established relationship. We met every other week over Zoom, since she was two hours away in Chicago. I was overall doing really well, and this was mostly just for maintenance of my mental health.

One week, I was scheduled to take the train into Chicago to see a new ob/gyn, so we scheduled my therapy session that week in person as well. Despite our Zoom therapy, I hadn’t seen her in person in four years. It felt like a grand reunion. I was giddy with excitement and so proud of the progress I had continued to make. As I was boarding the train the night before, I received an email from the therapy practice that my therapist was taking a leave of absence. By morning, I received another email that she wasn’t coming back.

I cried a lot on that train ride. I’ve cried a lot about it since. I was left feeling confused, concerned, betrayed, and most of all, abandoned. Several weeks later, per my request, I was able to schedule a phone call with my therapist to try to get some clarity and closure, but it didn’t really provide that. And that was after several bounced emails, since she had left the practice, and they disabled that email for her. Most of my communication went through the practice owner, whom I had never had a conversation with before this string of events.

To say this experience was traumatic is perhaps an understatement. It’s been over two years, and I still haven’t been able to go back to therapy. And trust me, I have tried. I’ve reached out to dozens of new therapists, attended several first appointments, and almost always left sobbing, sometimes after only twenty minutes. Every few months, I try again, and every few months, I discover that I’m not ready yet. I have lost a great deal of trust in the therapeutic relationship.

A few weeks ago, I worked up the courage to try yet again. Just scrolling through Psychology Today makes me sweat. Emailing new therapists makes my heart race. And that first appointment? If we get there, I’m bound to start shaking. My nerves are hypersensitive to any missteps that could mean another loss. I’m very quickly angered by any perceived miscommunication. I find myself tearful at the thought of going to yet another first appointment.

The irony is that therapy could probably help me work through this trauma. Yet, therapy itself is a trigger to my trauma response. It’s a classic catch-22. I do feel more ready to try therapy again than I did two years ago, but I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fully trusting of that relationship again.

Therapy can be so helpful. I have seen those benefits for myself and many others. Mostly, I just want to also acknowledge that therapy can be traumatic too. If it has been for you, you are not alone.

Morgan