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BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO

Breaking up with a boyfriend is nothing compared to breaking up with your therapist. I am so addicted to her 45-minute an hour company.

She is the mother I never had, one that listens and gives her support without sarcasm and guilt. The one who will give you advice when you’re crying and not wrap up the conversation by asking you when you plan on cleaning the cat box.

Well, to be fair, I may be a little kooky, but one thing I’m not, is deluded. She’s not really like a mom unless your mom is the kind that you have to pay to talk to and who cuts you off as soon as your allotted time is up. So more than a mom, it’s like visiting with a prostitute, except the intercourse is intellectual. You get the couch. You get your release and there’s no fear of disease or jail time. My friends ask me why I don’t just talk to them – all I’d have to pay them is a few drinks and maybe some babysitting services. Well, friends, there’s great satisfaction in knowing that this person, to whom, you spilled all your guts to can’t tell anyone else and that includes their significant others and the few “don’t tell anyone this but...” friends.

Yes you and your spouse share all secrets which is why I am not going to him directly either. See, you don’t have to deal with your psychologist in real life. You will not share the same circle of friends, she will not know your parents and, if you have one like mine, she’ll even pretend not to know you if you mistakenly run into her in a store.

I could really use a 12-step program to get through this addiction. Where is a Therapist’s Anonymous for those in need? Even better then booze, when I talk to her, I get the buzz and she gets the hangover.

Two miscarriages, a second trimester baby loss, my divorce, my pregnancy, the tormented sonograms when I feared the little beating heart would show up still…there’s no one who’s been through so much with me. She knows everything I never shared verbally with anyone else as I was living through it. I’d rather be professionally committed than be done in by amateurs.

But now I’ve got to give it up. And it’s really, really hard to do. I can’t even count on the serenity prayer:

God grant me the serenity â¨to accept the things I cannot change; â¨courage to change the things I can;â¨and wisdom to know the difference.

Throughout the baby drama she was always the one who helped me with the wisdom part. Now I, alone, need the courage to change. I admit I have a problem. On to step two.

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