I so supremely wanted this not to come up. “I don’t think I should let you go until we’ve at least touched on what was put out there at the end of last week’s session.” “Well,” my therapist, Lori, says, the millisecond after I become certain our time is up and I might be in the clear. On the surface, when the patient has been highly selective of the discussion topics, therapy always resembles a friendly get-together. I’ve barely looked into my therapist’s blue eyes at all, and yet I think the hour has gone very well. I try to relax, but the plush leather couch crumples under me when I shift, making the movements extraordinary. My entire body feels tense, not ideal for the setting. It’s the waning moments of my fourth session with a new therapist.
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