I loved two women.
It wasn’t romantic.
It was the same kind of love a child has for their favorite teacher or a doctor who lets them pick out a lollipop.
They were my therapists, and they were beautiful. I wanted them to take me home and keep me forever just like Miss Honey from Matilda. I wanted this more than anything.
I’m 28 though, and I knew these women could never do this.
I had a hole in my heart when I worked with them and an even bigger hole when they left. I often feel like a small child who cries when their parents aren’t in the room. I am not sure exactly why I respond this way, but I do.
I missed these women yesterday, and I miss them again today.
I wish I could sleep through the night, but lately, I can’t help but cry for these surrogate mothers I created in my mind.
It’s been over a year since I’ve seen either of them, and the pain hasn’t gone away. It’s the kind of feeling we experience when someone close to us dies.
I thought therapy would be healing. I hope one day I can say it was. Right now though, I’m struggling to hold onto myself.
I often smile at my last client of the day, holding in my tears. After I click “end session” on zoom, I rest my head on my desk and sob.
I miss them today. I really miss them. I’ve never loved anyone as much as these two women, and I don’t know if I ever will.
They may be physically gone, but they manage to visit me daily. I see them when I inhale and rest my hand gently on my heart. I see them again when I sit in class, and again when I look in the mirror.
I keep getting dressed and going to class even though some days I struggle to see through my tears. I do this for them and for me.
I’ve always wanted a mom—the kind of woman who smiles gently and looks at me with love, as if to say I see you and you matter.
To the therapists who loved me:
You may physically never see me again, but your seeing me made all the difference.
I love you and always will.