The image features a single white flower standing tall beside a window.
“I count myself lucky to feel this kind of sadness.”

This is one of those “I’ll write this article and assume that I’m not the only one” sort of posts. I’m going to pretend that at least one other person out there is still hung up on an ex.

An ex-therapist, that is. Because I have to confess this: I miss my old therapist.

Veronica* was an extraordinary therapist. When I met her, I was seventeen years old and, let’s be real, I was the poster child for Mental Health Crisis. She was compassionate, non-judgmental, sensitive, and perceptive in ways that I had not expected.

I spent three years (and a half, to be exact) in awe of her calm, even when I sat curled up on that couch, describing my depths of my suicidality or my utter despair for things ever improving. She created a safe space for me to explore the darkest parts of myself, with a passionate and relentless commitment to my well-being.

The cherry on top: Despite not being a gender specialist by any means, when I came out as transgender, she told me it was her responsibility to provide the best possible care. She educated herself, sought out resources and guidance, and did a damn good job at helping me embark on my transition.

By the time we parted ways, I had gone from being completely despondent to being the happiest and healthiest I had ever been. It’s no coincidence that some of my most important realizations and growing happened under her care.

So I’m not sure that anyone can blame me when, in the midst of a crisis, I find myself thinking, “Ugh, shit. What would Veronica say? What would Veronica do?”

Followed by an ever-so-small part of myself still grieving for this person who was so significant and yet, for professional reasons, is completely gone now from my life.

If this sounds anything like your own experience, I suspect we aren’t alone in this. When you spend a good amount of time with someone, divulging difficult experiences and intimate secrets, an attachment happens whether you mean it to or not.

I certainly never meant to get so attached that I would actually miss my old therapist. In fact, when I entered into therapy as a depressed teenager, I was convinced nothing could help me. Oh, how wrong I was.

I like to think that the occasional sadness I feel for not having Veronica as my therapist means that she did something incredibly right. It means that I felt supported and cared for, but not so much so that I couldn’t move forward without her.

In fact, the happiness that I have now is fostered, in part, by the many tools and skills that I learned during our time together. Whether or not I understood it when I first left, I was ready for this next chapter, and our sessions laid the groundwork for the life that I’m leading now.

Nonetheless, the sadness still comes around once in a while.

I count myself lucky to feel this kind of sadness. Lucky because it meant that I was one of the fortunate ones who could find a therapist that had such a profound impact on me. A therapist who could disarm me, who could provoke such unwavering optimism in me, and could create a safe space when it was difficult just to feel safe inside my own head.

Finding a therapist can sometimes feel like a cruel game show, auditioning total strangers with the hopes that you can trust them with the deepest and most important work you’ll ever do.

But if we’re lucky, really lucky, some of us are able to find the Veronicas of the world – the therapists whose empathy and validation convince us that there is, indeed, some good out there – and we trust them with this work, forging the kind of bond that’s needed so the real healing can begin.

I am the person I am today because there was a therapist who believed in me. I can honestly say that, even at my worst, there was never a moment when Veronica seemed to doubt my potential to do something meaningful, to do something important with my life.

She was the first to hear my authentic voice and to teach me of the power that my voice really had. In a way, the work that I do now was made possible by her conviction that my voice mattered.

If you haven’t found this therapist yet, fear not: They exist. They’re out there. Sometimes it requires jumping through obnoxious hoops and navigating a health care system that doesn’t look too fondly on us neuroatypical folks. Sometimes it requires paying out of pocket and dealing with an empty wallet at the end of the week. Sometimes it means getting yourself out of the house when you’d rather hide under the covers.

Whatever it takes, if you can, find the person who deserves your trust. Find the person who deserves your time. Find the therapist that is worthy of taking this journey with you.

And years down the line, when some smashing opportunity arises and you decide to move to California or something equally spontaneous, you’ll have that moment when everything goes awry and you start to think about them. You’ll start wishing they could offer just one more bit of advice or lend their ear, calmly reclining in their chair as you rant and rave about the way that things never go as planned.

Because, oh man, do they ever go as planned?

You’ll miss your old therapist and, like me, you’ll be glad that you do.

*Editor’s Note: Names have been changed to protect the identities of those mentioned.




  1. Love this! I have a Veronica too! It’s been a few years since I had a therapy session with her and I often imagine myself in situations and mentally running it all by Cassandra.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is exactly why I’ve wanted to be a therapist since 9th grade, and why I’m now a year out from having a job as a mental health professional. I wanted (and still want to) be a Veronica for people, no matter where they’re from or what they’re going through. Those are the best kinds of therapists, in my humble opinion.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I have been exploring this in therapy for the past three years! Prior to my current therapist, I was with one for almost five years, a man (and I’d never done intense work with a male therapist) who used analytic techniques. Our relationship ended abruptly, without proper termination, while I was dealing with postpartum depression and anxiety. I went from anger to sadness, coupled with a constant wondering about him and whether or not he was thinking about me. The depth of my attachment amazes me, as I never felt this way about any of my many therapists. And so, I’ve been working this out with my current therapist, processing my grief. I finally emailed my ex, thanking him for his role in my journey, and sharing my progress. After a few weeks, during which I wondered if he was angry with me, didn’t care, etc., he wrote back, and thanked me for allowing him to accompany me on my journey. It eased my ache somewhat but he’s still on my mind…and probably will be, always. Like you, I imagine what he would say about what I say or do. Thank you for opening up about this attachment to a different kind of ex. It’s so hard to explain to others , and you have done a beautiful job! It’s good to know I’m not the only one.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I had a therapist like that but for only a few months. From the YWCA, an intern, who at the first appointment said she knew so little and wasn’t sure she’d be able to help me but that she did have ears and a heart and a teddybear to offer me. I had therapists before after her who had fancy degrees and years of training and experience but didn’t have ears and hearts and teddybears available and so failed to live up to her standard.

    I don’t even remember her name.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. I have never had a good therapist. I have had a couple mediocre therapists and a couple down right horrendous therapists.

    My last therapist, whilst I was in the middle of a suicidal crisis, told me: “you won’t commit suicide, you’re too responsible”. Well I’m still here so I guess she was right, but my struggle with depression has left me feeling completely unsupported by the medical community at large.

    I wish there were more Veronica’s in the world.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I can totally relate. I started seeing my gender therapist in 2008 when I came out as trans. She basically was the lone force that kept me alive through the course of my entire transition, hormones, top surgery, coming out to my family and being rejected by my family, admitting to my addictions and getting clean, two suicide attempts and 8 hospitalizations…. she told me this past December/January that she was retiring at the end of February and it just broke my heart. Not only was she retiring but she was moving out of state. She found me a new therapist, who I really like and get along with great, but it’s just not the same. I do email her from time to time and she said to keep in touch, which I really like and it gives me a sense of security that she is still there if I need her, but at the same time I don’t want to bother her.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I’m do glad I’m not alone in this. My counselor saved my life. He helped me find the strength I needed to keep going. He taught me when to hold on to what I love and when to let go when it’s good for me. I learned so much from him but the most important thing he taught me was to stay true to myself in all ways, and to find my own happiness. I still miss him so much. I don’t know if I’ll ever find another counselor as good as he was, but I am so lucky that he was there when I needed him the most. Thank you for reminding me that while not all good things last, we can always appreciate them while enjoying what we have now.

    Liked by 1 person

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