My stomach was in knots the entire day, weeks of planning leading up to the inevitable moment. I had made a promise to myself, and I was definitely going to keep it. I arrived for my appointment to find that the previous session was already concluded. My therapist was waiting for me.
My tone was different, stern, parental, and unfriendly. I addressed immediately that something happened in our previous session that made me feel really uncomfortable. That it had “wrecked me” and that it was something that continued to bother me in the weeks that followed.
I gave exact description of statement without any change in my tone, as much I wanted to be rude or mean, I was calm, but tears flowed silently anyway. He recalled the phrase right away. He admitted fault, which was nice, and he respected the complaint. He didn’t mansplain or diminish how it affected me.
Of course he did apologize but I remained firm, that due to the body image work I needed to be doing could no longer be done here. He was, I think, more surprised that I wanted to end therapy over it, than the fact that I was upset at all. He didn’t try to change my mind, respecting my wishes, and bid me good luck finding a new therapist.
We kept up somewhat end of therapy chat, how much progress we made, the overall improvements, and the benefit of a more mentally aware life. He did comment once more on my appearance once again using words that made me uncomfortable. I interrupted him as soon as I realized what he was saying. I knew then that I’d made the right decision.
I got tears as I bid the doggies goodbye. The older one would probably be put down soon, and the newer dog would be on her own. I gave each one a kiss on their heads, told them to be good, and left. “See you around!” I called over my shoulder as I tried to fight back tears, out into the frigid night. I knew I had chosen correctly, and standing up for myself was and always will be the right call.