Ending the Relationship with my Psychologist

I am not looking forward to saying goodbye to my psychologist. Next month we will decrease our weekly sessions to twice a month. Soon it will taper off to tune-ups now and then.

I will no longer plop upon his couch when he invites me into his office. I have always fantasized about lying down on his sofa during our sessions. I will soon miss the opportunity to walk into his office wearing my pajamas with my pillow and blanket in tow. 

I will miss scarfing down my caramel frappe while he sips his tea.
I will miss discussing my life. I will miss our conversations about the options I need to consider while making decisions.

"How do you feel about this?"

"What do you think you should do?"

"Why do you think that?"

Oh, those open ended questions...I will miss them the most. I let him delve into the depths of my soul. He knows my struggles, my weaknesses. He understands me better than I understand myself, but yet I know almost nothing about him.

I will miss the front office staff. The way they welcome me. How they call me by name as I hand over my debit card to cover my copay. I do not know how I will survive without our interactions. 

I am grateful that my doctor did not force me to do relaxation techniques. Early on I told him that I would walk out the door if he ever tried any of that crap on me. I do not believe that sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, chanting ohmmm with hands on our knees and palms towards the sky, on plush green grass while a gentle breeze surrounds us would make me a better person.

Thank you, doctor, for the great times. You have affected me more than you will ever know. I hope that you will acknowledge me if ever we cross paths when I see my psychiatrist next door for med checks every few months. I wish that I could say that you will miss me just as much as I will miss you, but I understand that you are my therapist and not my friend.