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God, this is hard

Even though I consider my anti-abuse advocacy and helping other victims my Teshuva, I will admit it is helping heal my own inner wounds in ways I would never have thought. This article helps capture that feeling.

Adele Ryan McDowell


Did you ever hear this story? The young woman goes up to her parish priest and says, "Father, Father, will you please pray for my therapist?" The priest inquires, "Why does your therapist need prayers, my child?" And the young woman replies, "I am in therapy for only one hour each week, but my therapist is there for hours and hours all week long."

The young woman had a point. My practice of psychotherapy has been a healing endeavor for me. It has opened my heart beyond my wildest comprehensions, and it has brought forward the very best part of me.

I am convinced that one of the reasons the gods directed me into this line of work was to teach me patience. You can't push a process. The work can sometimes be tedious as you dig through sub-floors, put out fires and meet the rock wall of resistance. It can also be exhilarating as the smoke clears, the foundation settles and the heart softens. The work is demanding, exceedingly rewarding and, from my perspective, one of the most sacred of professions.

As a psychotherapist, I have been invited into the inner realms. I am given the opportunity to get up close and personal with demons, dreams and disasters. I have been allowed access to uncharted territories; I am called to bear witness, be a guide for the oftentimes lightless journeys and, sometimes, serve as a confessor for whispered sins of shame and despair.

I have loved this chapter of my life, and now I am saying goodbye — very real, one-to-one, voice-choked, tear-stained goodbyes.

I came home tonight after a full day of back-to-back sessions, and I looked in the mirror to see if my face had rearranged its molecules and said aloud, "God, this is hard." And, boy howdy, is it. This is very hard.

It's a lot like a funeral, but in this case I am still alive. There are tears; there is laughter. There are memories; there are individual goodbyes. This is a full-stop ending.

As you might expect, there have been many long-term relationships. Clearly, not everyone is seeing me every week, much less every year, but a bond has been established and our histories together have taken us through the nodal points of their lives and loves, their attachments and betrayals, their sacred and profane moments. These have been incredible journeys.

In saying our goodbyes — or in "terminating," as is the less-than-warm psychology term — we walk through their history and we remember. We laugh; we cry. We laugh and cry some more.

The beauty of history is that you gain perspective. We can see the waves, identify the storms, remember the fog banks and recognize the triumphs when land was reached. This is helpful for each of us, and, at least for me, it is healing to recount the common ground we traveled.

One of my male clients tells me that he feels like I am breaking up with him. I tell him there is some truth to that, as the therapeutic process is an intimate, albeit one-sided, relationship. A woman informs me that she has written Dr. Phil to tell him about the success of our work together. This makes me laugh out loud with delight.

I say goodbye to a young woman I met when she was a teenager; she is now 32. I have known her for half of her adult life. There has been the gentleman who, when he first came to me 17 years ago, was a dishwasher in a restaurant; now, he owns his own eatery. There is a woman who, like me, is changing her life; in her case, she is moving from her hometown of 47 years following the death of her spouse, the love of her life. We understand each other.

I reflect on my most expensive session. For me, it was the woman who took her life after repeated attempts and hospitalizations. I will never forget her. For my client, it was the occasion when he asked his paid escort to join us in session. Her hourly rate was more than double my own fee. I will never forget that duo.

My clients continue to expand me as they stand firm and unrushed in expressing their goodbyes and gratitude. A part of me wants to put up a hand and say, "Stop, enough," but these wonderful clients are resolute and grounded as they bestow on me their gifts of words, their gifts of wisdom. Turnabout is, indeed, fair play.

God, I know I said to you that this was hard, but I am rethinking that.

Yes, it is hard, but bigger than hard is that these goodbyes are tender and precious, real and full of heart. If I think about that, isn't that all the good stuff? Just because there is an ending, and even a full-stop ending, there is so much more happening. There is deep connection, there is meaning and significance. There is the opportunity to say a real goodbye. And, most importantly, there is love and caring - on both sides of the consultation room.

I now realize that I forgot to look through my big viewfinder. I was stuck on the sadness of saying goodbye. I had forgotten the wonder of the heartfelt connection, which will be a part of my cellular nature forever. I had forgotten to celebrate the many paths trod, the new routes created and the dreams realized. I had forgotten the bigger picture.

Once I put it into perspective, things are not so bad. God, it just got a little easier. Thank you.

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Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder.