(or Me vs. the Horseshoe Crab)
I walked into my therapist’s office the other day to find that it was all packed up. The bookcases were empty, the knick-knacks were gone. There were stacks of boxes and rolls of bubble-wrap. She had momentarily left the room when I arrived, so I had several minutes to devise a list of worst-case scenarios. Was she moving to a new office? In the same suite? Same building? Across town? How would this move impact my journey? Or worse: was she retiring? Closing up shop? Had she had enough? Had we all driven her completely crazy?
When she returned to the office I immediately demanded to know what was going on. She seemed shocked that I would ask, as if walking into your therapist’s packed-up office was completely normal. No, she was not moving or retiring. Her office was just being repainted and new flooring was to be installed. And did I really think she would move or retire without giving me months and months of notice so that we could process it together?
In short, yes.
Certainly a move of office would be a much easier scenario to adapt to than losing her to retirement, but even so, I was uneasy with the thought that anything about this therapeutic environment might change.