Thirteen Years

How do I begin to say thank you to a person that changed my life?
Do I start by sharing about all the kind words spoken in my time of need
or the shoulder that has been there to lean on when tears have fallen?
I first met you 13 years ago, before I knew what path I was heading down
but you planted a seed
that told me that I was not alone and that help was there if only I would call . . . - First stanza in the Good-Bye poem written for me by a client and shared during our termination session today.

Day 275. This year has been filled with so many losses: (I listed them, but the list got too long and too personal, so I pushed and held the proverbial backspace key -- the one all of us should probably utilize a whole lot more). Suffice it to say, this year has extracted more loss than my Preferred Version of Reality would have contained. I suffered another loss today. It fills me with great sadness and great joy.

Today I bade farewell to a client with whom I have had the privilege to work for the last 13 years. Interestingly, I have no need whatsoever to explain or justify or elaborate on such a long therapeutic relationship. On the blog or anywhere else. You will either get it or not. Doesn't matter. She and I get it. I was in analysis for eleven years, and it was the singular most significant and life altering experience of my life (which says a lot when held next to this year of sitting and blogging).

I met her when she was a 19-year-old college student. She had just returned from a lengthy, out-of-state inpatient stay that had been chiefly involuntary. While at the prestigious eating disorder hospital, the client had been labeled with a kiss-of-death diagnosis that most therapists, if they are aware of it at the outset, run from like the sprint to the cellar when an F5 has been spotted on Gary England's radar. She burned herself, cut herself, abused every substance under the sun - legal and illegal, ingested ipecac, engaged in violent, aggressive and repetitive cycles of binging and purging interspersed with rigid bouts of starving herself, rejected every attempt at connection with others, alienated herself from every peer who came within ten yards of her, and relied, instead, upon dangerous one-night sexual encounters arranged on the internet. Her prognosis was, shall I say, "Poor."

Somehow, some way, we carved out a relationship that lasted. Sustained. Endured for thirteen continuous years. She tested me, to be sure. Which is the understatement of the year. She developed all manner of creative and ingenious ways to test me, reject me, betray me, coerce me to betray her, try me, hate me, punish me, abuse me, pummel me, tease me, abandon me, coerce me to abandon her, stretch me, challenge me -- essentially chew me up and spit me out along with the day's dinner.

She didn't succeed. I didn't go away. I would like to attribute that to my brilliance as a therapist, a strict and stoic adherence to my code of ethics, a steadfast sense of altruism, my commitment to helping, the rewarding and consistent progress in her recovery, or some other such malarky. Not the case. In truth, I can't even make sense of our survival as therapist and client by something less stellar such as the hope of a book publication (it would have rivaled Sybil), the wing of a hospital named after us, or dependence upon her father's reliable bill paying (my practice became pretty well established somewhere during these past 13 years).

I just stuck around. The more I learned about this young woman's background, the more I knew that, like all of us, what she exhibited outwardly was an illusion. Her extreme behavior was in direct proportion to the chaos and damage she had been subjected to. It wasn't remotely a manifestation of the truth of her. She had been abused and harmed in ways few of us could imagine in our worst nightmares, and most of us couldn't even then. Yet she had survived to communicate the fallout of the horrific events of her life in the only manner available to her: she assumed the role of aggressor against herself. At least that way it was in her control.

I have been a licensed psychologist for 18 years: five years without this client, and thirteen years with her. We grew up together. We taught one another. We learned from each other. I couldn't stand on the far bank of the roiling river of her agony, beckoning her to swim across while I shouted encouragement. I had to jump into the raging whitewater and swim alongside her. It was a long and treacherous journey that makes the little tip into the rocks I experienced in Durango seem like a frolic in a sandy wading pool.

Like everything from the molecular level and beyond in my life, I can see my sitting practice in this relationship. I didn't have the vocabulary over the entire 13 years, but I see now that my work with this amazing person parallels my zen practice. I was in it for keeps. I never knew where it would take me. There was no way to be prepared. There was not necessarily going to be a reward, an outcome, or even a discernible end. Every day, continuing took a leap of faith. It could be thankless, exhausting, numbing, terrifying, overwhelming and bewildering. Simultaneously, or in the blink of a (three-quarters downcast) eye, it could be exhilarating, joyful, provocative, stimulating, humbling, astounding, fulfilling, and meaningful. The important thing was to remain steadfast. To abide by my commitment. To keep showing up. To demonstrate sincere intent. Certainly to check my ego at the door. And to be very, very present.

In this case, there did, actually, turn out to be an outcome AND a reward. This beautiful, damaged girl evolved into a lovely, and loved, young woman. She completed an advanced degree and became licensed in her field. She fell in love with a man she has been with for over three years, and whom she plans to marry. She became so successful in her profession that she procured a job necessitating a move out of state. Thus, our good-bye. Thus, my great sadness and great joy. Sadness because I will miss her with every fiber in my being, the sadness indicative of our lasting and deep connection. Joy because it is time. Our good-bye was hastened, perhaps, by the job offer, but the time was nigh. She is ready. She will soar.

As for a discernible end, I don't believe we will have one. Yes, we have stopped seeing one another in the physical manner that has been a weekly routine for thirteen solid years. But our attachment is so strong, so deep, so true, she will always be in my heart. Good-bye, S.L. I love you. You are forever in my essence.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc