Two things about your post interest me very much:

1. You used the words "splitting up" to refer to the end of therapy. It's not really like ending a marriage or a romantic relationship though, is it?

What it is, though, is a re-opening of wounds that may be related to loss. The cool thing about ending therapy is that it gives you a chance to process a new issue-- how do you deal with loss? How have relationships ended for you over time, and how did you feel about those endings? How will you choose to end this relationship and how will you find meaning in it? [note: these are rhetorical questions, not meant to be probing questions for you].

IME, the ending of therapy is bittersweet for this reason. It is a loss, but it also marks the beginning of the celebration of what has been learned and used and moved forward.

2. You might know, I was in therapy for about five years, then a 15 year break, then back in the last six months and I anticipate leaving sometime in the next six months. And I was in NYC for the weekend, the car service driver was taking me to LaGuardia Airport. It was a big taxi, a large SUV, and I was kind of zoning out and closing my eyes in the back seat when I lurched forward, falling off the seat, because the driver suddenly slammed on the breaks.

"So sorry, miss!" said the driver in his lyrical Caribbean accent. "I swear, that pothole was not there yesterday!"

I looked back and there indeed was a HUGE pothole, probably big enough to fit my Honda in it.

"Welcome to my life", I muttered, pretty much under my breath.

"What you say?" He glanced back but continued to weave through the traffic like he was on a racetrack.

"I was using a metaphor", I told him.

"Yes, ma'am, it is a quarter to four", he replied.

So, yeah, on my own journey, I've found a pothole that wasn't there yesterday. Just because the road was smooth sailing yesterday doesn't mean that there won't be potholes in the future. Something to look forward to, eh?

But, on a more serious note, I really appreciated hearing about where you are now. I've never quite heard it described like you did, and I think you really captured it in a very essential way. Thank you.

Anne