Perhaps it was RTerroni's thread on the topic of 'running into therapists outside session' or perhaps it was because I'm on a brief break from therapy after a long period of ongoing contact,

but I'm sitting here in a wistful, sad yet appreciative mood pondering my unique experience of doing long-distance therapy.

I've never seen my therapist in person. Photos are how I know what she looks like. But certainly we've met. She knows more about me in more detail than nearly anyone, rivaling my husband, with whom I've lived more than 15 years.

I met my therapist only about a year and a half ago, choose her relatively quickly, in crisis mode. I knew I wanted an ongoing relationship, and loved the idea of the convenience and privacy afforded by online therapy, not to mention the flexibility of being able to contact my therapist whenever she was available or email her if she wasn't. And the therapy was billed by the minute or by the email, so no pesky questions about what was allowed versus what was pushing boundaries: I paid for all services received. And she, a fellow writer, encouraged my writings, which felt non-stop. She told me it would not be too much, and has proved it so, through all these months.

I've found my therapy uniquely intense, limited only, for the most part, by my financial ability to pay for sessions. I've had hours to work through ruptures, I've had follow-up appointments the same day as scheduled ones, five minute check-ins and late night consults. I've met with her from my office, from my van, from vacation, even folded up in distress in the closet, triggered.

And it's really caused me to question, deeply, what it is that makes therapy work and what it means to be seen and known. I now know, it is not primarily tied to physical presence, proximity is no necessity.

My long distance therapy has worked. I behave better. I started therapy because of angry outbursts, they have now nearly vanished.

I was unfulfilled: I am now pursuing a degree, will graduate in the spring, and a career transition, as well as finding time for new and old interests like art, fiction and socializing.

I was inauthentic in relationships: Martha Stewartesque externally, full of pent up stress and anger on the inside (also like Martha probably!), doing a longstanding act of living in the moment so much I practically disavowed my traumatic past, as if I'd landed on the planet at 20 and began life then.

I had unresolved trauma: I was troubled in the act of parenting, for a few reasons, but partly because I'd spent years working on abuse by my father and not gotten to the layer of grief and pain that was dealing with my crazy-making mother, nor on how impossible it was to fully heal prior to having a child. Having a child raises challenges and opportunities impossible to imagine when I did most of my therapeutic work as a very young woman.

All of these issues I have worked on successfully in therapy. I am by no means done or living a perfect life. I struggle with parenting, marriage, work and school, juggling so many commitments I'm challenged to keep my own emotional pulse as I work on all the above. And insecurities, the current work, most challenging.

I'm certainly not ready to leave therapy: it's been a year and a half, and I've cut my frequency by half, may cut again by half next year when my schedule simplifies (hopefully) and my stress level drops, but I would like to always keep in touch with my therapist, who I think of as my "good enough mother" and have that relationship as long as possible, seeing as I have gone many years without viable parents.

And yet here I am, wishing and even planning what it might be like to meet her in the flesh.

Therapy is about being contained. I have had to provide some of that containment myself due to the lack of walls, symbolic and concrete, around my therapy. But my therapist holds my sharing and my feelings in a very comforting way. Her consistency has created the safety I need. We've certainly been through painful mistakes, but none irresolvable as she is always open to working everything through and obliging me as much as possible. She trusts that the things I want are good for me and gives me the reassurance, listening ear, caring and comfort I've craved a long time, along, of course, with her insights and guidance based on 20 years of experience and credentials.

And therapy is about honesty, exploration and healing. I've certainly experienced all of those deeply, though rarely has the work been easy for me.

But what I haven't had is a hug in person. She stands in with hugs given over the phone, email messages about holding my tears, sharing my sadness, and about holding the things that scare me, giving me a psychological buffer to manage my life when the intensity of my traumas threatens to overwhelm me. In other words, I have faith in her. When she tells me she'll keep something for me... it works. A childlike response, to believe the "hush, hush, it will be alright." Mothers can't make injuries disappear, letdowns vanish or stop painful changes, and yet..... they make them bearable through that magical quality of soothing empathy that is as universal to good mothers as it is invaluable.

I am dependent on her, something I don't suppose I'd ever thought I'd be on anyone, after learning by the age of 15 that I would do much better for myself if I relied almost exclusively on myself. Being dependent turned out to be a risk, with sometimes painful consequences, but not the risk of annihilation or enslavement I feared. I am dependent on her... but pay my bills, earn As in school, raise my daughter, care for our pets, relate to others (better than before) and overall, don't seem to be in imminent danger of disappearing or dissolving or exploding for knowing her and being so close. Indeed, the times we've had falling outs, I've used the impetus to make things even better in the rest of my life!

So, why am I crying because she lives on the East Coast and I on the West. I would like to have something of her physical presence. That solid sense of being which cannot be conveyed solely through voice. The knowledge of how a wrap around hug would differ from an emotional one, an imagined one. The most positively impactful woman in my life, prior to her, was a school counselor. I only saw that counselor for perhaps.... 10 sessions, but she left a mark on me, in me that has lasted more than 20 years. A foundation and a blessing. I only spent perhaps 10 hours in her presence, aside from the occasional school assembly, and it was enough to embed her in my consciousness as a corporeal loving presence. Obviously, I suppose, it was not her gorgeous blond hair, kind blue eyes or penchance for wearing lovely shawls that impacted me most. I've know many people for longer periods who left much less impact. So it is with my therapist now... that it is not her physical presence I most need, but.... I still desire it.

I wondered idly, if a 10 hour day spent with her would give me that presence to hold onto. Or if a video of her would help, something she could record and email me. If a week of daily sessions, should I travel to meet her, would give me that imprint.

I do not want her to die having never laid eyes on her, while... I feel it's almost a hollow request to want that- I've laid eyes on her soul, within her sharing and within her caring for me, and I know that's so precious, that true knowledge.

But my options, however meaningful that experience of meeting her might be, are limited.

Last I spoke, she agreed to meet, but said she couldn't provide an in person session: contractual obligations primarily.

I am debating going to see her. We have given it little thought, so I don't know what might be accomplished: the one time we discussed it, she thought we might meet briefly, perhaps at a coffee shop, as she works from home and would not be able to conduct therapy, so that I could see her and have a hug in person. Who knows what else. The meeting she described would be brief... perhaps 15 minutes?

I am sad. Some of you kind people who have watched me write here during the past year plus, might give me a hug or a thank you... both virtual and both real.

None of us will ever likely meet, which is a shame. But we all agree the hugs and communication help, don't we. It's the same with her. Sigh. And so meaningful, the time together, together and apart. How much does time in person mean.

Oh my, it means something, enough of something that I am very sad about it right now. Sometimes I see that my sadness is mixed, sourced from multiple causes, missing my mother, missing my therapist on the breaks, missing more huggable people in my life, etc.

But I am also rightfully sad about not seeing her in person. I actually think my therapy has progressed better because of it! Less impediments, for me, haha, but I would like to watch her drink a cup of tea. I would like to see what crazy blouse she wears. I would like a massive hug as she is as overweight as I am, and as soft, no doubt.