The therapy experience that messed me up the most was when I was in my late twenties/early thirties. My mother had been gone for around a decade by then, and I was seeing a therapist who I was accidentally turning into the mother in my life. I cried with her, which was a new experience because my mother didn't allow much crying. My therapist was not judgmental, but she didn't offer much verbal reassurance or physical comfort. I always longed for a hug--another thing my mother did not do much of. It was a very difficult experience for me to feel so much sadness in front of a therapist who could not show any "natural" response to my feelings. It did affect the relationship because it made my "needs" from her stronger and more desperate, and it built resentment.

Many years later, when I gave therapy another try, I cried again. I loved my therapist, though she gave me the same response as the former one from my twenties. But I was a little older and had more going on in my life, so the wound was less fresh, and I was able to handle the emotional distance a lot better.