Feeling Like a Fool

I am carrying a very strange heartbreak. And I have no idea what to do with it. My hope is that it will heal with time, acceptance and self-compassion. But it makes me feel like the stupidest person on earth. Not all the time, but often enough to tell me I have more work to do. This is not my shame. Yet, I carry it. Why? Well, what happens to people who “fail at therapy”? What support is there? How does one overcome it and move forward? Therapy can be one of the most intimate relationships we have. When we are hurt in therapy, it often has a huge impact on our lives. How do we heal from the thing that was supposed to help us heal?

I was still feeling very hurt; a lot had happened in that therapy that did not feel right, and it had brought me to my knees — financially, spiritually, emotionally, physically…

Ten years ago, I started traveling to another country for trauma therapy. It was with someone I already knew, she had been my mentor and distant colleague of sorts. We worked in the same small field and belonged to the same organization; we had not worked together with clients, but had organized a training at my place, sort of together. There is a lot of “sort of” in this story, bear with me…

I started the trauma therapy with this person because I could not find any other suitable therapist who would work with me. I also felt drawn to this person. I am not spoiled with people with the same “thinking tenacity,” curiosity, and drive as I have; I fell in love with her mind. I saw the potential for a beautiful friendship with lots and lots of interesting exchange.

This therapy began as everything I had dreamed of: acaring person who let me explore my early childhood traumas, with what I perceived, from a very non-judgmental stance. But it ended almost 5 years later with her “terminating me,” because she could no longer contain the growing resentment she felt towards me. A resentment she overcame, because a few months after the therapy was terminated, she contacted me with a wish for contact and possible working collaborations.

I was still feeling very hurt; a lot had happened in that therapy that did not feel right, and it had brought me to my knees — financially, spiritually, emotionally, physically… so I kept asking a lot of clarifying questions. She did take the time to write answers down for me, but in them, there were no signs of accountability. No apology. Only rational explanations, based on her understanding of me, from her school of thought (psychodynamic/psychoanalytical).

Essentially, it was all my fault that the therapy had not gone better, because I was too relational, and I did not see all that she saw in me that made me a perpetrator of sorts.

(The things she sometimes said: that I had given her grey hair, cancer, made her sick and exhausted, cost her energy and time with her family, cost her money, had cost her professional damage).

I tried to tell myself to let it go, to not hold on to what so conveniently “should be something belonging to the past.” Now was now, right? I so much wanted to work with her. This was the carrot she had kept in front of me throughout the whole therapy, that when I was “better,” we could work together. And it made me imagine this happy ending where we worked together, with full equality, supporting each other’s ideas. I thought I finally had earned it and now I would have an equal partner working towards shared goals.

The idea was that we were going to offer courses together, in our small field of work. This became a repetition of the voluntary work I had done together with her during the therapy. I worked and worked, and it was never enough; she called all the shots and decided how the money was to be split (80% to her and 20% to me, or actually 8% to me and 12% to my organization because it would cover all costs).

We did speak of the dual relationship we had, but everything was named by her, and that it did not work better between us always came down to me not being able to be more mature, or “better,” and less “relational.”

From the start, I was interested and intrigued by this therapist and impressed by the knowledge she said she had. She sounded skilled, wise, experienced, and she called herself an expert in her field.

My life became chaotic and utterly unpredictable, governed by her wishes and moods. If she felt like calling me out of nowhere to start doing therapy with me, I would be going with that, no questions asked, but equally, if it was about a work detail, I would drop everything else and get straight to it.

Pretty fast, I was enmeshed in a relationship I had no power in. A relationship where she stated all the rules (which kept on changing all the time). This is perhaps normal in a normal therapeutic relationship, but in this case, the power imbalances led to me quickly losing my footing. I felt like a puppet that obeyed every pull she made in a string.

This was incredibly scary; whatever she said and did, I would comply. There were moments of me resisting her, and then all hell broke loose. And I had to beg for forgiveness (and mercy), and she would eventually take me back again. The forgiveness procedure took a couple of days, where I had to scrutinize myself and tell her all that I had done wrong, thought wrong and felt wrong, where she was cleared of any kind of responsibility. It felt like a confession, and if I, as often was the case, really had no idea what I had done wrong, I had to dig into her perspective and really understand her take on it, so I could confess so she was happy with me. I did it so well I brainwashed myself doing it, believing I was really at fault for everything, even if I did not understand why or how.

As a kid, I was also brainwashed. In a similar way, so it was not that I did not recognize it. I did. I was just defenseless against it. My dissociation got worse, I fell apart increasingly more, into more and more “parts.” My life became chaotic and utterly unpredictable, governed by her wishes and moods. If she felt like calling me out of nowhere to start doing therapy with me, I would be going with that, no questions asked, but equally, if it was about a work detail, I would drop everything else and get straight to it.

I had her on a special signal on my phone to not miss any messages from her; in the end that signal itself gave me so much anxiety I panicked just hearing it. At the same time, I used my dissociation to keep on being able to work, take care of my farm, and my children. I felt like I was drowning in front of people and no one intervened. And she, the therapist who was supposed to be the person supporting me, was the only person I could talk to about it, at the same time as she was my tormentor. It was an impossible situation.

We met at her place in her country. I traveled there for several days of intensive therapy, then I went home. During the time at home, I usually had some work to do for her (unpaid) and at times we also did Skype sessions, and we emailed and messaged on several different message apps. It was very intense. It was like being a 24/7 work slave, but also a 24/7 therapy client. Without any control or power over anything, whatsoever. All I could do, was to adjust and keep up.

Sometimes she thought I wanted to steal her ideas, or that I was insincere or tried to cheat to get some advantage, or that I lied and plotted against her. Then she became worse and I lived in absolute terror.

This person knew all my darkest secrets. And I had become utterly emotionally dependent on her. I was terrified she would dump me, which she in different ways did during all these years. I was also terrified she would use what she knew about me, prompting me to “get out of the closet,” to own my own story, before she could.

And it is in this very moment making me hesitant — if I can tell this story, maybe this is utterly wrong of me? Maybe I am this aggressive, almost evil person she used to paint me as? Am I trying to destroy her? Can I not, not be destructive?

Through all of this, I felt I loved her. That I would do anything for her. My loyalty knew no ends. Yet she would of course dismiss my love and tell me it was not true love. But she on the other hand was so gracious that she could love me. In my most hurt moments, I know the escalation of her telling me she loved me came when I finally, after 8 years, pulled back, and managed to stay away. Then she repeatedly would tell me she loved me and that she forgave me. That last part is also hurtful. Forgave me for what? I can feel my breath being taken away just hearing those words from her and the utter unfairness of it all.

This experience has led to me feeling even more naïve. How come I did not leave? How come I continued to protect and defend her? How come I continued to give all I had to her, until I was so broken and broke, I could no longer pay rent?

There were a few occasions when I was a bit more clear-sighted, usually after one of her outbursts and where she would either quit on me or withdraw, or both. It gave me some thinking space. And then I would share with a few people a bit about what was going on between us, and the people listening would be upset and tell me it was not right. But each of those times she would come back, milder, more caring, but also very dominantly reining me in.

I would confide in her and tell her it was like there were two railroads in my head, and when I was with her, I had no or very little doubt in anything she said or did, and when I was not, and was given more space, doubt snuck in and I felt how utterly exhausted, scared, lost, dependent and obedient I was being. It made me feel totally powerless.

How did I end up in this destructive relationship? I cannot tell you all here, because it is a lot. But I still think of this person almost every day. I still miss her. And I also know the person I miss does not exist. It is painful. But not as painful as it was living in that relationship. It almost killed me.

I had, despite my traumas, built a relatively thriving business before I met her by working very hard. I had a family. I had a good life. I sought trauma therapy because my stepfather, one of my worst abusers, had died and it had awakened a need and desire in me to once and for all deal with my childhood traumas.

For a long time, I thought that trauma therapy was supposed to be this hard. But in the same way as I knew as a child that the “relationships” I had with grown men was not right, or the way my mother treated me was not right, I also knew this “therapeutic” relationship was not right. But whatever I said about it to this therapist, she would claim that what I felt was really what she felt and that I was the one doing all the transgressions of boundaries. Since her rules of what I was allowed to do and not do kept on changing, I felt like I walked on a minefield in a very dark night. And each time I identified the spot for a mine, it was moved.

Maybe her experience of me was really this mirror? But it was a strange experience to hear my own feelings being shared with me like I was causing them, in her. If I felt that she was invasive in my life, she would tell me she felt invaded. And I would sit there trying to grasp what was happening. Then she would explain to me how I project. How I am angry and narcissistic and how hard she works to make me ”better.”

When I think of it, I still feel this swooshing feeling of how I am having the rug pulled out from under me and putting me in free fall.

I think the greatest harm perhaps was that the same person that I had to turn to for support and understanding, also was the person causing me harm. It froze me. I could not distance myself enough from her to have space to think properly and take measures to leave.

This experience has led to me feeling even more naïve. How come I did not leave? How come I continued to protect and defend her? How come I continued to give all I had to her, until I was so broken and broke, I could no longer pay rent? And yet, I said yes to work with her, again handing over all that I had left in me. Leading me further into homelessness and despair. But keeping the mask on, pretending all was fine, because I had invested so much into this relationship that letting go felt impossible?

All the things she has said to me during these years, all the things she has called me. Not all bad. If it had been all bad, I am pretty sure I would have left. But it was this roller coaster of highs and lows that kept me there. Each time I was on the brink of leaving, she made a complete turn around and praised me until I beamed with pride. So easy I made it for her… It made me feel like an instrument that she was playing.

It is horrible to not have a name on this harm. It is also horrible to have nowhere to go with it. I have tried to bring it to different therapists, but they react so strongly to what I tell them they cannot be there for me. Instead I have to be there for them and deal with their professional pride having been hurt.

I think the greatest harm perhaps was that the same person that I had to turn to for support and understanding, also was the person causing me harm. It froze me. I could not distance myself enough from her to have space to think properly and take measures to leave.

And… I still wonder if I misunderstood it all? Because that was what she told me. But when I think that, I can go back and think of the times she exploded on me, the times she did not behave ethically or kept to doing herself what she expected of me to do and be.

But how can I miss her? Despite all the pain she caused me? I know the answer — sometimes she was kindness all through. And I recognize that too in abusers. Abusers don’t abuse all the time. Sometimes they are very nice people.

If people just could understand that it is not always pure violence that keeps you scared, dependent, and powerless. It is this control that underlies it all. That they control what you feel, think, and do. It really feels like being a doll with a puppeteer. When they pull the strings, you dance until you are exhausted, and then you dance some more, because the alternative is that they cut you loose, and then you think you will die. There was a dependency constructed that she also hated. Meaning I constantly had to override myself to not show how scared I was, because my fears enraged her. In the end this exhausted me to where I did not have it in me to care any longer if she would discard me forever.

I keep telling myself that it was a systemic thing. That she was so caught in all that she believed in around therapy that she could not hear or see me.

I understand that I could not get out of that situation as a child (or I eventually did as a 13 year old), but as an adult woman? What led me to get stuck in such dynamics again?

I know. Unfulfilled childhood needs, but also adult needs. I longed for care, warmth, empathy, understanding, but also an equal and a companion.

I ask myself the classic question, why did I just not leave?

Now it has been 2 years since I “got out.” And I still have a long way to go. I am extremely vulnerable financially, and physically. Emotionally I am doing much better.

I will continue to pay off loans for this therapy and this “work alliance” for several more years. And my physical health is shit. I am trying to rebuild myself, but it is a slow process. And a complication is that nobody in my own country cares about all of this. I am on my own to sort it.

It has many times been close to leading to my utter collapse. Each time I manage to pull away from the brink of bankruptcy and giving up, something goes wrong, and I end up on that very same brink again. Living suspended like that in midair — is exhausting. I feel like I have been marinated in stress hormones for 10 years now and wonder how many additional years this will cost me in life expectancy?

But it has also given me a different outlook on life. There is very little I care about regarding what other people choose to do and think of me anymore. I have little to no expectations or anticipations.

And then there is this little hope that I am trying to manage, what if I was all wrong? What if we could meet again and she would listen and understand how hurt I was?

Am I out of the woods after two years? Would I run back if she called for me? This doubt in my own resilience led me to report her to her own ethical board, and after nine months of investigation they sent me this message “the disciplinary proceedings have been concluded. The decision is final. Disciplinary measures have been taken. We thank you for the courage, time and power you invested in the proceedings. We wish you all the best for the future.” And that is all the information about that process I will ever get. But at least it has kept me away from trying to reconnect with her.

I sometimes wonder what she thinks of me. Does she hate me? That would imply some sort of feelings or engagement. I usually end up thinking I am probably like air to her. But maybe she is still monitoring me, to see what I write about her? I wish I could hate her or be indifferent to her. I am not doing or being either. I am still sometimes angry with her. But maybe I am mostly just still in shock?

I keep telling myself that it was a systemic thing. That she was so caught in all that she believed in around therapy that she could not hear or see me. And I think this is a huge part of what happened. But of course, there is this nagging question. What if it was personal?

And I do also wonder, what if we were two people struggling, both drowning? But that was impossible to talk about, since part of her psychotherapeutic belief was in what she called abstinence. Which she interpreted as a need for the therapist to be emotionally/personally abstinent within the therapy and since she claimed being with me was always therapy, she was always “abstinent.” It did not stop her from being extremely present in all other ways in my life, but the equality she talked about me not living up to, could simply not be there, due to her theoretical beliefs (or were those something she just hid behind)?

I have so many questions. And I will never get any answers from her.

To say that I was retraumatized is an understatement. To say that I lost nearly everything is the truth. I still am unwilling to admit the extreme cost of this “adventure” to myself.

I have written about this relationship before. I try new angles. I still feel I am not capturing it. The width of the horror I felt. It is like I hear from people, “chin up, she was not a romantic partner, she did not physically harm you or sexually molest you, so it cannot have been that harmful.” So yeah, I am internally minimizing the experience. But I am also without any kind of support and understanding from others of it. So I blame myself. It is not hard to conclude that I fucked up. That I made a dumb decision. That I should have understood better. That I should just have left. Even if I can see the mechanisms leading me there, I still ask myself, what on earth made me hand over everything to her? All my resources, all my money, all my time, all my energy, all my connections. And what made me keep on giving away all that came my way, way beyond the point where I had anything left for myself?

This is when I on bad days tell myself it it was far beyond loyalty, it was stupidity. All for the chance of being accepted and finding equality and understanding.

For anyone who says bad therapy is not so dangerous. I can honestly say this is the most dangerous thing I have been involved in. It almost drove me insane and to commit suicide. And I have done and experienced some other very dangerous things and situations before this in my life. But that which alters your mind is so insidious. You lose your own trust in your own faculties. You lose anchoring in reality and live in a parallel world. And you are so utterly alone with it. And that this could happen to me as an adult really threw me off. I should have known better. Why had I not learned to protect myself better?

To say that I was retraumatized is an understatement. To say that I lost nearly everything is the truth. I still am unwilling to admit the extreme cost of this “adventure” to myself.

But believe it or not, I am also eager to leave it behind. I know I cannot force this process, but I do long for day when I will not think of her, when I will engage fully in life without any leftover from what she implanted in me about me. I long for the day when she will just be a faded memory.

Part of my healing is writing about it. Over and over. And sharing it — to counter any shame I still have over my dumbness and my eagerness to be liked and appreciated by her.

When was I ready to leave her? A few things happened leading to me finally putting my foot down and standing by myself and my own decision to leave. But most of all it was a slow process of me learning to love and respect myself more than I loved and respected her. In that way, it can be said that the therapy was a success.

But it should not be that hard to get there. It should not almost cost you your life. (And there is a part of me saying, I got there despite that kind of “therapy,” not because of it…)

This article was originally posted in the publication “Fourth Wave” on Medium. You find some of my articles on harmful therapy and iatrogenic harm from psychiatry here on Substack, and others on Medium. For now, more of the therapy harm articles still sits only on Medium. I am trying to spead awareness and am still exploring different platforms for that. I am still a newcomer to Substack, but am also publishing more of my articles here.

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