The Beginning

In 2018, I was a 53-year-old, married father who was employed as a marketing consultant at a company I founded. “Samantha (Sam) Lyman” is a pseudonym for my former therapist, a licensed clinical social worker then practicing in White Plains, NY and Watertown, CT.

I first sought treatment from Ms. Lyman in June of 2018. At that time, my teenage son was experiencing difficulties in his social life and was clearly struggling. To help me cope with the situation, my son’s therapist suggested that I see a therapist myself and sought recommendations for me. He recommended “Samantha Lyman, LCSW,” a student of theirs who had been recently certified by their psychoanalytic program.

It wasn’t just my son’s behavior that was troubling–it had led to my wife and me growing a bit more distant. When I first saw Ms. Lyman, I told her my three goals were to cope with what was happening with my son, to find a way to get back to a closer connection with my wife, and–because she was trained as a psychoanalyst–to generally get to know myself better.

Sam was about a year older than I, slim with blonde hair–not a spitting image but not terribly far from Shelley Long’s character on Cheers–with a slightly patrician Connecticut Yankee air. Her similar age allowed for some easy communication using cultural references and it was easy to pick up what the other was saying through both a mutual commitment to being open, a willingness to question anything either of us didn’t understand, and a generational shorthand.

After about 9 months of therapy, I felt very connected and trusting of Sam. She had watched me go through some truly awful things and she had helped me put them in perspective. Therapy was valuable and I appreciated her guidance. All the more because she and I seemed so different.

I was telling her one day how valuable I found therapy but in doing so observed that had we met in some other situation I didn’t think we’d have become friends. She asked me why I felt that and I pointed out that she had a lot of the Connecticut Yankee in her whereas I was a New York Jewish guy, that I was a very good conversationalist when I knew someone or in a situation where there was something specific to get a conversation started, but otherwise was shy about new people.

Several months later, apropos of nothing, she reminded me of my having said that and told me her internal reaction to my saying we wouldn’t have been friends had been “Why the hell not?” I was taken aback, thinking I had offended her but also thinking that if therapy is a safe space I shouldn’t have to worry about her feelings. But here I was now, worried about her feelings and apologizing and trying to explain and make it better. Keep this in mind; I think it’s really where the story of our mutual breakdown starts.