PS: The Apology I Wish I’d Gotten

I wrote the apology I wished my therapist had had the courage to write. It's long, it's theoretical, and writing it was the point.

Three Months of Hell

We went back to twice-weekly sessions. Sam disclosed more and more. The more she disclosed, the closer I felt — and the more confused and trapped.

An Expert Weighs In

Dr. Paul Appelbaum, one of the country's leading forensic psychiatrists, reviewed the evidence and concluded my therapist had markedly deviated from her professional obligations.

The First Next Session

Despite wanting to end it, I went back. Sam persuaded me to continue. What followed was worse than what came before.

Letter to Sam

I wrote my therapist a goodbye letter. It didn't stick — which is why there are 14 more chapters after this one.

“Sometimes what feels like love is just love.” — Sam

I told my therapist I was experiencing transference. She told me it wasn't transference. She said sometimes what feels like love is just love.

In Which I Have Two Dreams

I was a vivid dreamer. My therapist was a prolific note-taker of my dreams. After months of pushing about our "connection," she finally appeared in two of them.

Sam Wants to Talk About Our Relationship

My therapist kept bringing up "who we are to each other." I kept saying: you're my therapist. She kept not accepting that answer.