I will remember it all as love.

I made my therapist cry today, and I'm grateful for her authentic emotional reaction. It wasn't an appeal for care-giving (thank you, "Attachment Theory and Research in Clinical Work with Adults") but an expression of empathy to match the magnitude of the news I told her. It was appropriate. She could have been a blank slate, but she wasn't. And I'm grateful, because never in my life had I ever made someone express such pride in me.

It was exactly what I needed.

And I'm cradling some intense emotions in return. I know approximately three things about my therapist, but I still love her. I wish she was my Real Mom, because I trust and admire her so much. It's easy to love her and need her now, because I've spent a year opening myself up to it, and because she's spent 17 years learning how to facilitate that.

Life isn't about easy.

My therapist comes with a whole Personhood, a whole life, a whole past, present and future, that I'm not a part of or connected to, beyond this therapeutic relationship to which we've committed ourselves. And I, I am a Person too, with a whole life, a whole past, present and future, that she's not a part of, beyond what I share, and after next week I won't be there to share anymore.

I still love her, because I know it's okay to feel that way. She's cared about me in a way no one else has. She showed me how to care about myself in the same way. She showed me how to care about others. And she showed me how to let others care for me. I will always love her for that, even if I never see her again.

I love her more for our relationship being so limited and one-sided. It takes a special strength to be able to sit with someone in such complex pain and to see them struggle and change and grow. It takes a special person to let yourself attach to so many, to have such a big part in their lives, and to let go again and again.

I only know three things, and none of those three things matter, because I see more. I see what she's done for me; I see how hard it has been. I've seen her share my pain. I've seen her desire to take my pain away. I've seen her hope. I've seen her pride. I've made her laugh. We connected. And I will remember it all as love.

I will remember it so I know how to find it again: in my mum, in my husband, in my dad, in my brother, and in my friends.

I will remember it so I can find it in myself.

And next week, I will tell her every last word of this, because I want her to know it. I want her to have that piece of me. And that's attachment, isn't it? I won't see her again after next week. She has dozens of other clients. She has colleagues, family and friends. And I still want her to know me. Until the very last moment.