I was on the phone to my therapist for skills coaching. At the end of the phone call, as I was about to put the phone down, she gently said my name.
“Yes?” I questioned, waiting for her reply.
“I love you sooo much” She said, an emphasis on the ‘so’. I was utterly taken aback.
“Did you just say that!?” I asked, trying to keep my cool.
“Yes, I did. And I would like us to discuss it in our next session together. It is important that we process what hearing it brings up for you”
A vision of her cooing over me in a motherly role popped into my head. My heart fluttered with one thousand butterflies. A smile broke across my face and refused to go down.
She had finally told me that she loved me, and I could finally relax with relief and youthful glee and a feeling of being whole again.
And then of course, as tends to happen in these situations, I frikkin’ woke up didn’t I?
‘It was just a dream, The End’ and all that.
Of course it was just a dream. Of course my therapist can never say she loves me. Of course she cannot love me, and never will, anyway.