Therapist Stories Novels & Stories

--- THE END Final Author's Note to Reader (Sloane's voice): So. That's my story. The story of how I fell in love with my therapist and we burned down our entire lives for each other. I know what you're thinking. I know all the reasons this is wrong. The age gap. The power dynamic. The professional ethics. Trust me, I've heard it all. From my parents. From his colleagues. From random strangers on the internet who found out and felt entitled to an opinion.

I clear my throat. “Em yeah. Yeah, he did,” I say, looking everywhere but at the chief. The look he gives me next says that he does not believe me, but he chooses not to chase the topic. The patient-to therapist relationship was a big deal in my profession. The chiefs would not even hesitate to take the therapist out. Meanwhile, I have been one of the physical therapists for Jake Tanner’s team for two years. The reason I had never worked with Jake was because he was attended to by the other male therapist. Luckily for me, no one has ever complained about me until now.

I found myself going on and on to someone for the first time. Already Dominic yelling at me over the phone made me upset, and then the not-so-coward saying a bunch of crap made me furious, and I needed to take it out on someone. “I am so sorry about that. But, it is always these types of stories, and I am not a social worker or a therapist or anything. I am not the person you should be lamenting to about your problems. Because trust me when I say people have used these same types of stories, and they come to you whining and begging you to understand. Prices get dropped for them, and you make some changes around, and then the next minute, you see that, in fact, they were not suffering at all.

Markum says while showing me a picture of her family. He even offers to schedule a video call with her if I want. He explained that “She would love to talk to me too. She won’t judge and will share her life experience. She understands it to be therapeutic to her recovery in helping others.” A story like this only makes me want to try harder to get over the last two years. I know it would have gotten worse, and I’m glad I got out when I did. Reinforcing the better situation I’m in now. All this is so amazing, the people, the stories. It’s more than I could have hoped to be part of when meeting Justine. I’m happy to be here with them, even if it’s only for a brief time.

She said as she made her way to the door slamming the door as I rolled my eyes must she be so dramatic and hot she looks when she's mad. I take my bath wearing some sweatpants and a black wife-beater shirt as I get to the bedroom and Sapphire was on the bed talking to someone on her laptop. " I understand he broke your heart after ten years of marriage and he abused you but trying to kill yourself is just wrong". "How will you understand, you're not even married". Someone sniffed as I laid on the bed. She scoffed " Look I'm married and I'm your therapist and I don't include my personal life so I prefer you don't Mrs Blake.

You are the author of that story, a work of fiction is a work of fiction. Author’s Note (I hope this doesn’t come off as offensive): I’ve seen some comments about therapy seeming like a bad thing. Therapy is not weakness, it is an admittance that you need help you may not be able to provide yourself. Mental health issues are not a joke and deserve audience. Some of us have been through traumatic experiences, loss of loved ones, accidents, bullying, harassment, to name a few. The character, Leah, went through all these, each single one mentioned above. There’s no justification for what she did, but you can’t fault her for needing help.

“I thought you’d given up coming here.” “I haven’t given up, Dr. Mark; I’ve just been too busy to make an appointment,” I sighed. I’ve been seeing Dr. Mark for a few years, trying to have theraphy sessions to get over everything that has happened in my life. He’s an older gentleman, with salt and pepper hair and a medium build. I found him very easy to open up to. I suppose that’s why I continued seeing him for so long. I’ve tried other therapists, including women, but it became too complicated when they wanted to sleep with me instead of trying to help me.

They knew that their love story was not limited to the boundaries of their contract; it was a deep bond that transcended labels and expectations. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Katara established herself as a counselor and advocate. Her office became a sanctuary for those seeking solace and guidance, a place where they could share their deepest fears and hopes without judgment. She held their stories delicately, providing a safe space for healing and growth. Word of Katara's compassionate and transformative approach spread quickly, and soon her schedule filled with clients from all walks of life. Each session was an opportunity for her to connect on a profound level

When I pushed through the building’s front door, I stood on the sidewalk for a second, breathing hard, watching my breath fog. My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it and started walking toward the parking lot where my beat-up Honda waited. My arm throbbed where she’d grabbed it so I pulled up my sleeve and to no surprise red marks were already bruising into fingerprints. Great. Even therapists have issues, I thought, and the thought was so absurd I almost laughed. But the laugh died in my throat. He’d told me he was divorced and believed him. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He was the professional. The one who was supposed to have his shit together so he could help me figure out mine.

I do like him a lot but at the moment I need to focus on myself. I still can’t cope with the violation against my body. Today has been different from the other days, The doctor has been around to check my wounds and he asked if I was ready to talk about what happened to me and all I could do was shake my head. I had to tell him what happened to me and I know he won’t blab to anyone because of doctor-patient confidentiality. I do have a therapist, and as every independent businesswoman in New York, I do therapy once a week. Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s more of a venting situation than anything else. I just don’t feel ready to talk about it yet.