I know her mother died, but she’s literally my lifeline—and she just left me hanging

Sari: I realize you just lost your mother, but I’m flailing and need your guidance. Can’t you slot me in for a few minutes?

Aliza: I know my clients need me, but after this shock and grief I’m barely functioning myself

Sari

Something about the small room with its soft pastel walls and neat arrangement of teddy bears and other knickknacks on the shelves made me feel calmer just from walking inside.

It didn’t always feel that way. I used to cringe at first, sliding inside and shutting that door behind me as fast as I possibly could, lest anyone pass or see or realize what I was doing here. But that was months ago, and now, I’ll even admit that I look forward to Tuesdays at three. It’s kind of like emotional yoga. Or a deep tissue massage for the soul, or whatever you want to call it.

Sure, therapy can be hard work, and yes, it hurts. Sometimes. Maybe even often. But… it’s good. It’s really good. And I definitely feel like I’ve been making progress, although today….

“Yesterday was a disaster,” I told Aliza as I settled down and placed my bag on the empty armchair. “It was like everything we ever spoke about went out the window and I just got it all wrong. I blew up, Batya blew up, and there we were, arguing like toddlers instead of me being the calm one and the adult in the room, you know?”

I was rambling and I knew it, but sometimes, coming into therapy is like opening the lid of a soda bottle after it’s been shaken vigorously. Everything just kind of explodes out in a mess on the floor, and then you spend the rest of the session, well, cleaning up.

Aliza was listening intently, head tilted to one side, compassion in her eyes. At first, I’d wondered why she was so quiet, until I realized that she was simply letting me talk, without jumping in to rescue me or steer the conversation.

When I stopped for breath, Aliza said, “It sounds like you had a really rough time yesterday.”

I reached for a tissue. Why did coming to therapy literally, like, flick a switch and turn on the waterworks? Maybe it was just nice to have some sympathy for a change. After Batya stormed off yesterday, Aryeh gave me this look, like he felt bad for me but this was totally my fault, and then he took Batya along “for the drive” when he drove out to do the grocery shopping later on. So that they could spend the whole ride talking about me, I’ll bet.

She would never come in the car with me if she didn’t absolutely have to.

And I still don’t get how this all happened.

“I just feel like such a failure,” I mumbled, looking away from Aliza and fixing my eyes on the wall behind her.

She waited a beat and then said, “Can we look at that part, Sari? This ‘failure’ part that keeps on coming up?”

I gave a watery smirk. “I knew you’d say that.”

She offered a small smile, but didn’t get sidetracked. “So—”

There was a buzzing sound from the small desk at Aliza’s side. She glanced at it, looking taken aback, and I followed her gaze.

“I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to turn my phone on silent—” she reached for it, looking puzzled, and then the buzzing stopped and started again. It wasn’t coming from the phone in her hand.

“I’m sorry, Sari. Give me just one moment.” Aliza stood up, rummaged through her pocketbook, and pulled out a second phone. Now I remembered — back when we started, she’d told me that she had a second line, for emergencies only, and that only her husband had that number. If there was a genuine emergency during a session, she said, she would have to take the call. But, she’d told me at the time, that had only happened once during years of practice, and there was no reason to worry it would happen again.

And it hadn’t — until now.