Since beginning my therapeutic journey in 2008, I have made it a practice—without fail—to say
“Thank you” as I walk out of every session. On the surface, it is a simple, unremarkable phrase.
Two words people often say automatically, without thought. For me, it has never been
automatic. It carries weight. Meaning. History. And gratitude far deeper than the phrase itself
can hold.
It is now 2026, and I currently work with three therapists. Yes—three. I affectionately refer to
them as The Justice League. In my eyes and in my heart, these three women are nothing short
of superheroes. Each plays a distinct and essential role in my healing, and together they hold a
space that no single person ever could.
In 2008, I met Jenny—my very first therapist. She was assigned to me without ceremony, simply the person I was paired with when I made the tentative, terrifying decision to try therapy at all. Nearly two decades later, Jenny and I still work together, largely through traditional talk
therapy. She has witnessed my evolution from the beginning—every false start, every fracture,
every hard-earned insight.
In 2018, I found myself searching for an Equine Assisted Therapy program. After hesitation,
skepticism, and a lot of Googling, I found Allie. When I first called her, I was direct—almost bracing myself for disappointment. I told her I had Dissociative Identity Disorder and asked the question I had learned to ask out of necessity and self-protection: “Do you work with clients who have DID?” I asked because, even in 2018, I had heard too many horror stories—therapists who lacked experience, who caused harm, or who didn’t believe DID existed at all. Allie answered without
hesitation: Yes. The confidence in her voice—its steadiness, its ease—was reassuring. I trusted
it. A week later, I made the hour-plus drive to her farm, not knowing then how profoundly that
decision would shape my healing.
In 2021, during a session with Allie, I mentioned that Jenny had suggested I try EMDR. Once
again, fear crept in—fueled by the cautionary tales I had absorbed from the DID community. I
still remember the moment clearly. Allie* smiled and said, “I have a friend who does EMDR.”
I responded—perhaps a little sharply—“Does she have advanced training? Has she worked with
clients with DID?” The words flew out, propelled by fear more than skepticism. Alloe* simply
said, “Hold on—I can text her. Would you like me to?”
I paused. Thought. Then said yes.
By the time I arrived home from that long drive, I had messages waiting for me: Yes, she has
advanced training. Yes, she has worked with clients with DID. She would work with you. She
offers telehealth. Do you want her information?
My reply was immediate: Yes. Send it.
Enter Sonja. Our first session took place later that year. I was deeply anxious—despite extensive research, conversations with trusted therapists, and talks with fellow multiples, I realized I still didn’t truly understand EMDR. When Sonja appeared on my phone screen, she introduced herself with
warmth and calm. She wasn’t intimidating. She wasn’t clinical or cold. She explained
EMDR—what it is, how she practices it, and how it supports neurological healing.
By the end of that session, I surprised myself by thinking, Alright. Let’s do this.
Since 2008, there have been only a handful of times I’ve left a session without saying “Thank
you.” And there are only two reasons for that. Either the session delivered a dose of truth so
sharp it left me angry and unwilling to speak—or the work was so intense that I left dissociated,
words temporarily inaccessible. I have never failed to say thank you because I simply forgot.
This past Monday, during a session with Jenny, my thoughts were scattered—jumping from one topic to another—until a question surfaced. I asked, “Can I ask you something?” She said yes. “Do you know why I always say thank you at the end of every session?” She looked genuinely puzzled. “No,” she said. “Why?” Emotion surged unexpectedly. Vulnerability rose fast and heavy. I fought tears as I said, “Because you—and Allie—and Sonja—give me the only space where I feel truly safe. Where I feel heard. I have never felt that what I had to say mattered. Never had a place where I felt safe like this. My gratitude goes far beyond those two words. Sometimes ‘thank you’ doesn’t feel like enough.” Jenny—normally composed, measured—teared up. As a tear slipped down her cheek, she
reached for a tissue and attributed her reaction to PMS. I smiled and said gently, “I don’t believe
that for one minute.”
There is a common misconception that therapists are emotional receptacles—robots we unload
trauma onto and then leave behind. They are not. They are human. And in that moment,
watching Jenny* wipe her tears, I felt an overwhelming certainty: choosing therapy all those
years ago was not a mistake. Letting her in—fully—was not a mistake.
So yes. I have The Justice League. Three extraordinary women who offer me a space where I
can be unapologetically myself, in whatever form that takes. They often go far beyond what is
required of them—beyond any job description. Words will never fully capture how much they
have helped me, how deeply they matter, or how profoundly grateful I am.
But I will always say it anyway.
Thank you.
*names of therapists have been changed
