During our sessions, Melissa taught me emotional tapping for anxiety, then performed EMDR on me to help lessen my chances of panicking in the future. Finally, she gave me every indication to believe that she was just as attracted to me as I had become to her, though I liked her more for who she was than for what she looked like. We even exchanged contact information, something Melissa seemed delighted to do. I hoped that eventually we could at least keep in touch online or by phone now and then, even if we never actually got together in person.
During that final session with Melissa, it was as if a third personality had emerged. We started off with the quiet, professional Melissa, then shifted to the chattier Melissa—the one who seemed to really like me—and, for our last meeting, there was the cold, standoffish Melissa.
I could only guess that her feelings grew too strong for her comfort and that she became scared by them. I still stand by what I saw and heard: there was no doubt that she was just as into me as I had been into her. Even though she never came out and directly said so, it was in her body language and in the way she phrased certain things. As intuitive as I was, there was no way I had suddenly become that bad at reading people.
I had heard many times before that it was common for patients to acquire either a crush or some type of fondness for their therapists, although this had never happened to me before Melissa—and I had seen half a dozen therapists in my lifetime.
I also heard that of all the different types of doctors, therapist/patient friendships or relationships were the most likely to occur, since patients share more intimate details with therapists than they usually would with medical doctors.
Just as surprising as Melissa’s change in personality was her change in appearance that last day I saw her. She went from very average, to having “something about her”—maybe that sexy smile—to bordering on a hottie. It was the first time I’d seen her face fully made up. I’d seen her wear eyeliner before, but I was pretty sure I’d never seen her in mascara, and even more sure I’d never seen her with lipstick. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was for my benefit in any way. She truly did look beautiful. Even her hair was a little longer, flowing in curly layers just below her neck. Her nose was sexy from the side, and I had never realized before how long her eyelashes were. She still dressed conservatively in shades of blue, but the outfit she wore that day accentuated her great body. She couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. I honestly couldn’t find one part of her to complain about. Okay, maybe her nail polish was boring as hell, and maybe her legs were a little too thin, but she was absolutely gorgeous for being in her late fifties. Hardly any wrinkles, great complexion… something your average twenty-something would envy.
“Can I ask you something?”
Melissa nodded.
“Would you ever have called me if I hadn’t called you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you seem so happy to get my contact info if you knew you weren’t going to use it?” I asked.
She blinked, seemingly caught off guard by my directness. Several seconds later she said, “I thought it through. I, well, I just thought it was nice of you to share like that.”
After mumbling a few more excuses that made no sense, she assured me that I was never going to get the outcome I wanted.
But what outcome did I think I wanted? I didn’t have any set plans or goals in mind, to be honest. But I did have hope—the hope she herself had given me—about keeping in touch.
And so, just as she “thought it through,” so did I. I canceled the appointment we’d made for two weeks later and sent her a long, detailed letter expressing my feelings and concerns. I let her know that while she may not have meant to make me feel the way I did, I felt led on, hurt, surprised, disappointed, and a little angry.
This was the kind of behavior one expected from the young and naïve—not an older counselor.
So I sealed up the envelope one brisk morning and dropped it in the mail. Since I didn’t expect her to admit to anything if my suspicions were correct, and I certainly didn’t expect her to apologize for how badly she’d made me feel, I assumed we were done with each other and that I would never see or hear from her again.
I assumed wrong.
ns216.73.216.121da2
and then Add to home screen.