“We’ve never done anything together that I’ve actually cared about,” says my client. She sat across from me, staring blankly. She’s sitting there on my black leather sofa, staring at the wall behind me. There’s a picture of a beach sunset in a mahogany frame. That picture has sat there for 30 years, its deep blue turn purpley pink sky reflecting off the water, with white fluffy sand. My husband bought it for me when I got the news that I was finally able to open up my practice. We signed the lease and he gave me that gorgeous picture, only it was in an oak frame back then. Till about 7 or 8 years in when a 10 year old boy whose parents were getting a divorce threw a toy truck at his father, missed him and cracked the frame. I had invited his father in to have a meeting about the progress we were making, or lack thereof. Both of them got quickly agitated. My daughter bought me the mahogany frame soon after, it looks better in mahogany anyway, she has more interior decor skills then her father.

She wasn’t looking at the painting though, she was looking at the pale wall. My desk sat right below it, with papers all across it and my laptop open to Spotify playing soothing music. I’m in my armchair with my notebook and pen looking down at the coffee table that sat between us. On the coffee table is her phone, face up. It reads 12:55, we have 5 more minutes till the session is over. Too long to pretend she didn’t just say what she said, I have to address it. But her saying that broke something in me.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, prying my eyes off her phone and trying to make eye contact.

“Nothing you’ve ever said has helped me at all.” She says blankly, as if she’s a machine fulfilling a program. I’ve been seeing this client for a year and a half. I know for a fact she doesn’t mean a word she’s saying. She got fired from her job a week ago, that coupled with her severe depression and her refusal to medication means she’s in a fragile state right now. The first thing everyone learns in this career is never take anything anyone says in sessions personally, it’s not about you. Either that or you can’t help everyone, both of which much harder to come to terms with then you might think. I learned both these lessons 25 years ago. But something about what she said, or the way she said it, makes me feel like I’m in my early 20s again. Wanting to help everyone, save everyone, make a real difference. 2 minutes.

“Well our time is almost up, I think we should both do some reflection on what you said. I’ll see you next week and we can talk about this more.” Without a word she gets up, grabs her phone, and walks out the door.

Once she leaves the room I let out a raspy sob I didn’t know I was holding. 30 years of this. 30 years of seeing people with depression, anxiety, PTSD, personality disorders, family struggles, financial struggles, social issues, learning disabilities and more. I’ve seen kids, parents, adults, and elderly people. I’ve switched my specialty about every decade, gone back to school 8 times to study more and learn more. All to help people. I’ve dedicated my life to helping people.

I walk out of my office, and cross the street to my car. I started driving. I’m driving, but not home. I take random turns through this town I’ve lived in for 35 years. I decided to get on the interstate. I ended up driving for 3 hours. I end up at a diner. I’m sitting in the parking lot when my phone rings.

“Hey honey, are you doing ok?” My husband asks.

“I don’t think so.”

“Honey, where are you?”

“Fairfeild, I just started driving.” I say starting to tear up. He hears the shaking in my voice.

“Ok, that’s ok. Do you want to stay there tonight?”

“I don’t think I can drive all the way back tonight, it’s 4 and I’m exhausted.” I say trying to not sound like I’m crying, I’m not doing a good job at it.

“Ok, you have a room at the Hilton, I love you.” My heart swells.

“Thank you, love you too.” I say as I hang up the phone. I sniff back tears and head into the diner.

I order a burger to go and head to my hotel room. My husband booked the room for me, I’m so glad I have him. As I open the door to my room I walk to the bed and collapse on to it. I eat my burger and turn on the TV. I settle on watching shark tank. As I sit there I think about everything. How my career has amounted to nothing. I’ve tried so hard to help people, but I’ve done nothing. I sat there thinking about that little boy, and the hundred others I’ve seen like him, I think about the women, and the hundred others I’ve seen like her. All the people tried so hard to help.

At around 7 I hear a knock on the door. I get up to go answer it and as I open it I see my husband standing there.

“Hey honey,” he says in the sweetest voice. I say nothing, I just collapse into him. I finally started to cry, real crying. Crying all the tears I’ve held in for 30 years. My husband says nothing, he just sits with me on the bed as I cry. He holds me, with a soft kiss on my forehead every once in a while. Once I’m out of tears I finally speak.

“Thank you,” is the only thing I can think of to say. I don’t know how to tell him he saved my life tonight.

“I love you honey.”