The Time I Ghosted My Therapist

I had been seeing Dr. Evans for about six months. She had kind eyes, a no-nonsense attitude, and a frighteningly accurate way of cutting through my sarcasm like a laser-guided missile aimed directly at my emotional baggage. Week after week, I showed up to her office pretending I was just there for fun, like therapy was a quirky hobby I picked up between failed relationships and spontaneous existential crises.

But deep down, I knew she was getting somewhere. And that terrified me.

You see, therapy was great until it started working.

One Tuesday afternoon, Dr. Evans said something that stuck with me like a popcorn kernel in the back of my throat: “You avoid confrontation so thoroughly, you even avoid yourself.” I laughed nervously. Classic move. Then I said something about my childhood pet, made a joke about emotional repression being my love language, and we moved on. Or so I thought.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

That night I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her words echoing in my brain like a passive-aggressive ghost: You even avoid yourself... avoid yourself... avoid yourself...

So I did what any rational, emotionally stunted adult would do.

I ghosted her.

At first, I simply “forgot” to respond to her appointment reminder email. Easy. Blame it on spam. Then I let the next session roll around and hit her with the classic “Sorry! Been so busy!” text. But by week three, I’d gone full paranormal—no calls, no replies, no trace of me anywhere. Just a vapor trail of avoidance and shame.

I even avoided walking by her office. I took a different route to the coffee shop, like a criminal dodging a crime scene. Every time I saw someone in a beige pantsuit, I flinched. I had gone full ghost—and not the sexy Halloween kind. The emotionally avoidant kind, wrapped in a blanket of denial and lukewarm self-awareness.

What I didn’t expect was how deeply it would mess with me.

You’d think ghosting your therapist would be freeing. No more digging into childhood wounds, no more crying in front of someone who says “mmm” a lot while writing mysterious notes. I should have felt liberated.

Instead, I felt haunted.

There was this weird silence in my life—like my inner monologue lost its editor. Suddenly, I had no place to unload my mess, and it started leaking into everything. I snapped at a barista for spelling my name “Sara” instead of “Sarah.” I cried watching a pet food commercial. I started re-reading our old therapy session notes like they were love letters from an ex I never appreciated.

And then came the dream.

I dreamt I was sitting on her couch with a literal ghost sheet over my head. Two black circles for eyes. Dr. Evans calmly took notes as I spoke in muffled ghost noises, and every time I tried to leave, she said, “You can’t haunt what you haven’t healed.” I woke up in a cold sweat, clutching my anxiety like a teddy bear.

That dream broke me. Or maybe, it woke me up.

The next morning, I sent her an email:

> Subject: Oops, I ghosted you

Hi Dr. Evans,

I’ve been avoiding therapy because—surprise—I’m bad at facing things. Including myself. I realize that’s ironic. Possibly even textbook.

Can we pick up where we left off?

P.S. I had a dream where I wore a ghost costume in your office. Interpret that how you will.

– Sarah

She replied within hours:

> Hi Sarah,

Thanks for coming back.

Tuesdays at 2 PM still available.

And yes, I’ve had patients dream of stranger things.

– Dr. Evans

That session was awkward. I won’t lie. I walked in like a cat returning home after knocking over an expensive vase. I half-expected her to scold me or give me homework for every week I missed. Instead, she simply said, “So, you ghosted me. Let’s talk about that.”

And we did.

We talked about my fear of vulnerability, my tendency to run the moment I feel seen, and why confrontation—even internal confrontation—makes my stomach feel like a balloon animal being twisted into something unrecognizable. We laughed about the ghost dream. I cried a little. Okay, a lot. And at the end of the session, I said something that surprised both of us:

“I think I’m ready to stop haunting myself.”

Therapy isn’t magic. It doesn’t fix you. But it does help you hold a flashlight when you’re stumbling through emotional darkness. And sometimes, you have to disappear for a bit to realize you actually want to be seen.

So yeah, I ghosted my therapist once.

But thankfully, she had the patience—and the professionalism—to wait for me to take off the sheet and come back.

And this time, I’m staying.