The Therapist Who Gaslit Me Into Thinking I Was the Problem

The Therapist Who Gaslit Me Into Thinking I Was the Problem

I thought therapy was supposed to heal you.
I thought therapists were supposed to help you find clarity.
What I didn’t know—what no one warned me about—is that when you give your mind to the wrong person, they can twist it into something unrecognizable.

This is the story of how the very person I trusted to help me recover broke me even further.

The First Session: Finally, Hope

I was desperate when I first walked into her office.
Let’s call her “Dr. A.”

It was the middle of the pandemic. I’d just come out of a toxic relationship, was laid off from my job, and was barely sleeping. Anxiety had wrapped itself around my chest so tightly that I sometimes forgot how to breathe. I knew I needed help.

Dr. A was warm, articulate, and had that calm energy that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t crazy. She nodded at all the right moments. She seemed to get me. I left that first session thinking, This is it. I’m finally going to get better.

And for a little while, it felt like I was.

The Subtle Shift

It didn’t happen all at once. That’s the thing about gaslighting—it’s not loud. It’s a whisper that slowly drowns out your inner voice.

At first, she challenged me in ways that felt productive.

When I told her my ex used to scream at me during fights, she asked, “What do you think you were doing to trigger that reaction?”

When I said my mother emotionally neglected me as a child, she responded with, “Are you sure you're not just interpreting her behavior through a victim lens?”

I remember blinking. Confused. Unsure.

But she was the professional. I wanted to trust her. So I leaned in.

Over the next few months, I stopped telling stories about how I’d been hurt and started digging for how I had caused it. I became obsessed with “taking accountability.” I stopped trusting my instincts. I started believing maybe I was the toxic one. Maybe I had exaggerated the trauma. Maybe I deserved what happened to me.

Rewriting Reality

One day, I told her I was thinking about cutting off contact with my father, a man who had emotionally abused me my whole life.

She paused.

Then she said, “I think your desire to cut people off comes from your discomfort with being challenged.”

I felt my stomach drop. I knew she was wrong—but the doubt crept in anyway.

I left that session crying in my car, not because I was sad, but because I felt like I had betrayed myself. I knew I wasn’t afraid of being challenged. I was afraid of being hurt again. But I couldn’t say it out loud. I’d already been taught not to trust my pain.

That’s when I started gaslighting myself.

The Breaking Point

Six months in, I had a panic attack in her office. It wasn’t the first time, but this one was different. I was shaking, hyperventilating, unable to form words. I had been triggered by a memory I didn’t expect.

She looked at me and said calmly, “You're having this reaction because you’re not doing the work. You’re choosing to stay in a victim mindset.”

There was no softness. No grounding. No empathy. Just diagnosis.

In that moment, I felt smaller than I ever had in my life.

And somehow—despite the screaming in my body—I still tried to believe her.

Maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe I was just lazy with my healing.

That night, I self-harmed for the first time in years.

The Escape

It wasn’t one big revelation that saved me. It was a thousand tiny moments where I realized my sessions were leaving me more confused, more ashamed, and more broken than when I arrived.

I started reading about therapy ethics, gaslighting, and emotional invalidation. And then I found it: a Reddit post from a woman describing almost the exact same experience with her therapist. Every sentence felt like a mirror.

I finally said it to myself: It’s not me. It’s her.

I ghosted Dr. A the next day. No closure. No goodbye.

I didn’t owe it to her.

The Aftermath

It took me over a year to try therapy again.

This time, I chose a trauma-informed therapist who emphasized consent, validation, and collaboration. Someone who didn’t make me feel like my pain was a problem to be solved—but something to be held with compassion.

That new therapist helped me rebuild what had been so carefully torn down.

She taught me how to re-trust my gut, how to validate my own experience, how to stop apologizing for my emotions. She even helped me work through the trauma of my first therapist, which, ironically, was the hardest to name.

Because who wants to admit that the person who was supposed to help you hurt you instead?

Why I’m Telling This Story

I hesitated to write this. I didn’t want to scare anyone away from therapy. The right therapist can save your life.

But the wrong one?

The wrong one can make you feel like your suffering is your fault. Like your memories are fiction. Like you’re too broken to fix.

If you’re in therapy and constantly feeling more ashamed, more doubtful, or more disconnected from yourself, that is not “growth.” That is not “accountability.” That is harm.

You’re allowed to fire your therapist. You’re allowed to walk away. You’re allowed to say, “This doesn’t feel right.”

I’m telling this story because someone out there needs to hear it:

You’re not the problem.
You never were.Start writing...