When I was in the process of getting ready to retire, I heard from several different sources that most people get restless after the first two years. I was pretty confident that restlessness would not knock on my door. I had so many things I wanted to do; biking, swimming, art, writing, time with friends. Open heart surgery and more cancer surgery kept me pretty busy too. But the last few months I have been wondering if I want to go back to being a therapist. I loved my profession. I let myself get curious about what a return to therapy would look like. I knew I did not want to reopen my practice. But were there other options? Could I do a short-term group? Could I volunteer at a nonprofit counseling program? But then, the universe helped me to see this all a little more clearly. Yesterday, I received an email from a counseling program looking for part time therapists. They asked me to do a zoom meeting to discuss it. I could set my own schedule and my own case load. It sounded like exactly what I had been wondering about.

So why wasn’t I jumping to schedule the meeting? This opportunity did not elicit the response I would have expected. I decided to sit with it for a while. And here is what came to me… I am not missing therapy. I am missing my clients. I miss seeing them. I miss listening to them. I miss being a part of their lives and knowing that they are a part of mine. It’s not that I am not enjoying retirement. It’s that I loved these people so deeply, for so long, and I just cannot turn that love off. Except for a few brief text messages, running into one of them at Home Goods, and running into another on a walk, I have not connected with my clients for over two years. And because I am following the professional code of ethics, it has to stay that way. I have witnessed what happens when those boundaries are not maintained and I am committed to not do that to the clients I love so dearly.

I cannot be a therapist to my clients. I cannot be a friend to my clients. What can I do? I remind myself that sometimes love shines most brightly when you do nothing. I remind myself that physical distance does not prevent me from lifting them up in prayer. I remind myself that loving them has been a true gift in my life and feel gratitude. I allow myself to feel the grief as it rises within me, remembering that grief is the universal price we pay for love.

Be well, my dear readers.