Last week I agreed to a 'termination' session with my therapist. The word sounds cruel and cold. I'm searching, still, for its replacement.

It had been months since our last session, surprising, considering how intense and dislocating my experience of this time has been. Perhaps my ability to account for all the emotions that entered my body during this span was what made therapy redundant. I hadn't foreseen arriving at this moment so organically; this transformation from acknowledging that I was broken to this wholeness that arises from my having reconstituted myself.