I broke up with my life coach

Sat, 29 Sep 2012 22:00:00 +0000

I had stopped going to therapy in the spring. But by late August, my luck had turned. Specifically, my dating luck, which started to go bad with the breakup of my first real relationship at age 36, and was followed by a series of unsuccessful dates. The whole rotten season culminated in a cringe-inducing text message from a guy I’d just met that started with “I have an indecent proposal for you,” and ended with, “Here's looking at you, kid.” Talk about a gross misuse of “Casablanca.”

But the beginning of fall always made me feel ungrounded. I traced my anxiety back to my teens, when my father committed suicide on Yom Kippur. If there was a recipe to create an anxious person, my parents must have followed it: I was the only child of a depressed father and a mother who lived through the Holocaust. As an adult, I became a workaholic, traveling the world, and avoiding any deep romantic connections for fear a man would leave me like my father did. At least that’s what therapy taught me. I needed her help again.

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I broke up with my life coach