_(excerpted from original story)_
You’ll begin to wonder whether you still need therapy. If it’s worth plunking down the co-pay every week just to rattle on about how good things are—about how even Hal, your most cautious friend, the one who’s suffered with you through all the fiery beginnings and endured all the sloppy endings, thinks that Sonja might be “the one.” (When you took her out to dinner to meet Hal, she didn’t shake his hand and toss off the cliché, “I’ve heard so much about you!” Instead, she said, “Hal do you do?” And when she saw that he enjoyed her corny pun, she kept it up all evening. “Hal about those Mets?” And when the waiter came: “Hal are the fries here?” And when it was Hal’s turn to order: “He’ll have the Halibut.”)
You’ll ask your therapist if patients ever take a hiatus, a break, from therapy, when they feel that they aren’t benefiting from it like they used to.
“Why?” she’ll question. “Do you feel like we’ve gone as far as you’d like to go?”
And you’ll tell her, with a sense of confidence that surprises even you, that lately you’ve felt like all you do is talk about how wonderful things are with Sonja. And that the sessions are starting to seem like a waste of time and money. And that perhaps you’re cured. Perhaps a person doesn’t need to be in therapy for years to find happiness. Perhaps she’s fixed you.
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