I reached out to a psychologist, as I noticed that my relationships were devastating me. I wanted to know what was happening. That psychologist, I call him “Notebook man”, was looking constantly into his notebook. No eye contact. After 10 sessions, I was told that it was nothing more to work on and… to check a book “Stop walking on eggshells” as my mum might have had a Borderline Personality Disorder. And that was it. I was left with it myself.

 

After two or three years more, I reached out to another psychologist. It was a woman, and this time I wanted to talk about my mother and how my childhood looked like. After three sessions of her “Oh no…!” and sighing, she said it was terrible what I was telling her, and she was not able to help me. It was too much for her. At least she was honest.

 

So three psychologists… And all three failed me…