Reason #412 why I have no love for the VA
I opened up about my biggest heartbreak and she shut me down. I found the courage to ask for help, and she told me I was doing it wrong.
She wasn’t listening
“You’re not listening to me,” I said for the third time.
And to my utter dismay, she continued to talk right over me.
I was trying to explain that this issue I’d brought before her was one of the biggest problems I’ll ever tackle in my life! And she acted like she was just trying to sweep it under the rug.
I could feel myself starting to get angry. I could not believe she wasn’t even trying to hear me out!
I wanted to yell, “What is wrong with you?!” But I knew it wouldn’t help. She was making me crazy though… so rude… so arrogant… so disrespectful…
So unexpected from a VA therapist.
It was our third session, and she opened up by asking me how my week had gone, and had I done the homework we discussed last week.
I told her I didn’t get a chance because I’ve been dealing with the emotional fallout of finally removing Carrie from my life, and letting go of any thoughts, hopes, or horribly misguided dreams, of ever being reunited with the girl I’ve been mad about for more than 30 years.
And she acted as if I just told her my next-door neighbor was playing their music too loud.
I explained that I spent the first half of the week frantically trying to avoid the pain I knew was coming, and the second half lying in bed, sobbing uncontrollably, totally relieved to finally be letting go, yet at the same time totally hating myself for waiting so long…
I told her I’ve been trying to get to this point for years, and it’s finally happening and I just need help to work through it all, so that I can get back on track with the skills and techniques she wants to teach me for emotional regulation…
And all she could say in return was,
“Well what are you gonna do the next time something happens that derails you? We can’t allow our emotions to dictate all our actions, you know.”
Pushed aside so she could push her agenda
This therapist showed me zero compassion.
Zero empathy.
Zero listening skills.
No indication at all that she was even attempting to understand the depth or the breadth of what I was telling her — of what I was going through, and what it must mean for me…
Or how essential it is for me to be able to talk about it, and finally put all the pieces in the right perspective so I can let go of Carrie and move into a brave new life that doesn’t include her… but does include space in my heart for somebody new… if and when…
I told her this is the single biggest problem of my life, and I’ve been avoiding it since I was 18, and I never believed I could ever let Carrie go but now I have! And now it’s creating room in my life to finally grieve the relationship… to finally wallow, and cry, and hurt, and long, and wish, and dream…
To finally allow myself to feel all the big, scary emotions I’ve been running from, exactly because I know that once they do show up in my life, I won’t be strong enough to face it all on my own…
And she told me we have to stay focused on “the reason we’re here in session.”
Talk about a slap in the face.
This isn’t what healing is supposed to look like
We were barely ten minutes into our session, and she’d already lost complete control, and violated and betrayed my trust. There was no way I could keep talking to her, and expect her to be willing, or able, to give me the help I needed.
She wasn’t listening to me at all.
She didn’t even try to hear my side of things. She was too busy pushing her own agenda, trying to force me into the right size box for where she thinks I’m supposed to be in my healing, based on two prior sessions where she did most of the talking and hardly heard me at all.
I finished telling her how my decision to let Carrie go had impacted my week, and the first thing she said back to me was, “You were going to go to the Windmill Museum over the weekend, remember? What happened?”
What happened?
What happened?
Didn’t I just tell you what happened?
Seriously… how can a fully trained, licensed, VA-hired, professional mental health therapist… be that blind and deaf, that she doesn’t understand “what happened” to stop me from going to the Windmill Museum while I was in the middle of the worst meltdown I’ve seen since before I even moved to Lubbock, two and a half years ago?
The moment I knew we weren’t going to work
She wouldn’t hear me. She refused to listen. I knew what I was telling her was true. I knew it was the good stuff, that’s going to open up all kinds of new possibilities, if she would just help me work through it.
And it wasn’t as if she “just didn’t get it.” She knew I was hurting. And she straight up refused to get it.
Refused to let me in.
Refused to acknowledge that I was in such emotional pain, and I needed that to be addressed first, before I could think about the Windmill Museum… or about any of the homework she had assigned me.
She didn’t even care. Didn’t even try to make it look like she wanted to help me.
Which, I could’ve overlooked, if it’d only happened once or twice. I’m a pretty patient man, and I know sometimes I don’t explain myself very well on the first attempt. So, in the beginning, it could have been my fault she wasn’t understanding me.
But I kept explaining myself… and each time, she became more intent on making me wrong, and making sure I understand why I’m wrong to let my emotions get the better of me, and prevent me from doing her stupid “homework.”
She literally asked me why I allowed this “little problem” to stop me from doing the things we’d agreed on the week before. Why I couldn’t just handle it, and push through, and start living the life I told her I want to live (and I do want to live a better life! But, I mean…)
She actually told me I was not displaying healthy behavior, by giving into my feelings and allowing myself to cry nonstop for two whole days after making the single most difficult, and important, decision, I’ll ever make in my adult life.
She wouldn’t even admit that I had room to wallow — not even for a minute — despite the fact I’d been holding all of this in for 30 long, lonely, horrible years… and in all that time, I never believed I’d ever let Carrie go.
Letting go of her wasn’t just a decision — it was the end of an era. The end of a hope I’d kept alive since I was a teenager. It felt like losing a part of myself, like saying goodbye to the version of me who still believed in that one impossible dream.
And now it was finally here, and it hurt like nothing I can describe. And I needed time to mourn.
And my therapist, of all people, had the nerve to tell me I was doing it wrong.
The only question she asked, that had anything to do with how I was feeling that week, was,
“What are you going to do the next time this happens, and these feelings make you want to go lay in bed for two days and cry, and ignore the rest of the world and ignore your other goals and dreams?”
Apparently, “Lay in bed and cry it out,” was not what she wanted to hear.
Why I had to let her go
Look…
I know I can be difficult sometimes.
I know sometimes, I put walls up when that’s not the right response.
I know sometimes, I just get frustrated or overwhelmed, and just want the conversation to be over, because we’re about to touch on things I’m not ready to talk about yet.
But this was my therapist, actively making me wrong for having an emotional crisis that turned my entire week upside down, and stopped me from going out and doing one thing I’d told her I was going to do.
And maybe at some point, it’s appropriate to ask me why I didn’t go do that thing, and what I can do differently next time, to achieve the goal and show myself that I’m ready to move forward.
But maybe there’s more than one definition of what it means to be moving forward.
Maybe letting go of Carrie, and putting everything else on hold for a couple days, to let myself get all those emotions out… is also moving forward. Just not in the direction my therapist was looking for.
Maybe I actually know what I’m talking about.
Maybe my own intuition is greater than any homework a therapist can assign.
Maybe I know when it’s time to stop, and get things out, rather than to think I can soldier on when I know things are getting ready to fall apart again.
And maybe while things are falling apart, is not the time to tell somebody that they’re doing everything wrong.
Maybe that’s the time for you to slow down, and hear that person out, and understand what it is they’re telling you, and show some actual compassion for the fact that they’re dealing with something you’re not even mature enough to comprehend…
But that you’re still willing to give them space to explore, to uncover, to reintegrate all those old hurt feelings, into a new and better version of who they were, and who they want to become.
That’s what I was looking for, in our third session.
I had finally had the biggest breakthrough of my life! And I was anxious to share that with my therapist, with the person whose job it is to listen to me, to understand me, and to help me make sense of things so I can start moving forward again…
And she was talking over me, invalidating my feelings, ignoring my struggle… making me wrong for giving a voice to the thing I’ve been fighting to avoid, my whole life…
So I fired her.
I told her it’s clear that we’re not hearing each other, and she’s not interested in giving me the help I need, so there’s no sense in us continuing to work together. And I ended that session and I’m not looking back.
And you know what?
I can’t remember the last time I was so proud of myself, for having enough self-respect to recognize when someone’s invalidating me, and to put an end to it, right then and there.
She actually looked offended that I would dare to interrupt her while she was talking. And when I told her we were done, her jaw dropped.
I honestly think she doesn’t even know she’d done anything wrong. There was no apology. No attempt to straighten things out. No, “Wait, help me understand why you don’t feel seen right now.”
Just a blank look that said she couldn’t believe I thought she wasn’t helping me.
It’s funny, in a way: my own therapist didn’t want to hear about my feelings; she just wanted to tell me all the ways I need to ignore them so I can finally live a happy life.
Like… how does that even fit within the scope of therapy? In what modality do they teach you not to listen to your patient, but to dismiss their feelings as unimportant, ignore their problems, and question their own ability to know what they need in order to heal?
It just doesn’t make sense.
I know not all therapists are like this
I’ve had other therapists, in the last 10 years, besides her. One was clearly new to the profession, and kind of clumsy in his approach. One kind of just talked in circles, and didn’t really give me much to work with in between sessions.
One was really cute and encouraging — which, I know, cuteness is not a factor one should consider when looking for a therapist, but in this one instance the fact that I had a crush actually worked to my advantage. Because I cared about her opinion and wanted to make her proud of me, I was willing to work hard to resolve some of my issues, and to show her (and me) that I was capable of real, lasting change, after all.
One was just totally chill. I could tell her anything. She was so down to earth, encouraging, understanding, supportive, intuitive. She’s the one who helped me find the courage to move to Lubbock, to get out of Mom and Dad’s house and trust myself, and God, to get me through anything.
Without her help, my whole story would be totally different today.
One — another VA therapist — also showed zero compassion or empathy. She did help me a lot, though. But I don’t know if it’s right to say she helped me, or if it was just the EMDR that helped.
She did tell me, the first time I admitted I was having suicidal thoughts, that they weren’t that severe and that, “You’re not suicidal. You just need to go home and rest.” So, that’s a big red mark against her, I’d say.
None of them ever made me wrong, though, for coming to them with a serious problem, and expecting them to hear me out and to offer real help that will let me solve it.
I already know what I need — I just wanted my therapist to help me get it
Even in our first two sessions, this therapist kept giving me advice that was the exact opposite of what I’d just told her I wanted. I told her I want to find a way to earn an income through my writing, and she said I should apply to be a VA peer support specialist, because then I’d have a full-time job and I’d have purpose and direction, and a reason to get out of bed every morning.
Like, okay… but I just told you I want to make money from my writing, and your response was to tell me to get a job.
Her responses to my other goals were the same.
My favorite though: she told me she wants me to do this exercise to help identify my top 5 values, so she’s going to mail me these “values cards” for me to go through and pick out what matters most.
I answered her, “My top 5 values are faith, family, personal development, finances, and making sure I get adequate rest.”
And she literally said, “That’s great but we need to find 5 values that are on the list.”
Um… no.
Just, no.
I know what my values are. I’m almost 50. They’re not going to change because you have a list of “better options” for me to choose from.
But she was so intent on her own agenda, she never once heard the things I was telling her.
She wasn’t helping me. And if I’d stayed with her beyond that third session, she would’ve started hurting me. She would’ve convinced me, most likely, to compromise my own values, and to think I’m supposed to do what she wants me to do, or I’m failing at therapy, and I’ll never get any better…
And I won’t tolerate that, anymore. Not from my therapist, or from anybody I rely on.
I know what I stand for. I know what direction I want to go in.
And I know I need help to get there.
But this therapist was trying to take me in a whole different direction. And if I hadn’t spoken up, if I’d kept silent and just tried to go along, I wouldn’t be honoring my own intuition…
And I wouldn’t be healing. I would be stuck in a pattern of appeasing. And that wouldn’t do anybody any good, at all.
So I did what I had to, to maintain my own forward momentum… and my integrity.
Have you ever had to fire a therapist — or stayed too long with one who didn’t listen? I’d love to hear your story. You don’t have to explain or justify it. Just share what’s real.
How to reclaim emotional authority (when no one’s listening)
You don’t need anyone else to validate your pain before it counts. You don’t need permission to grieve what mattered to you. You don’t need a checklist to prove that your breakthrough was real.
What you need — and what this toolkit helps you reclaim — is your ability to trust yourself, even when someone in a position of power tries to dismiss, redirect, or override what you know is true.
Step 1: Name what’s really happening
Before you start questioning your own reactions, ask:
What part of me is asking to be heard right now?
Sometimes your pain isn’t just about the current moment — it’s an echo. A younger version of you is speaking up. Don’t rush to fix it. Just acknowledge it. Say what’s true, even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts.
You’re not being dramatic. You’re being honest.
Step 2: Pay attention to the power dynamic
Notice how the other person is responding — not just to your words, but to your vulnerability.
Are they making space for your truth? Or are they trying to move past it, minimize it, or solve it too quickly?
When someone talks over your emotions instead of through them with you, that’s not guidance — it’s control.
Step 3: Let your body vote
If you’re feeling confused, disoriented, or ashamed during a conversation, slow down and tune in. What’s your body trying to tell you?
Do you feel tight? Defensive? Like you want to shrink or disappear? That’s your nervous system waving a red flag. Don’t ignore it.
If something feels “off,” it probably is. You don’t need a diagnosis to trust your gut.
Step 4: Remember — emotion is movement
Grief, anger, longing, shame… none of these are signs you’re broken. They’re signs you’re in motion.
And motion means progress — even if it’s messy.
Feeling deeply is not a setback. It’s part of becoming someone new.
Step 5: Take back the pen
When someone tries to rewrite your story, you don’t have to hand them the pen.
You get to decide how this chapter ends. You get to decide what healing looks like — and what kind of help actually helps.
You are not hard to help. You just need the kind of help that honors where you really are.
Self-reflection: practicing your voice
There’s no perfect way to stand up for yourself — especially when you’re hurting.
This isn’t about crafting the “right” comeback or the most elegant boundary. It’s about giving yourself permission to speak, even if your voice shakes.
Even if it comes out messy. Even if it’s just for you, on the page, for now.
Let these questions help you begin:
1. If someone dismissed your pain or rushed you past your feelings, what’s one sentence you wish you had the courage to say in that moment?
(Write it. Don’t overthink it. Let it be messy or fierce or sad — just let it be real.)
Write your answer.
2. Think of a time when someone made you feel unheard or unseen. What would you say to them now, if you could speak freely — without fear or apology?
Write your answer.
3. What does your pain need to hear from someone safe?
(If nobody else will say it… write it down now, in your own words.)
Write your answer.
4. What words or phrases make you feel strong, clear, and self-connected — even when someone else is trying to talk over you?
(Write 2–3 sentences you can practice using in future conversations.)
Write your answer.
Your voice doesn’t have to be polished. It just has to be yours.
Keep writing. Keep speaking. You’re allowed to take up space.
Final Thought
There comes a moment in every healing journey when you realize: you’re not the broken one in the room — you’re just the one finally telling the truth.
And sometimes the bravest thing you can do in that moment is walk away from the people who were never ready to hear it.
You don’t owe anyone a quieter version of your pain. You don’t have to shrink your grief to fit someone else’s framework.
And you don’t need a therapist — or anyone — to give you permission to feel what you feel.
Your emotions are not the enemy. They’re the evidence that you’re still here — still trying — still becoming.
So trust what you know. Speak what you feel.
And if the room can’t hold all of you?
Find a new room.