"I'm trying to fix some things," I say, the words inadequate for the mess inside my head. "About myself. How I deal with stuff."
Dr. Ballard nods, waiting for more. When I don't immediately continue, he prompts: "What specifically are you hoping to address?"
I take a deep breath. "I push people away. Before they can hurt me. And I get angry—like, really angry—when I feel threatened or... or abandoned." I pause, the word feeling strange in my mouth. "I guess that's the big one. Abandonment."
"Tell me about that." His voice is calm and carries no judgment.
"My parents basically checked out after my brother died," I say, the familiar story suddenly harder to tell to this stranger. "I was six. He was eight. There was a fire, and I... I got out. But he didn't."
Dr. Ballard makes a note but keeps his eyes on me. "That's an enormous trauma for a child to experience."
"Yeah, well. It gets better." My laugh has no humor in it. "After the funeral, my parents wanted nothing to do with me. Said they couldn't look at me without seeing my brother Teddy. They blamed me for the fire. Rightfully so, since I was the one who started it."
"Did you live with someone else then?"
"No, there was no one else. They just kind of left me alone to fend for myself most of the time." I shrug, aiming for casual but missing by a mile. "I learned to do most everything for myself. Cook. Laundry. Get up in the morning on time so I could get to school. Hockey was the only thing in my life that was good and thank god I got in with the right people that saw my talent and helped me with the money part of it so I could compete with the best.”
Dr. Ballard nods and waits for me to continue.
“Eventually I got drafted. After that my parents were suddenlyveryinterested in my life. Or at least in my paycheck."
Dr. Ballard lets the silence stretch for a moment. "And now?"
"I send them money every month. They never acknowledge it. We haven't spoken in a year, maybe more."
"That must be painful."
The simple acknowledgment hit hard. I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat.
"It is what it is."
"Do you see any connection between your experience with your parents and your tendency to push people away first?" he asks.
"Of course I do." The words come out sharper than intended. "I know exactly why I sabotage relationships. But that doesn't mean I can stop doing it."
"Yet you're here," Dr. Ballard points out gently. "That suggests you believe change is possible."
I think about that. About Elena. About the way she looked at me like I was worth saving.
"There's someone," I admit. "A woman. She makes me want to fix my shit, you know?"
"Tell me about her."
"She's smart. Compassionate. Sees right through my bullshit." A smile tugs at my lips. "But I messed it up. Said things I didn't mean because I was scared of how much I was starting to care about her."
"And now?"
"Now I can't stop thinking about her. About how she made me feel—not just the physical stuff, but like... like I wasn't broken beyond repair." I drag a hand through my hair. "But there are complications. Professional stuff. It's not as simple as just apologizing."
Dr. Ballard studies me for a moment. "What do you think she'd want from you? Not what you want to give her, but what she would want?"
The question stops me cold. What would Elena want from me? Not grand gestures. Not dramatic declarations. She'd want...
"Honesty," I say slowly. "Consistency. Proof that I'm actually working on my issues, not just saying I am."
"That all sounds reasonable," he says. "How do you think you can demonstrate those qualities?"
"This, for starters." I gesture at the office around us. "Actually doing the work. And maybe..." An idea forms, still hazy but compelling. "Maybe giving her the space she needs while showing her I'm serious about changing. About being someone she could be proud to be with."
