I Didn’t Mean to Trauma-Bond with My Therapist

I didn’t walk into therapy planning to get attached.

In fact, I showed up with every wall carefully constructed—ready to talk about my problems like they were PowerPoint slides.

Clean. Controlled. Detached.

But week by week, something shifted.

She wasn’t just listening—she got it. The patterns, the spirals, the mess under the jokes. She remembered things I said weeks ago that I barely remembered saying. She didn’t flinch when I admitted things I hadn’t told anyone. She didn’t rescue me from my discomfort, but she didn’t abandon me in it either.

And that’s when it happened: the attachment crept in.

Not romantically. Not inappropriately. But deeply.

Because when you’ve spent your life feeling misunderstood, dismissed, or too much for the people around you, someone finally seeing you—really seeing you—is powerful. And terrifying. And addictive.

And then suddenly you’re Googling “is it normal to think about your therapist all the time?”

You’re overanalyzing the pauses in their emails. You’re replaying sessions in your head, trying to decode their tone. You’re wondering if they actually like you or if they’re just paid to be kind.

And you hate it.

Because you know this isn’t what therapy is supposed to be.

But you also know… it’s not just projection.

It’s not just clinging.

It’s not just weakness.

It’s the emotional residue of years of unmet needs. It’s your nervous system reacting to the first safe container it’s ever really had. It’s grief. It’s hope. It’s the re-opening of something long buried.

It’s not about them being your savior.

It’s about what it feels like to finally be seen—and your whole body going, more of that, please.

So no, I didn’t mean to trauma-bond with my therapist.

But I’m learning to have compassion for the part of me that did.

Because attachment isn’t a flaw—it’s a response to finally feeling safe.