The air in Dr. Roberts' office felt different now—lighter, but in a way that left her exposed. She had spent the past hour uncovering pieces of herself she hadn't dared touch in years, and now she was waiting for the aftermath. Waiting for her therapist to take the scattered fragments and tell her what to do with them.
Dr. Roberts, ever composed, leaned forward slightly, closing her notepad. "You've given me a lot to work with today, Cameron. I appreciate how open you've been. I know it's not easy."
Cameron let out a dry chuckle. "That's one way to put it."
The therapist offered a small smile before shifting in her chair. "Now that we've taken a deeper look at your past, I'd like to talk about the future. What you want from this process, what goals you'd like to set for yourself."
Cameron hesitated. The idea of looking forward rather than backward felt foreign. For so long, she had just been getting by—numbing herself, avoiding, surviving. Planning for something better felt almost impossible.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I mean… I know I don't want to keep feeling like this. But I don't even know where to start."
Dr. Roberts nodded as if she had been expecting that response. "That's okay. We don't have to figure everything out all at once. But let's start small. What are some things you want to work on? Not just about Jasmine, but about yourself."
Cameron frowned, considering. "I guess… I want to stop feeling like my entire identity is tied to someone else. I want to figure out who I am outside of being needed."
"That's a great place to start," Dr. Roberts said. "Codependency, especially in relationships as emotionally charged as yours with Jasmine, can make it hard to separate your needs from someone else's. It makes sense that this loss feels so devastating—because, in a way, it feels like losing a part of yourself."
Cameron swallowed, staring down at her hands. "Yeah."
"But you're not lost," Dr. Roberts continued gently. "You're still here. And you have the power to define who you are, on your own terms."
Cameron sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "That sounds nice in theory, but I have no idea how to actually do that."
"That's where the work comes in," Dr. Roberts said. "I'd like us to set some tangible goals. Things that will help you regain a sense of self outside of relationships. First, I'd encourage you to reconnect with things you used to love—hobbies, activities, even just small routines that belong to you and no one else."
Cameron thought about the sketchbook collecting dust on her nightstand. The running shoes she bought last year and never used. The books she once devoured but hadn't touched in months. "Yeah. I could do that."
"Good. I also want you to work on identifying your emotional triggers—when you feel the strongest pull toward unhealthy coping mechanisms, and what's really behind those feelings."
"Like when I drink or hook up with random people?" Cameron asked dryly.
Dr. Roberts nodded. "Exactly. Those behaviors aren't the problem itself; they're the symptom. If we can address the root cause—whether it's loneliness, avoidance, self-punishment—we can work on replacing those patterns with healthier alternatives."
Cameron exhaled sharply. "That sounds… hard."
"It is," Dr. Roberts agreed. "But you don't have to do it alone. That's another thing I wanted to suggest—group therapy."
Cameron blinked. "Group therapy?"
"I know it might sound intimidating," Dr. Roberts said, "but it can be incredibly beneficial to hear from others who have gone through similar struggles. There's something powerful about realizing you're not the only one feeling this way."
Cameron frowned, the idea making her uneasy. She had spent so long keeping people at arm's length, afraid of being truly seen. The thought of sitting in a room full of strangers and spilling her guts felt suffocating.
"I don't know," she said slowly. "Talking to you is one thing, but a whole group?"
"I won't push you," Dr. Roberts assured her. "But consider it. Even if you just sit in for a session and listen. Sometimes, understanding other people's stories can help you make sense of your own."
Cameron chewed on the inside of her cheek, then shrugged. "I'll think about it."
Dr. Roberts smiled. "That's all I ask."
They spent the last few minutes outlining a plan—small, manageable steps. Cameron would start journaling, even if it was just a few sentences a day. She would make an effort to engage in activities that didn't involve numbing herself. She would start noticing her emotional patterns, even if she wasn't ready to change them just yet.
As the session wrapped up, Dr. Roberts leaned forward slightly. "One last thing, Cameron."
Cameron met her gaze. "Yeah?"
"I want you to be kind to yourself. Healing isn't linear. You're going to have setbacks. You're going to have days where it feels impossible. But that doesn't mean you're failing. It just means you're human."
Something in Cameron's chest tightened. She looked away, exhaling softly. "I'll try."
"That's all I ask," Dr. Roberts echoed with a small smile. "Same time next week?"
Cameron hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I'll be here."
As she left the office, stepping into the cold afternoon air, something felt different. Not fixed. Not healed. But maybe—just maybe—on its way.