End of the Hour: A Therapist's Memoir

by Meghan Riordan Jarvis

It had been two years since my father’s death and two months since my mother’s. I had lost more than my bearings—I could barely recall the version of myself who used to spend most of the day attending to the needs of others. The amount of help I now required both stunned and scared me. I had somehow become my first and only problem—my sole responsibility. That I would one day refer to this as one of the proudest of my life was not yet possible to imagine.