Therapy Part 16 The Bill

They bring it up

Casually

Too casually

As if asking for payment

In the middle of your unraveling

Is just another part

Of the healing ritual

You’re still sitting there

Your pulse not yet settled

From whatever truth

You just dragged into the light

When the therapist shifts

Their tone

Their posture

Their entire presence

And suddenly the room

Is no longer a sanctuary

It’s a counter

A transaction

We’ll need to take care of the balance

Before you leave

The words land

With the dull weight

Of a stone dropped

Into a still lake

No malice

No softness

Just policy

You blink

Because the moment feels wrong

Like someone turning on the lights

In the middle of a confession

You reach for your wallet

With hands that were just

Holding your own grief

It feels indecent

This shift from soul work

To bookkeeping

They list the charges

As if reciting a litany

Today’s session

The last session

The part insurance didn’t cover

The part no one warned you about

The total sits between you

Like a third presence

Not symbolic

Not metaphorical

Just expensive

You pay

Because what else can you do

Because healing costs

Even when you’re already

Paying in other ways

The receipt prints

With a mechanical sigh

A thin strip of paper

That pretends to summarize

What this work has taken from you

And given back

You fold it

You stand

You leave the room

Feeling lighter in your pockets

And heavier everywhere else

But even this

Even the awkward

Unpoetic moment

Of being asked for money

While your heart is still open

Becomes part of the story

You’re building

A reminder

That healing is not holy

It is human

It is flawed

It is costly

In every sense of the word

And still

You return

Only outside 

Hoping to be let in 

For free 

Remembering that nothing is free