Avoidant Ex in Therapy (a tragicomedy)

The Avoidant arrives looking poised, well dressed and....(smug).

Avoidant Ex: I don’t have much time, so let’s keep this efficient. I work hard.

Therapist: So did Hitler and Stalin.

Avoidant:…Excuse me?

Therapist: I’m establishing early that productivity is not a moral credential. Welcome. You’re suffering from the deadly disease of business.

Avoidant: I’m busy. I have responsibilities.

Therapist: So busy you can’t look at yourself?

Avoidant: I don’t avoid anything.

Therapist: You avoid feelings, accountability, difficult conversations, and apparently any chair designed for reflection. Let’s talk about your ex.

Avoidant: Which one?

Therapist: The emotionally intelligent one. The one who went to therapy. The one who healed. The one who stopped waiting.

Avoidant: They were intense, confrontational.

Therapist: They were emotionally available. That can feel intense if you’ve spent a lifetime unavailable to emotional connection.

Avoidant: I didn’t hurt them. I was just being friendly.

Therapist: Friendly for ten years?

Avoidant: I checked in sometimes.

Therapist: Birthdays. Holidays. Late nights. Moments when your relationship felt empty. You sent messages for a decade to keep them as an option, didn’t you?

Avoidant: I wouldn’t phrase it like that.

Therapist: Of course not. You said, “Do you fancy dinner at the flat?”

Avoidant: I never promised anything.

Therapist: No. You breadcrumbed. Warmth without presence. Sex without connection.

Intimacy without commitment. Hope without honesty.

Avoidant: They could have walked away.

Therapist: And you knew they wouldn’t—because they loved you. Do you see how unbelievably unfair that was? How hurtful?

Avoidant: I didn’t mean to trap them.

Therapist: Intent doesn’t erase impact. They went to therapy to heal from damage you refused to examine.

Avoidant: They’re fine now.

Therapist: They are. That’s why you’re here. Isn't it? It bothers you that they worked you out? Doesn't it?

Avoidant: …I ... I loved them.

Therapist: Say it again without bargaining.

Avoidant: I loved them.

Therapist: And still chose not to make it right.

Avoidant: I couldn’t risk my life falling apart.

Therapist: So you risked theirs instead.

Avoidant: I married someone stable.

Therapist: You married someone who demanded nothing emotionally. Safety over love. Fear over truth.

Avoidant: So what am I supposed to do?

Therapist: I don’t give answers.

Avoidant: That’s your job.

Therapist: No. My job is to remove your hiding places.

Avoidant: I can’t just blow everything up.

Therapist: You already did—quietly.

Avoidant: …

Therapist: Start with honesty. With yourself. Then with your spouse.

Avoidant: You’re saying I should tell them?

Therapist: I’m saying you’ve been in love with someone else this entire time.

Avoidant: …

Therapist: Living a lie doesn’t become noble because it’s convenient.

Avoidant: That would destroy them.

Therapist: Lies destroy people slowly. Truth does it quickly—but at least it’s real.

Avoidant: You keep saying I’m damaged.

Therapist: You are. You never received consistent, real emotional connection from your parents. So closeness feels dangerous. Distance feels safe. Busyness feels virtuous.

Avoidant: That’s not my fault.

Therapist: No. But it is your responsibility.

Avoidant: This feels hostile.

Therapist: Accountability often does to people who’ve avoided it their whole lives.

Avoidant: I’m angry. This is unfair. I’m leaving. I’m not coming back to therapy.

Therapist: Naturally.

Avoidant: You can’t talk to people like this.

Therapist: I can. And unlike your ex, I won’t soften the truth to keep you comfortable.

Avoidant: …

Therapist: Continue to dismiss any accountability then, stay busy, and avoid—all the way to the grave.

Final Scene

A café. Morning light.

The emotionally intelligent ex sits alone—calm, grounded, present.

A phone buzzes.

A message preview: “Hey. Just checking in. Hope you’re well.”

The ex looks at the phone. No rush. No ache. No hope.

A small, genuine smile.

They turn the phone face down.

A friend arrives. Easy laughter. Real warmth.

The ex gathers their things and leaves—light, unburdened, gone.

Cut back to the therapist’s office.

Avoidant: …They didn’t reply.

Therapist: No.

Avoidant: But they always replied. Even when I got that drink drive charge.

Therapist: Not anymore. And asking someone to perjure themselves is a serious offense.

Avoidant:…I'm a bad person... I'm stacked with remorse and shame. I lost them didn't I?

Therapist: You lost them the moment they chose themselves.

Silence.

Therapist: Healing looks like disappearance to people who benefited from your pain.

Silence stretches. The avoidant stares at the floor.

Avoidant: What…what have I done?

Their voice cracks.

Therapist: You spent your whole life trying to hide from yourself.

The avoidant’s face collapses. The anger drains. The armour finally gives way.

They sob. And sob. And sob.

The therapist quietly reaches over, hands them a tissue.

Therapist: You ran from love. You ran from truth. You ran from pain you never learned how to hold.

The avoidant can barely breathe now.

Avoidant: I didn’t know how.

Therapist: I know.

Long pause.

Therapist: But now…now we can actually start your therapy... Tell me about your childhood.

Lights out.

TR