Therapy, from the other chair

My therapist won't let me quit therapy

By Michael Lauria, qualified therapist, twenty years in private practice

Why a therapist might resist an ending, what's worth listening to in that, and how to have the conversation.

Start with the fact, because it's easy to lose sight of when you're sitting across from someone you trust. Therapy is voluntary. Your therapist can disagree with a decision to end, and can tell you why. The decision is still yours.

If you're searching this, what you're meeting is probably softer than a refusal. 'I don't think you're ready.' 'This feels like avoidance.' 'Let's explore why you want to stop.' Or a look that makes you feel you've said something disloyal. I know those sentences well. For years I said versions of them myself.

First, your therapist may be right

Therapy does something rare. It gives you a person who listens without needing anything back, and somewhere to put what you can't say anywhere else. A therapist who has given you that has earned a hearing.

Sometimes they see something you can't. The urge to leave can arrive just before the hardest material, and a therapist who has watched that happen many times will say so. If you're in the middle of something serious, or you've recently come through a crisis, their caution may simply be care. Listen to the reason, and ask for it in specifics.

Is it avoidance, or are you finished?

The wish to leave can mean two opposite things, and from the inside they can feel alike. These are the differences I learned to look for:

If you can't tell which it is, say exactly that to your therapist. It's a better conversation than an argument about whether you're allowed to leave.

Why a therapist might resist an ending

There are other reasons too, which have more to do with the structure of therapy than with you. It helps to know them.

The training points one way. In my three-year training, ending therapy got about two hours. Everything else taught me how to deepen the work and keep it going. Most therapists I've known were never shown how to finish, so an ending can feel to them like something going wrong.

The profession treats endings as suspect. Around my twelfth year in practice I began working toward endings with long-term clients, and colleagues asked how I could be sure they were ready, and whether it wasn't better to err on the side of continuing. Those are fair questions. Underneath them is a rule nobody states out loud: you need a reason to stop, and you never need a reason to keep going.

The relationship matters to them as well. After years together your therapist knows you well, and losing you is a real loss on their side of the room. Many therapists never raise ending until the client does, and some find it hard to hear when the client does.

Then there's money, the part nobody likes saying. A therapist is paid per session. I never met a colleague who kept a client for the fee, and I doubt yours is doing that. The pull works underneath good intentions, toward continuing, and a therapist who hasn't looked at it can mistake it for clinical judgement.

Your therapist can be good at the work and still be inside a structure that finds endings hard.

How to raise it

You don't have to win an argument. You have to be clear.

Raise it at the start of a session rather than in the last five minutes, so there's time to talk it through and neither of you is answering on the way out the door.

If you decide to stay

Sometimes the conversation ends with you choosing to continue, for good reasons. Then use the moment. Ask for a review date a few months out. Agree, in plain words, on what you're working toward and what would tell you both it's done. A therapy that has named its own ending is a different thing to be in, even when the ending is a year away.

If the conversation goes nowhere

If they won't discuss ending at all, or you come away feeling pressured or guilty every time you raise it, you can ask another practitioner for a second opinion, or look at the code of ethics of the professional body your therapist belongs to. Those codes treat the client's right to decide as the client's.

What a good ending sounds like

A good ending is named, then worked through over a few sessions, then finished with a real last session and a goodbye. I've written more about the shape of it on how you know when to stop.

Sometimes it's the therapist who has to name it. A man I saw for about nine months had done the work he came for by the fifth month, and he kept booking. One day he told me how much he enjoyed coming in. A few sessions later I told him I was calling an end to it, because our hour had become a stand-in for the connection he'd come to build with his own family, and I'd let that happen. He wasn't happy with me. Some weeks later he rang to say he was grateful, and that he hadn't realised how much he'd been leaning on the room instead of on the people in his life.

An ending can be the most caring thing that happens in therapy. It's worth making it one you've both chosen.

Where this comes from

I spent twenty years in the chair, and a good part of the last eight learning how to end well. Twenty Years in the Chair is the account of why endings are so hard inside the standard structure and what I saw when people finally got one. It's out on 4 November 2026.

Twenty Years in the Chair by Michael Lauria, cover

Twenty Years in the Chair

What 20 Years as a Therapist Taught Me About the Therapy Industry. Athanatos Press, 4 November 2026. A therapist's account of what the room can do, and what it was never built to do.

About the book

If you'd like to look at your own pattern rather than read about the general one, the Atlas names the pattern running your life in a single sitting. It is free, takes about forty-five minutes, and ends in a written Record of that pattern, drawn from your own words. It isn't therapy and it doesn't replace it. If you're in crisis, start with a person.

Or begin smaller with the nine-question pattern test, about three minutes, no sign-up.

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Michael Lauria is a qualified therapist, author and philosophical mythologist. He spent twenty years in private practice and is the author of Obsolete and Twenty Years in the Chair.