“Because complications threaten control,” he says.
“Yes.”
I run a hand through my hair, shame crawling up my spine. “Hockey gave me the illusion that if I did everything right, nothing bad would happen. That loyalty was earned through performance. That love—” My voice catches. “—was something you could lose if you disappointed people.”
“And when you thought Amy disappointed you?”
I swallow hard. “I withdrew it.”
Dr. Halvorsen lets that sit before he asks, “You’ve described hockey as giving you control. But control over what?”
I think for a long moment. “My fear,” I say. “My fear of being powerless. Of choosing wrong and losing everything.”
“Amy represented…?”
“Unconditional presence,” I say, the realization sharp. “She loved me when I wasn’t impressive. When I was exhausted. When I was just… Brennan.”
My throat tightens. “And that terrified me,” I add. “Because I didn’t know how to protect something I couldn’t control.”
“So when doubt appeared,” he says gently, “you chose the environment that felt safer.”
“Yes.”
“So, safer meant familiar,” he continues. “Even if it was harsher.”
I nod.
“Hockey never asked me to sit with uncertainty,” I say. “It asked me to act. To decide quickly. To commit.”
“But relationships,” he says, “ask you to pause.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “And I mistook pausing for weakness.”
Dr. Halvorsen watches me closely. “Do you believe that now?”
“No,” I say immediately. “I believe it was cowardice.”
The word hangs heavy.
“Leaving her felt like strength at the time,” I continue. “Decisive. Necessary. Final.”
“What do you think now?”
“It feels like the worst decision of my life,” I admit. “Because I didn’t leave her due to the truth. I left her to protect a version of myself that couldn’t survive being wrong.”
Silence fills the room again. “What would it have cost you to stay?”
Part of me wants to answer everything. But he’s asking me to dig deeper. I finally respond, “It would’ve cost me my illusion of control. It would’ve forced me to confront the system I trusted didn’t actually care about me—only my output.”
“Staying with Amy would’ve required…?”
“Believing her,” I say. “Even when it was inconvenient. Even when it threatened my standing.”
“What stopped you?”
I close my eyes. “I didn’t know who I was without a team jersey on. I didn’t think I would matter.”
Dr. Halvorsen exhales slowly. “That’s an important sentence.”
