Ghosting is a term most of us, as psychotherapists, know well—not just from our patient’s harrowing dating experiences but from our own lives. The story is familiar: a connection is formed, a conversation flows, perhaps even a meeting takes place. There is rapport, interest, the beginnings of something meaningful. And then—nothing. The messages stop. The person vanishes. In some cases, they even block all contact.
For those who have experienced abandonment, this kind of disappearance can leave deep scars, reopening wounds that therapy is meant to help heal. But lately, I’ve noticed something unsettling: ghosting isn’t just happening in the dating world. It’s happening to us, too, as therapists, with increasing frequency—even after months of meaningful work together.
The avoidance of endings—through a sudden email, a missed appointment, or simply never showing up again—is becoming more common in our work. And while every patient has the right to leave therapy at any time and in any way they choose, these abrupt disappearances highlight something troubling about our cultural relationship to closure and discomfort.
The Importance of Endings
Endings have always been a delicate part of therapy. A well-navigated ending can be one of the most powerful moments in the therapeutic process—a chance to reflect, integrate, and transition with intention.
Yet something has changed. More and more, therapists are experiencing sudden, unexplained departures—not just after a few sessions but after real, sustained connection. A patient might be engaged, reflective, making strides in their growth, only to end suddenly by email or with no word at all. No final session, no discussion, just silence.
Dr. Tar, in a recent podcast with David Puder, spoke about the intensity of the therapeutic relationship and the significance of endings. When an ending is avoided entirely, something important is lost—not just for the therapist, but for the patient. Avoiding that moment of closure denies them the opportunity to process their experience, to acknowledge the work they’ve done, and to step into their next chapter with awareness rather than avoidance.
The Rise of Digital Avoidance
We are living in an age where human disconnection is increasing, aided by technology that makes avoidance easier than ever. As psychoanalyst Jaco Van Zyl noted in a recent webinar on gender dysphoria, screens offer us a way to dodge discomfort, shielding us from the physical and emotional weight of difficult interpersonal experiences.
Younger generations, raised in an era of instant messaging and algorithmically curated interactions, may find it especially difficult to hold human connections in mind when they are not actively engaged. Ghosting, in this light, becomes not just an individual behavior but a broader cultural symptom: an erosion of our ability to mentalize, to sit with the discomfort of rupture, to acknowledge that endings and goodbyes are a necessary part of connection.
In Bion’s terms, the raw, unprocessed distress of an ending remains in its “beta” form—never metabolized into something digestible and meaningful. And when that pattern repeats, people lose the ability to sit with emotional discomfort altogether. Instead of learning how to manage difficult transitions, they simply disappear.
This is not just a phenomenon among patients. I see it in myself, too. I grew up in an era where phone calls were the norm, yet now, I often prefer a text. And I know I’m not alone in that impulse. As our interactions become more mediated by screens, even those of us trained to navigate emotions are tempted by the ease of avoidance.
The Emotional Weight of a Vanishing Act
For patients, the fear of ending therapy can be complex. They may feel they’ve failed. They may believe they are abandoning their therapist, or that their therapist will be angry or disappointed. They may worry that acknowledging progress means taking responsibility for change—a daunting prospect. Or they may simply not know how to say goodbye.
And so, the fake email, the unanswered text, the silent departure feels like the easiest path. But it is also a profoundly sad one.
In working with patients who have been able to confront these feelings, I often return to something a supervisor once helped frame for me: “Would you like me to support you in leaving, or in staying?” It is a deceptively simple question, one that acknowledges the difficulty of endings and offers patients the dignity of choice. Because, in the end, the work of therapy isn’t just about healing—it’s about facing truth, even when that truth is goodbye.