Nia sat across from Dr. Gadot, notebook open, pen poised.
She had been coming to therapy for several months now, and each session peeled back another layer of the emotional armor she had built around herself for decades.
Today, though, felt different.
There was something inside her that had shifted.
Something deeper than just awareness.
It was understanding.
And it came with a sense of responsibility—to herself.
Dr. Gadot smiled warmly. "How have you been since our last session?"
Nia exhaled slowly. "Better."
Dr. Gadot raised an eyebrow. "That's new."
Nia chuckled. "I know. I actually feel like I'm starting to get this whole 'self-love' thing."
Dr. Gadot leaned forward. "Tell me more."
"I've stopped chasing unavailable men," Nia said simply. "I cut Marcus off completely. I'm seeing someone new—Andre—and instead of trying to change him or prove myself to him, I'm just… being me."
Dr. Gadot nodded. "And how does that feel?"
"Terrifying," Nia admitted with a laugh. "But also liberating."
Dr. Gadot smiled. "Good. Growth should be both."
Nia nodded. "I finally understand that love isn't about proving my worth. It's about choosing people who already see it."
"That's beautiful," Dr. Gadot said. "And true."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Dr. Gadot spoke again.
"Today, I want to introduce you to a concept that might help deepen your understanding of relationships—especially the ones that left you feeling drained."
Nia tilted her head. "Okay."
Dr. Gadot reached for a notepad and drew a simple diagram.
A line down the center.
On the left side, she wrote:
Deposits
On the right side:
Withdrawals
"This is called the *Emotional Bank Account," Dr. Gadot explained. "It's a metaphor used in psychology and relationship coaching to describe how emotional trust is built and depleted in relationships."
Nia leaned forward, intrigued.
"Just like a real bank account," Dr. Gadot continued, "your emotional connection with someone can grow stronger when you make consistent deposits—acts of kindness, communication, presence, empathy, respect, effort."
She pointed to the right side.
"But when there are repeated withdrawals—disrespect, broken promises, dishonesty, emotional absence, inconsistency—it drains the account. And if there aren't enough deposits to balance it out, eventually, the relationship goes bankrupt."
Nia stared at the drawing.
It was simple.
Yet profound.
Because in that moment, she saw her entire romantic history reflected in those two columns.
---
**The Emotional Debits of Her Past**
Nia closed her eyes and let the truth settle over her.
For years, she had made emotional deposits—love, attention, support, patience, forgiveness—with every man she dated.
But rarely did they return the favor.
Instead, they withdrew constantly.
They disappeared without explanation.
They lied.
They ghosted.
They promised things they never followed through on.
And worst of all—they took her heart and treated it like an ATM.
She opened her eyes and whispered, "I've been broke for years."
Dr. Gadot nodded gently. "Yes. And until you start investing in yourself, you'll keep relying on others to fill your account."
Nia swallowed hard. "So what do I do now?"
"We start building your own emotional wealth."
"How?"
"By making deposits into your own account. By setting boundaries. By saying no more often. By prioritizing your needs. By learning to enjoy your own company."
Nia looked at her therapist, heart full.
"I've already started doing some of that."
Dr. Gadot smiled. "I know. That's why we're here today. To reinforce it."
---
**Flashback: The Man Who Never Invested**
Suddenly, a memory surfaced—one that hadn't haunted her in years.
Elijah.
Her ex-fiancé.
She could still hear his voice echoing in her mind.
"I need space."
"I don't know if I can commit."
"This isn't working anymore."
No explanation.
No apology.
Just withdrawal after withdrawal.
And yet, even then, she kept giving.
She sent messages.
She begged for clarity.
She offered second chances.
She tried to fix what wasn't hers to fix.
And in doing so, she drained herself emotionally.
She remembered sitting on the floor of their shared home, clutching her phone, staring at the door he had walked out of hours earlier.
She had given him four years of her life.
Four years of loyalty.
Of love.
Of partnership.
And in return?
He vanished.
Without a word.
Without a goodbye.
Without ever acknowledging the depth of what they had built together.
She had spent weeks wondering what she had done wrong.
Months convincing herself that maybe he would come back.
Years believing she wasn't enough.
Until now.
Now, she saw it clearly.
Elijah had taken everything she gave—and never invested anything in return.
And she had let him.
Because she believed that love meant sacrifice.
That if she gave enough, loved enough, supported enough—that he would stay.
But he didn't.
And she was tired of waiting for men who wouldn't show up.
---
**The Men Before Elijah**
Another memory surfaced.
Darius.
The older man she had met in her early thirties.
Suave.
Sophisticated.
Financially secure.
He had swept her off her feet with charm, gifts, and grand gestures.
But behind the polished exterior was a man who couldn't be honest.
Who played games.
Who told lies wrapped in compliments.
And when she found out he was married?
He shrugged.
Like it meant nothing.
Like she meant nothing.
She had trusted him.
Believed in him.
Invested time, emotion, intimacy in him.
And he had stolen it.
Used it.
Left her empty-handed.
---
**The First Withdrawal**
Then came Jordan Taylor—the poet-turned-banker who first taught her how painful love could be.
He had written her poems.
Sung jazz standards under her dorm window.
Made her feel like the only woman in the world.
But when graduation hit and reality set in, he disappeared.
No warning.
No goodbye.
Just gone.
And she had spent months chasing him.
Calling.
Texting.
Begging.
Hoping.
And when he finally reappeared months later, he acted like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn't shattered her heart.
Like he hadn't left her questioning her worth.
And again, she gave.
Again, she stayed.
Again, she waited.
Until she realized—he would never invest in her.
Only take.
---
**Patterns in the Mirror**
Back in the present, Nia looked at Dr. Gadot.
"I think I finally understand," she said quietly.
Dr. Gadot tilted her head. "Understand what?"
Nia took a breath. "I've spent my life making emotional deposits into accounts that never reciprocated. I gave love freely, but rarely received it equally. And when I didn't get the returns I expected, I blamed myself."
Dr. Gadot nodded. "Exactly. You internalized the withdrawals and questioned your value instead of holding them accountable."
Nia blinked back tears. "I thought if I gave enough, loved enough, supported enough—that I could earn the kind of love I deserved."
"And did that work?"
Nia shook her head. "Never."
Dr. Gadot leaned forward. "That's because love shouldn't have to be earned. It should be mutual. Reciprocal. Equal."
Nia nodded slowly. "I understand that now."
"You do."
Nia looked down at the Emotional Bank Account diagram.
She thought about Andre.
About how he showed up consistently.
How he listened.
How he respected her.
How he made deposits daily—through presence, communication, affection.
She had been afraid of him at first.
Afraid of how good it felt to be truly seen.
But now, she realized something:
Andre was the opposite of every man she had ever dated.
He wasn't chasing her.
He was choosing her.
Every day.
Without hesitation.
Without games.
Without fear.
And for the first time in her life, she was choosing herself.
Not as a last resort.
But as a choice.
A deliberate, empowered decision to stop chasing love and start building it within herself.
Because at fifty-five, she had lived long enough to know that true love doesn't come from someone else.
It starts with you.
---
**Lola Knows Best**
Later that evening, Nia met Lola at her apartment.
They were sprawled out on the couch, wine glasses in hand, watching reruns of Living Single.
"So," Lola said, swirling her glass. "How was therapy?"
Nia smiled faintly. "Powerful."
Lola raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"
Nia described the Emotional Bank Account concept.
"I finally understand why I kept getting hurt," she said. "I gave everything to men who never gave back. They took and took and took—and I kept thinking if I gave more, they'd finally invest in me."
Lola frowned. "Girl, they didn't deserve your investment."
Nia nodded. "I know that now."
Lola studied her carefully. "And what about Andre?"
Nia smiled. "He makes deposits every day."
Lola grinned. "See? You're learning."
Nia laughed. "Yeah. I am."
Lola raised her glass. "To you, girl. Finally putting yourself first."
Nia clinked hers against it.
"To me."
---
**Back to Therapy: Rewriting the Script**
During her next session, Nia sat across from Dr. Gadot with a sense of peace she hadn't felt in years.
"I've been thinking about what you said last week," she began. "About the Emotional Bank Account."
Dr. Gadot smiled. "Go on."
Nia nodded. "I realized something. I've spent my life investing in people who didn't invest in me. And I blamed myself when the returns weren't there."
Dr. Gadot leaned forward. "And now?"
Nia looked her in the eye. "Now I'm investing in myself."
Dr. Gadot smiled. "That's growth."
Nia exhaled. "And I'm learning to recognize the difference between someone who adds to my account—and someone who just takes from it."
"That's huge, Nia."
"I know. And I'm finally allowing myself to receive love from someone who shows up."
Dr. Gadot tilted her head. "How does that feel?"
Nia smiled softly. "Scary. But good."
Dr. Gadot nodded. "Exactly how it should feel."
---
**Journal Entry: Investing in Myself**
Later that night, Nia sat at her desk, journal in hand.
She opened it to a blank page and began writing.
Dear Me,
Today, I learned something powerful. Something that changed the way I view love, relationships, and myself.
I've spent my entire adult life making emotional deposits into accounts that never reciprocated. I gave love freely, but rarely received it equally. And when I didn't get the returns I expected, I blamed myself.
But now, I understand. Love isn't about earning. It's about mutual investment.
I am learning to build my own emotional wealth. To say no when I need to. To prioritize my needs. To enjoy my own company. To stop chasing people who don't show up for me.
And most importantly—I am learning to invest in myself.
I am enough. I always have been. And I will no longer settle for less.
She closed the journal.
Tears streamed down her face.
But this time, they weren't tears of sadness.
They were tears of release.
Of realization.
Of healing.
---
**A New Kind of Love Story**
As Nia left the session, she felt something stir inside her—a quiet confidence, a sense of clarity.
She didn't need to chase love anymore.
She needed to cultivate it within herself.