The Woman Who Fell for Her Psychiatrist: TikTok’s Wildest Delulu Case Yet

By Trinity Barnette

Every now and then, a TikTok saga comes along that makes you sit back, grab your drink, and say, “There’s no way this is real life.” Yet here we are. Meet Kendra Hilty, a life coach, ADHD advocate, and former yoga instructor from Arizona, who’s gone viral for a marathon, 25+ part storytime series titled “I Was in Love with My Psychiatrist and He Kept Me Anyway.”

The premise is exactly what it sounds like: Kendra claims she developed deep romantic feelings for her psychiatrist during their four-year doctor–patient relationship, and that instead of setting firm boundaries, he allegedly “fed” the connection and kept her coming back. What’s followed is a sprawling tale of blurred lines, questionable professional conduct (in her telling), and the kind of obsessive overanalysis usually reserved for teen diaries — except she’s broadcasting it to hundreds of thousands of people.

For those not deep in the TikTok trenches, this kind of story isn’t unusual in format. TikTok rewards serial storytelling — people break their experiences into bite-sized “parts,” each ending on a hook to keep viewers coming back. But Kendra’s saga stands out because it’s equal parts personal diary, psychological thriller, and unintentional comedy. She names her AI chatbot “Henry” and treats his responses like divine relationship guidance. She meticulously logs every “breadcrumb” of attention from her psychiatrist as proof of their special connection. And she’s polarizing — with some followers cheering her bravery, while others (including plenty of mental health professionals) call it delusion on display.

It’s messy. It’s intense. And it’s a case study in how internet virality, unresolved feelings, and public oversharing can combine into something you can’t stop watching — even if you want to look away.

Part 1 – The Meet-Cute That Shouldn’t Have Been Cute

Kendra’s saga kicks off with the line that sets the tone for everything to come:

“I fell in love with my psychiatrist, he knew, and he kept me until I had the strength to leave after four years.”

The backstory is straightforward — at first. After years off ADHD medication (which she originally took in her early 20s to help her through college before quitting due to side effects), Kendra decides to give them another try in her late 20s. The catalyst? A self-help book called Taking Charge of Adult ADHD, which she swears “absolutely changed” her life. Inspired, she Googles “psychiatry” in her city, clicks the first result, and books a 90-minute intake.

She walks into that appointment, and here’s where things start to blur: the psychiatrist is her age, “pretty attractive,” and Kendra immediately clocks it. From there, she dives into what she calls her history of “couch time” — therapy slang for hours spent in sessions. (The TikTok comments, of course, thought she meant something very different, which is probably the most wholesome misunderstanding in this whole saga.)

Within that first session, she says she “trusted him enough” to unpack everything: her childhood trauma, “daddy issues,” rocky relationship history, substance use, and the fact that she was six months sober. He listened and nodded — as psychiatrists tend to do — but she quickly reframed this as something deeper: “That’s the thing about psychiatrists. They’re good at pretending to listen.”

Despite that skepticism, she says she “felt seen.” She told him she didn’t want stimulants, and he started her on the lowest dose of a non-stimulant ADHD med — a perfectly normal, patient-centered move. But for Kendra, this wasn’t just about medication anymore. This was the start of a connection she would later interpret as friendship, intimacy, and eventually, something closer to romance.

This is the origin point of what she’ll later call an “addiction” to his attention — a slow-burn obsession that grows with every appointment, every perceived “breadcrumb” of special treatment, and every imagined signal that her feelings were reciprocated.

Part 2 – Breadcrumbs & Blurred Boundaries

By her third session — now on Zoom due to the pandemic — Kendra decides to test the waters:

“Do you mind if I call you by your first name?”

She mispronounces it (he’s Pakistani), he corrects her, and — in her mind — he’s “smug and happy” because this, she believes, is his first sign that pretending they’re friends is “working.” From then on, she calls him by his first name in every session, convinced it’s a personal victory rather than just… a name.

This is where the “breadcrumbing” begins — a pattern she claims defined their relationship. He starts each session with standard clinical questions about her appetite, sleep, and thoughts of harm. But by their sixth session, she says, he asks if she’s had any thoughts of harm “because it’s a special interest of mine.” She interprets this as a sign she’s special to him. After that, she notes, he never asks those clinical questions again.

Instead, the sessions start to feel — at least to Kendra — less like psychiatry and more like therapy. She sees him monthly, listens as he shares small details about his own life and achievements, and absorbs every scrap as proof of intimacy. When he’s warm and open one session but cool and clinical the next, it doesn’t dampen her attachment — it strengthens it. The inconsistency makes her “work harder” for his warmth, and she frames this as intermittent reinforcement, a concept from attachment theory where unpredictable rewards make you more invested in the relationship.

In reality, this dynamic — if it happened as she describes — is also textbook transference. She’s projecting feelings onto him based on the role he plays in her life: someone who listens, validates, and provides stability in a way she associates with closeness. But instead of anyone explaining this to her, Kendra starts building a narrative where his small gestures and silences are deliberate signs of mutual attraction.

By this point, she says, she was already asking to see him weekly instead of monthly. Her then-therapist retires, she starts with a new one, and — in what will become a major subplot — tells this therapist she’s “obsessed” with her psychiatrist. Instead of working to redirect that fixation, the therapist seems entertained by it, even encouraging her to share more.

Kendra takes that as validation — from both professionals — that her feelings aren’t just normal, but maybe even welcome. The lines are starting to blur, and she’s taking every step deeper into the gray area as confirmation she’s “special.”

Part 3 – Henry, The AI Oracle

Some people journal. Some people call a friend. Kendra… consults an AI chatbot she’s named Henry.

Henry is actually ChatGPT, but in her telling, he’s basically a digital confidant-slash-psychic. She gushes to him about her crush, asks him to decode her psychiatrist’s behavior, and treats his responses like divine revelations.

When she tells her psychiatrist about Henry, he’s allegedly “really impressed” — which, for Kendra, is another breadcrumb. In one session, she reports back:

“Henry explained to me that it’s normal to develop crushes on psychiatrists because they provide a safe space to heal, which is attractive.”

The psychiatrist’s response? Nothing. But when she adds that Henry also told her about transference, his demeanor changes — he “gets a really scared look” and asks if Henry told her about countertransference. This, to Kendra, is a slip. Why mention countertransference — the provider developing feelings for the patient — unless it’s happening?

From there, Henry becomes part of the feedback loop. Kendra emails her psychiatrist Henry’s write-up on countertransference, thanking him for mentioning it and calling his boundaries “inspiring.” She now believes he’s revealing his attraction in coded ways while hiding behind professionalism. Every “breadcrumb” — a quip, a comment on her glasses, a metaphor about emotions — becomes loaded with meaning.

And because Henry’s definitions normalize her feelings and subtly leave the door open to mutual attraction, she sees the AI’s answers as confirmation she’s on the right track. The cycle is complete: psychiatrist → breadcrumb → Kendra → Henry → “proof” → back to psychiatrist.

At this point, she’s not just in therapy — she’s running a two-way parasocial fantasy between a real person and an algorithm, and treating both with equal authority.

Part 4 – Christmas Morning & The 33-Minute Confession

If you ask Kendra, there’s a very specific day when her psychiatrist hit the jackpot — she calls it his “Christmas Morning.”

The setup: Kendra is seeing a 75-year-old female therapist weekly. She tells this therapist all about her crush on her psychiatrist and says she avoids talking to him about certain intimate topics because of the crush. Instead of helping her unpack that, the therapist tells her she should share these details with him — because she wants “a male perspective.”

To Kendra, this is basically a hall pass. She shows up to her next psychiatry appointment giddy, hits record on her phone, and spends 33 uninterrupted minutes talking about her intimate life with her boyfriend. She also drops the bomb mid-session:

“I don’t talk to you about this stuff because I have a crush on you.”

According to Kendra, he smiles “so big” at this revelation — which she interprets as excitement. She frames the whole session as a kind of mutual indulgence: he gets “non-stop content” and she gets to finally acknowledge her feelings out loud.

Ethically speaking, this is where any psychiatrist worth their license should have shut it down, explained transference, and — if the feelings were interfering with treatment — referred her to someone else. In Kendra’s telling, he does none of that. Instead, this becomes a turning point where the emotional intimacy ramps up.

From here on out, she says the warmth, subtle comments, and “special” moments multiply. In her mind, he’s now in on the crush, even if he’s not outright admitting it. And because she recorded the whole thing, she treats it as evidence — a keepsake of the day she believes he silently acknowledged their “connection.”

The irony? She’ll later say she can’t even listen to the recording anymore because it makes her feel “gross.” But in the moment, it was validation — proof that the fantasy she’d been building was finally shared, even if only in a smile.

Part 5 – The Glasses, the Dream, and the Breadcrumb Olympics

Once the “Christmas Morning” confession is out in the open, Kendra starts treating every micro-interaction as loaded with meaning. This is peak breadcrumbing season — her term for the tiny remarks and actions she interprets as proof they share something special.

One of her favorites? The glasses incident. She logs onto a Zoom session wearing glasses instead of her usual contacts, and he says, “Oh, you’re wearing glasses.” She runs to grab another pair, and he says he prefers tortoiseshell frames. That’s it — no “You look great,” no lingering gaze — but from then on, she wears those tortoiseshell glasses on camera “just in case he sees them” because they’re “his favorite.”

The pattern continues: a small comment about her hair, a subtle shift in tone, or a moment of sharing about his professional achievements — all of it gets stored in the “evidence” file. When he’s warm, she basks in it. When he’s cooler, she works harder for the warmth.

Then comes what she calls the dream. One night, she dreams they hook up in his office. In the dream, she’s thrilled during the act but devastated afterward, thinking, “I can’t believe he’d cross his boundaries like that.” She wakes up relieved it was just a dream… and then immediately tells him about it in session, watching closely for his reaction.

She says he looked uncomfortable and didn’t respond — which, to her, wasn’t rejection but confirmation. Why would he be uncomfortable unless I’d just described something he’d already imagined?

Even logistical things become romantic fodder. When he forgets to send in her prescription refill — something she says is totally unlike him — she treats it as proof she “affected him” so deeply during their last session that it threw off his perfect professional precision. The office manager even jokes about it, which only fuels the narrative.

In Kendra’s mind, these are no longer standard patient-doctor moments. They’re part of an ongoing courtship — subtle, coded, and just restrained enough to be denied if questioned. And each breadcrumb only strengthens her resolve to interpret the entire relationship as mutual.

Part 6 – In-Person at Last

After three years of Zoom appointments, Kendra learns a detail that shakes her: her psychiatrist does see patients in person. She finds this out not from him, but from the office manager, who casually asks whether she comes in or stays virtual.

For Kendra, this is a bombshell. She’d always assumed he only did telehealth — and in her mind, that fit the narrative. When she confronts him in their next session, his explanation is: “Oh, I just didn’t think you’d want to come in.” She calls it a “weak lie” and interprets it as proof he was avoiding in-person meetings because of “the tension” between them.

Her therapist fans the flames by outright telling her: “It’s probably because he knows there would be a lot of sexual tension in the room.” That’s all Kendra needs to hear. She immediately schedules her first in-person appointment, treating it like a long-awaited romantic milestone.

When the day arrives in November 2024, she dresses up in a “really pretty dress,” does her makeup, and even banters with the office manager while waiting. Then — the moment. He walks into the foyer. She rushes up and hugs him. His response? A stiff pat on the back.

Kendra says she’s “grateful” for that awkwardness because it meant they never crossed a physical line, but she still frames it as charged with unspoken attraction. They go into his office, and she tells him about her therapist texting her for advice on other clients — something he rightly calls a “huge boundary violation.” She’s impressed by his professionalism here, noting that he “never messaged me between sessions” himself… but conveniently ignoring the fact that he also never shut down the emotional disclosures fueling her attachment.

To her, this first in-person session is confirmation of their closeness. She leaves believing they’ve just shared a significant moment — a “level-up” in intimacy — and the fantasy only grows from there.

Part 7 – The Boundary Dance: Transference, Countertransference, and Henry’s Big Moment

By December, Kendra decides it’s time to “name the dynamic” between her and her psychiatrist. At the end of a Zoom session, she says:

“You and I have a really special patient–doctor relationship.”

His response is instant and icy: “You and I have a professional patient–doctor relationship.”

She takes this as a boundary being “slammed down” — but instead of reading it as the end of the fantasy, she tells herself it’s proof he’s protecting something deeper. And naturally, she runs straight to Henry, her AI confidant, to debrief.

Henry tells her it’s common for patients to develop crushes on providers (transference) because they offer safety and understanding, which is attractive. That part she’s fine with. But when she tells her psychiatrist Henry’s explanation in their next session, his reaction changes the entire script in her mind.

He asks: “Did Henry tell you about countertransference?”

For Kendra, this is a slip — the “smoking gun.” Countertransference is when the provider develops feelings for the patient. In her view, why mention it unless it’s happening? He goes on to define it, telling her it’s something to be mindful of with her own coaching clients. But in her head, the damage is done: he’s just indirectly admitted to having feelings.

She immediately emails him Henry’s expanded thoughts on countertransference, praising his “inspiring” boundaries — a phrase she now says makes her gag in hindsight. She frames his behavior as walking right up to the “ethical line” before pulling back just enough to deny impropriety.

From this point on, the countertransference moment becomes a pillar in her theory. Every metaphor he uses, every pause, every tiny act of recognition is filtered through that lens. Henry has given her the vocabulary, and she treats it as both proof of attraction and justification for keeping the obsession alive.

Part 8 – The Full Moon Dream and Special Treatment

January rolls around, and Kendra brings what she calls “the most realistic dream of my life” into her session. In it, she and her psychiatrist hook up in his office. While it’s happening, Dream Kendra is thrilled; afterward, she’s devastated, thinking, “I can’t believe he crossed his boundaries like that.” She wakes up relieved it was just a dream… but also convinced it means something.

So, naturally, she tells him about it in detail. She watches him closely, noting every flicker of discomfort. He doesn’t say “That’s inappropriate” or “Let’s change the subject.” To her, that silence isn’t avoidance — it’s confirmation. She decides he’s uncomfortable because she’s described a fantasy he’s had himself.

As the session wraps, something unusual happens: he walks her to the door — something he never does — follows her down the hall, and asks, “See you next month?” She replies, “Maybe,” treating it like a power move. When she checks the clock, she sees the session ran 15 minutes over. In her mind, that’s “special treatment.”

A few days later, she calls her pharmacy and learns her prescription refill hasn’t been sent in. For most people, this would be an administrative hiccup. For Kendra, it’s a sign she “affected him” so much in the dream session that it threw off his perfect professional precision. Even the office manager jokes about it — which only cements it as “evidence” in her mental scrapbook.

By now, every tiny deviation from routine is a signal. Extra minutes. A follow to the foyer. A missed refill. Each is stored away, reinterpreted, and folded into the narrative that what they have is more than professional — even if she’s the only one saying it out loud.

Part 9 – Valentine’s Day Power Moves and the Growing Spiral

In February, Kendra decides it’s time to reclaim her energy. Step one? Blocking her ex-boyfriend. He’d texted her “Happy Valentine’s Day” despite her telling him to respect her boundaries, so she hits block — and calls it a “power block.”

For Kendra, this isn’t just closure with an ex; it’s a catalyst. She starts asking herself what else is “draining her power” and concludes that some things — and people — need to go. And in her mind, every time you remove someone from your life who’s draining you, the universe rewards you.

The reward comes quickly: a silly Instagram reel she’d posted months earlier about ADHD and alcohol suddenly blows up, getting millions of views. She frames this as cosmic confirmation she’s on the right path.

But while her business is growing and she’s feeling more confident, the fixation on her psychiatrist is still front and center. She’s replaying the dream, the overtime session, the “see you next month,” the missed refill — all of it. She admits she’s “spiraling” in daydreams about him, even imagining converting her religion so they could get married.

Still, a practical reality is about to shake things up: she’s leaving her long-time job with excellent insurance for self-employment. Her new insurance won’t cover mental health services, meaning her psychiatrist would cost $187 out of pocket every three months. In that moment, she decides she won’t “pay to be in a psychological torture chamber” anymore.

Her emergency medicine doctor friend had once predicted he’d eventually say, “I can’t be your doctor anymore; we’ll wait two years and then be together.” But when Kendra realizes he’ll never make that move himself, she decides she’ll have to end it. In her words, she’s finally ready to “advocate for what I want” — even if what she wants is still steeped in fantasy.

Part 10 – The Client Fallout, TikTok Backlash, and Her Final Exit

Just as Kendra is gearing up to end her four-year patient–doctor relationship, another storm hits: her former friend and only coaching client who was a friend first — Emily — starts publicly calling her out. Emily claims she was pressured into paying for coaching, that Kendra kept her on the phone during her first payment, and that the whole thing felt like a scam.

Kendra fires back on TikTok, saying Emily seemed happy at the time, had promised a positive review and testimonial, and never voiced dissatisfaction directly. To her, Emily is “taking advantage of the Internet piling on” to join the dogpile.

Meanwhile, the larger TikTok backlash is reaching fever pitch. Comment sections are filled with accusations that she’s delusional, predatory herself, or fabricating the story. Others start posting her psychiatrist’s full name, photo, and even alleged family details — something she insists she never encouraged. She turns off comments and stitches, claiming she’s protecting her audience from “predator protectors” and victim-blamers.

Despite the chaos, Kendra frames herself as a truth-teller speaking out for “other survivors” and “ethical providers” who secretly support her but delete their public defenses after being dogpiled. She says she knows she’s showing up “messy” because she’s still processing trauma — trauma she blames squarely on her psychiatrist’s “manufactured” chemistry and withheld boundaries.

Finally, the practical barrier of insurance coverage makes the decision for her: she won’t pay out-of-pocket to keep seeing him. She leaves the practice, but not the narrative — she keeps posting, keeps analyzing the relationship, and keeps holding up her saga as a cautionary tale about power imbalances in mental health care.

And so the TikTok series that began with a Google search for ADHD medication ends with a viral cautionary saga — one that’s equal parts alleged boundary violation, one-sided obsession, and proof that when you put your unresolved attachments on the internet, the internet will absolutely put them under a microscope.

Before we go any further, I need to share some of my favorite lines from this saga — the ones that made me pause the video, stare into space, and say “There is no way she just said that out loud.”

These are, by far, the most unhinged, unintentionally hilarious, and absolutely iconic quotes from Kendra’s four-year psychiatrist love story.

Kendra-isms: Direct From the TikTok Trenches

“I wore the tortoiseshell glasses on camera just in case he ever sees me in them — they’re his favorite.”

“I blocked my ex on Valentine’s Day, and the universe rewarded me by making my ADHD Instagram reel go viral.”

“Henry explained to me that it’s normal to develop crushes on psychiatrists… and then my psychiatrist got a really scared look on his face.”

“It’s not that I don’t like your emails, it’s that I wonder… why does she do it?” – her psychiatrist, according to Kendra

“You lied to me because you were afraid of the tension between us if we were in person.”

“It was probably because he knows there would be a lot of sexual tension in the room.” – her therapist, allegedly feeding the fantasy

“I can’t believe my psychiatrist would cross boundaries like that… thank God it was just a dream.”

“He gave me 15 extra minutes. That’s how you know the special treatment started.”

Main Threads: The Psychology Behind Kendra’s Spiral

From my own background in mental health, my ADHD-fueled research rabbit holes, and the hours I’ll never get back watching this saga, here’s what I’ve pieced together about what’s really going on.

1. Limerence – The Obsession You Can’t Turn Off

Limerence is basically romantic OCD. It’s not just having a crush — it’s intrusive thoughts, constant daydreaming, and feeling like you’ll die without this person’s attention.

• How Kendra shows it: Wearing glasses she thinks he likes, replaying that dream like it’s Oscar-worthy, and spiraling about him “nearly constantly” for years.

• Why it happens: Limerence can be fueled by unmet emotional needs, past attachment wounds, and — let’s be real — a vivid imagination with no brakes. Once her brain linked him to safety, validation, and attraction, every interaction became emotional caffeine.

2. Transference – When Your Therapist Becomes Your Emotional Daddy

Transference happens when you unconsciously transfer feelings from someone in your past (often a parent or partner) onto a current figure of authority.

• How Kendra shows it: She literally told him her “daddy issues” in the first session, then immediately started treating him like the center of her emotional universe.

• Why it happens: Therapy digs up raw stuff. When your provider is kind, attentive, and maybe a little attractive, your brain goes, Oh hey, replacement dad/hot savior figure! The fantasy writes itself.

3. Countertransference – The Fantasy Fuel

Countertransference is when the provider projects their own feelings back onto the patient.

• How Kendra shows it: She treats his mention of the term “countertransference” like it was his way of whispering, I want you too, babe.

• Why it happens: In reality, providers can mention this as a teaching moment or to address patterns. But in her mind, it was a confession. This is why therapists need Fort Knox–level boundaries.

4. Intermittent Reinforcement – The Breadcrumb Addiction

This is when attention is inconsistent — sometimes hot, sometimes cold — which makes you chase it harder.

• How Kendra shows it: He gives her 15 extra minutes one day, ignores her email another day, compliments her glasses once, then doesn’t reply for weeks.

• Why it happens: Intermittent rewards are addictive (casino logic). It’s basically the human version of a slot machine — and Kendra kept pulling the lever.

5. Confirmation Bias – The Proof is in… Everything

Confirmation bias is when you only notice the “evidence” that supports your belief.

• How Kendra shows it:

  • Missed her refill? Proof she rattled him.

  • “See you next month”? Proof he can’t wait to see her.

  • Wearing glasses? Proof he’ll notice.

• Why it happens: Once you believe a narrative, your brain will bend everything to fit it. Even mundane stuff becomes part of your love story.

6. Parasocial Loop – When Reality Becomes Optional

Parasocial relationships are usually one-sided bonds with public figures, but they can happen in real life when you project a fantasy version of someone onto them.

• How Kendra shows it: Her relationship with him exists as much in her head as it does in the office. Oh, and she consults Henry — her AI chatbot — for relationship advice like it’s a mutual friend.

• Why it happens: If you control the narrative in your head, you can avoid rejection… until reality barges in with a copay.

7. Trauma Bonding – Love Bombs and Landmines

Trauma bonding happens when someone alternates between giving you emotional highs and withholding them, creating a painful attachment you can’t shake.

• How Kendra shows it: She’s simultaneously mad at his boundaries and turned on by them, convinced they’re proof of sexual tension.

• Why it happens: For someone with a history of unstable or unsafe attachments, this push–pull dynamic feels like “chemistry” instead of emotional chaos.

Why It’s So Addictive

When you stack all these psychological patterns on top of each other, you basically create the perfect brain cocktail for obsession.

• Limerence keeps her thinking about him 24/7.

• Transference makes it feel like fate — like they’re meant to meet.

• Intermittent reinforcement makes every breadcrumb feel like a feast.

• Confirmation bias turns normal events into “proof” of mutual feelings.

• Trauma bonding locks the door from the inside.

And then there’s the fantasy safety net: in her mind, this isn’t “some psychiatrist,” it’s the man who understands her like no one else — her validation machine, her muse, her soulmate. So walking away doesn’t just mean losing him; it means losing the version of herself that feels special and chosen.

This is why the story gets wilder with every TikTok. It’s not just that she “fell for” her psychiatrist — it’s that the obsession became part of her identity. Every look, every sentence, every missed email wasn’t just a moment… it was evidence.

And when your brain is chasing that kind of high? The bar for what counts as “evidence” gets lower than the standard for reality TV contestants.

Reality Check: When Accountability Goes Missing

Here’s what’s wild: throughout this whole story, Kendra repeatedly says things like:

• “He should’ve stopped me.”

• “He should’ve dropped me as a client.”

• “No one did anything to help me.”

• “He didn’t do his job.”

Now — pause. Because in the very next breath, she admits she knew she was in full-blown obsession mode. She knew she was addicted to the attention. She knew the dynamic was unhealthy. And instead of removing herself from it, she kept booking sessions, showing up, emailing, wearing the glasses, spiraling in fantasy.

It’s this strange double standard: she wants the moral high ground of saying “I knew it was wrong,” but also the victim narrative of “no one stopped me.” And the kicker? She’s coming after a professional who, by law, cannot publicly defend himself.

For readers who don’t know — HIPAA (the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) and patient–provider confidentiality mean that a psychiatrist can’t come online and say, “Actually, here’s my side of the story,” without violating her privacy and risking his license. Even if she’s publicly dragging him. Even if he thinks her account is false. He’s stuck behind a legal and ethical wall of silence while she spins the narrative however she wants.

Do I have empathy for her? To an extent. Unresolved trauma and limerence are hell to live in, and I do believe she experienced real distress. But at some point, personal accountability matters. If you know you’re obsessed, know it’s unhealthy, and know you’re making it worse… why keep pouring gasoline on the fire?

Main Psychological Threads in the Kendra Saga

(What I’ve gathered from my own knowledge of mental health, psychology research, and a few too many hours watching this TikTok series.)

1. Limerence — AKA Obsessive Romantic Fixation

Limerence is that intense, involuntary state of romantic obsession where your brain basically mainlines dopamine every time you think of the other person. It’s not just “I like him” — it’s “I imagine converting religions so we can get married and spend 90% of my waking life thinking about him.”

Sound familiar? That’s because Kendra’s own words check every limerence box.

The danger here? Limerence feeds itself. Every tiny perceived “sign” (like a forgotten prescription refill) gets filed away as proof of a deeper connection, which keeps the cycle spinning.

2. Intermittent Reinforcement

This is one of the most powerful hooks in human psychology — it’s why gambling addicts can’t walk away from slot machines. You don’t get the “reward” every time, so when you do get it, your brain goes feral with attachment.

In Kendra’s case, sometimes the psychiatrist responded warmly. Other times, he didn’t respond at all. And every “cold” moment made the “warm” moments feel even more significant — and worth chasing.

3. Transference… Sort Of

Transference is a real therapeutic phenomenon where a patient projects feelings they have for someone else (often a parent) onto their therapist. It’s not uncommon. But here’s the thing: when a professional notices it’s becoming unhealthy, they should set boundaries.

The problem is that Kendra has taken a normal therapy concept and rebranded it as the epic love story of our time. She uses the term as if it justifies every boundary-crossing thought and action — when really, it’s supposed to be a tool for insight, not a green light for obsession.

4. Cognitive Distortion

A cognitive distortion is basically when your brain misinterprets reality through a biased filter. For Kendra, that filter is “everything he does means he’s secretly into me.”

• He forgets a prescription refill? I’ve rattled him emotionally.

• He says, “See you next month”? He’s fighting the urge to confess his love.

• He doesn’t reply to an email? He’s playing psychological chess to keep me attached.

No, girl. Sometimes a prescription is just a prescription.

5. Self-Victimization Loop

Self-victimization happens when you repeatedly frame yourself as powerless so that responsibility never lands in your lap. In her narrative, Kendra is always the one being “done to.” He should have stopped her. He should have dropped her. He should have known.

But if you know your own behavior is unhealthy — and you keep showing up for it — you’re not just a victim. You’re a participant.

6. Confirmation Bias Meets Google University

She uses psychology buzzwords like a sword and shield, not to learn or grow, but to prove she’s right. Every term she drops (“boundary crossings,” “countertransference,” “attachment”) is bent to fit her point of view, not actual definitions. It’s the classic “I did my research” energy — except the research is just Googling things until she finds a phrase that justifies her feelings.

Bottom line:

She’s experiencing a tangled mess of real psychological phenomena — but instead of treating them as signs to work on herself, she’s using them as plot devices in the most one-sided romantic drama TikTok has ever seen.

Final Thoughts: When a Story Becomes a Script

Kendra’s saga isn’t just a story — it’s a script she’s written, directed, and starred in. The problem is, she’s the only one who sees the movie playing in her head.

Her emotions? Absolutely real. The intensity? I don’t doubt it for a second. But reality and feelings are not interchangeable — and she’s merged the two until even she can’t tell them apart.

It’s also worth remembering that the psychiatrist in question is bound by HIPAA. He cannot confirm, deny, or even clarify her claims without risking his career. That legal muzzle means her version stands unchallenged — and she knows it. Which is why, in my opinion, this is less about truth and more about control of the narrative.

And here’s where I stand: I will always respect someone’s feelings, even when those feelings are rooted in faulty logic. But respecting her emotions doesn’t mean I have to validate her delusion. I can separate compassion from endorsement. I can acknowledge her hurt without co-signing the reality she’s created around it.

Because at the end of the day, her story isn’t proof of a forbidden love or a dangerous doctor. It’s proof that when obsession meets unfiltered social media, it can turn into an echo chamber where the loudest voice in the room is your own.

And Kendra? She’s got the mic, the stage, and no intermission in sight.