I started therapy on a Thursday, the day after the previously discussed text message. His name was Mike. He had a salt and pepper braided tail half way down his back. You know, a tail… like it was fucking 1989. 😑
I’d been to therapy before, after my dad died. (Yes, my dad died of brain cancer a few years ago… but we’ll eventually get to those details. I told you my life is story worthy.) Aaaaaanyway… Previously, therapy felt like I was sitting and bitching to someone sort of annoyed to be listening… except I was fortunate enough to be paying them to be annoyed. What a great deal!! As you might imagine, it wasn’t terribly helpful. But here I was, sitting in a little, stinky AF , makeshift office, with Mike and his tail. Shit had hit the fan, I had no idea or hope on how to save my marriage. Maybe if I told him my story that he would have some magical wisdom for me. Do A, B, and C and your marriage will be happier and stronger than ever. It would be like those books, but in real life.
I told you I was in bad shape… I remember feeling so weak and pathetic. Other people got through this just fine on their own. Why couldn’t I? Chad seemed happy when he was doing anything else other than interacting with me… fucker.
I sat in the stinky room with The Tail while he filled out some paperwork. I was trying not to cry and wondering how this was going to go. He asked me to tell him what happened to bring me in and I lost it. I told the whole burrito/text story. I told him about all the extra stressors. I told him that I had become so lonely and resentful that I was behaving in a negative way and couldn’t see the light. I had said things that, while true, were mean. He just listened and didn’t say much. Sure shit, I was going to be sitting here bitching to someone for an hour, spinning my wheels, not feeling any better, just like before. Perfect.
The session ended with, “Kristan, for full disclosure I have a session scheduled with your husband on Monday afternoon. If he would like to see someone else, that is understandable. If he would like to keep the appointment, it may be beneficial for the both of you to see the same, independent third party so we have a full picture of how to move forward to fill both of your needs.” Or some shit like that. I mean, that was what I got out of it.
I called Chad (his name isn’t Chad, and sorry to all the Chad’s out there, but it’s a pretty generic white guy name) on the way home and told him what The Tail had mentioned about his appointment on Monday. He said he thought it would be good to have the same therapist, who is a male, work with both of us independently. It could really be beneficial. **At this point, I started thinking about him telling me Monday was the soonest they had time available, but I got in less than 24 from making contact.**
FWD to Monday evening. Chad says he went to therapy and didn’t really like The Tail. He had decided he was going to look for someone else.
FWD to Thursday and my second therapy session. This is where it gets fun. “Kristan, I won’t be seeing Chad again. I didn’t interject or ask questions, I just let him talk to hear where he is and what he is looking for. It was very clear to me that he is not someone I’m willing to continue working with, especially because I already have met you and was able to get to know you a little already. Things didn’t match up and I don’t think I can overcome that. I have given him names of other counselors in the area. I felt sick during the session. I’ve never met someone like him. I’m so sorry.”
Well, well, well, Mr. I Didn’t Really Like Him So I Decided To See Someone Else… someone smelled your bullshit and rejected you so of course there needed to be an elaborate story of why you were in control of this choice. Nobody puts Baby in the corner!
I had a few more sessions with The Tail. I didn’t make any progress. I was spinning my wheels. Garbage. What garbage. I was just recounting every little shit thing that pissed me off over the previous week. It felt like I was just adding fuel to my fire of growing anger and anxiety. The more Chad and I sat across from each other in the living room, or he sat down to eat the dinner I made, or when he breathed I got irrationally upset.
The Tail was a nice guy, but not great at his job. I asked around to find someone else that would be a better match. I felt guilty. He had picked me over Chad. He believed me. I was discarding him. I knew that my health was more important than hurting The Tail’s feelings by moving on. I wasn’t getting better. I needed to be able to get through a day without crying. I needed to eat food. Somehow, things were just getting worse and I had to pull my shit together. I have these kids who need me. I couldn’t let them down.
We can’t live our lives to please other people. We can’t shy away from asking for the help we desperately need because some people might think it makes us weak or crazy. We can’t stop because it gets hard.
Reaching out when we need help is SO FUCKING IMPORTANT! The Tail wasn’t the one for me, but I knew I wanted to be a better person. I needed to become someone I could love and be proud of, even if it meant that I was alone.
Therapy v1.5 was a failure for working on me and for a hot second I thought maybe this really was just the way I was… but I did learn something from The Tail. I set my first boundary when I decided to move on even though I felt like I was letting someone down. I also had my first affirmation that I wasn’t crazy and that it was totally possible that Chad had been lying to and manipulating me for our whole relationship while I believed lies and half truths.
I never lose. Either I win or I learn. — Someone more eloquent than me.
I accepted the challenge to rise back up when I realized that the rest of my life depended on it. My kids were counting on me. So what that things didn’t work out with The Tail? It didn’t mean that I couldn’t find someone that could meet my needs and help me live to my values and beliefs. If I needed heart surgery and already had a neurologist, I sure as fuck wouldn’t let him do the procedure. Therapy isn’t any different. “I tried and it didn’t help. I’m not doing that again,” isn’t an acceptable answer.
Who is depending on you? Who are you, really? What kind of person do you want to be? What are the beliefs and values you would like to live by? Have you asked these questions yet and how many were you able to answer?
Becoming Again 