The Therapist is Going to Need a Therapist!

So, my husband and I decided to see a therapist with hopes of salvaging our marriage, and with hopes to learn to communicate better, something we both exhibit signs of weakness in accomplishing.

The initial visit was hilarious to me. We signed in, filled out our paperwork, all the things you do when you are new to a practice. Then like a force of nature, came the arguing. At this point I can't even remember what we were arguing about, but I remember the awkward disgruntled looks of the other patients who were waiting to be seen, as well as the poor receptionist, who was ducking her head as far out of view to avoid eye contact.

Shortly after the arguing began, we hear the shriek of a door, the thumping of footsteps, and around the corner comes a husky woman with a forced smile with her hand coming straight for me. Our arguing came to a hault, and we proceeded to follow her down the hall, and then down a steep staircase, which led us to the "dungeon" as I would like to call it.

Afer a brief introduction of herself, she proceeded to ask us about what brought us here, and like always my husband passed the mic to me (which bothers me at times because the submission of himself to allow me to speak is later criticized and used as a weapon, as to say that I don't EVER allow him to speak). I begain to speak generally about the more emergent issues we are facing in our marriage, and then I was so rudely interrupted by the VENTING of my husband. He was trying to vent twelve years of a relationship that started shortly after we became pubescent into a five minute session, scrambling and stuttering, without making much sense.

At this time, I was waiting for the therapist to intervene. Never happened. I could feel my blood pressure literally rising, my heart raising, and something inside of me was not allowing me to control myself. This was not new, but I really was trying to make a good impression of myself to therapist, in hopes that as women we would stick together. However, my charming good looks intelligence and sense of humor would not gain her support. I soon realized that my visions of us tag teaming him in an attack to make him realize his flaws and participation in the destruction of our marriage without any regards to mine was soon dissipated.

I felt overwhelmed at this point. He was venting, she was scribbling, and I was fighting so hard to bite my tongue.

Then I couldn't take it anymore.

The exagerations and falsifications of events drove me to a place of anger and irrationale, something I am very used and good at expressing.

Then came the battle. I was embarassed but elated in the same that this occurred.
Arguing is something I do well. I was born to be a lawyer, but fell in love with medicine.

I begin by recalling previous statements he made and cross-examining them, remembering the lies in which he told and then stating actual facts that occurred, purposely using "big" words not commonly used in every day conversations with hopes to "lose" him and gain her respect as well, while bringing the truth to light by proving the logic in what I was saying as opposed to what he was stating.

It was BEAUTIFUL, watching him squirm at a lost for words.

What made him think he could lie his way into thinking he wasn't the bad guy?

The poor therapist was beet red.

She appeared to be very anxious.

I could tell this was all very awkward for her.

We proceeded to argue and I didn't stop until the realization that others in the office may hear us, and that by stopping I would look like "the bigger person" crossed my mind.

The session came to end.

No guidance.

The only thing she said was, "we have to learn how to let things go".

And we scheduled our next appt.

After the appointment, my husband and I left.

I waited in the car, as he smoked a cigarette (something I detest).

As he sat in the car, he turned to give me hug.

I couldn't even look at him I was so pissed let alone hug him (it was too soon for me to practice the only advice the therapist had given us that evevning, and so I held on to my emotions).

He wanted to continue the converstation (if that's what you want to call it) in the car. I decided not to talk immediately until I could control my emotions of rage and the feeling of wanting to claw his eyes out or put bleach in his contact solution.

Then I simply said, we shouldn't talk about it outside of therapy since that has not worked for us in the past.

We went home.

I fell asleep on the couch watching t.v. in an attempt to sleep alone.

I succeeded.