“My therapist won’t see us as a couple. She said she is too involved with me already and it wouldn’t be fair to you. She wouldn’t be impartial. So she gave me some referrals but none of the marriage counselors are on our insurance plan.” That is how the following morning started, in between dressing Vivian and prepping snacks in advance for V’s entire preschool. Getting dressed he said, “Ok let me see what I can dig up today once I get to work.”
As anyone who lives in Los Angeles understands, asking for therapist referrals on a mommy blog was akin to standing on the 405 freeway, at rush hour, with a blow horn. Pretty much every mother in the entire LA basin was throwing out recommendations. So once I kept hearing the same three or four therapists, I knew I had my short list. That explains how I was able to get into therapy so quickly.
Now Hubby offering to find a marriage counselor was 1) a chance for me to offload some of the work in sorting through our marriage problems but 2) fraught with the very real fear he would likely pull out the yellow pages (like who uses those things anymore?).
We are polar opposites in that way. So I am telling you this upfront. To be fair, I drive him nuts with my penchant for thoroughness. I have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and will gladly dive knee-deep into any subject till I become an expert on it, only to abandon it and take up the next topic. Just how I am. However, my husband is the exact opposite (can you say yin to my yang–is that even correct? Whatever. You get what I am trying to explain).
My husbands lackadaisical attitude towards life in general is embedded in his culture. I can’t divulge more than that without fear of exposing who he is. But let’s just say, he comes from an entire country that relishes in being laid back. And no, he is not from Jamaica.
It’s safe to say that when he found a marriage counselor, I approached our first session with extreme caution. We both pulled into the parking lot at the same time and I distinctly remember things were really icy between us. Despite wanting to extend forgiveness, I was combating waves of anger still or maybe it was just hormones. Who knows.
We entered the therapists office and sat down. He was fumbling about and clearly unorganized. And he was slow like molasses in everything he did. It was beyond annoying because he would ask a question, and then close his eyes for several minutes while he pondered another. I couldn’t help but think, “This twat is milking our therapy session!” Despite having several diplomas all over his walls, he lacked any real social skills needed to be a therapist. That’s academia for you.
“So what are you hoping to achieve?” he implored.
“Why….I want to know why he chose to do this. Without understanding the why, I can’t move forward.” That is what I said to him.
Incredibly, he replied like Yoda from the movie Star Wars, “You…..may never…get that answered. The why…does not matter.”
My my mind was racing at full speed and I could feel my heart pounding. I wish I could say it was because I was pregnant. Or that someone kidnapped my manners. But when faced with idiots who lack common sense, I feel compelled (no rather it’s my duty to all of mankind) to inform them of their ridiculous notions.
“Listen here Yoda. I went to Starbucks this morning. I ordered a plain bagel and iced latte (it’s ok people the new guidelines say pregnant women can have a cup now and again). I know why I ordered that. Because I wanted it. I craved having carbs and needed some caffeine. Don’t tell me for a second that my husband doesn’t know why he decided to fuck someone else. We all make choices. And we all know why we do that. We’ve hired you to get to the bottom of the “why”. If you’re not on the same page, then I am out of here.”
We ended up storming out of his office and fighting in the parking lot. Me leaving in one car, my husband in another. And that was the extent of our marriage counseling. To date.
Needless to say, things were back to being miserable between us.