I never realized that being honest with hubby was a gift to myself. Things aren’t suddenly coming up roses, we haven’t sailed off into the sunset, I’m not magically healed, and we don’t have any more answers than we did before. Sharing with hubby was hard; it brought the secret out of the container of the therapy room and into the real world— but that is exactly what has made sharing with him so wonderful, too. It has made me less alone. He understands.
When my parents came on Saturday to visit, and in the space of 15 minutes managed to question how my child was dressed, clean out my car, and question me on if my house was really all set to be left for the day– we were just heading to Kat’s therapy appointment and to lunch!– hubby had new understanding when I sent him a a text informing him of these happenings. He now knew, that I was saying, “I’m not good enough, I’m not perfect, they have to fix everything, I can’t even be trusted to lock up the house before we leave, I’m never good enough.”
All of a sudden, I wasn’t his annoying wife, bitching about her parents who seemed to be doing regular, caring, parental things. He got it. He was able to respond in a way I needed. I didn’t have to get mad at him for not getting it, and the day went on. My parents didn’t change, but I didn’t feel so bad. I wasn’t alone.
When I parked my car, and my dad spent 5 minutes fretting over how far I was over the line, I finally handed him the keys. I told him to go ahead and back up while I paid. Kat, for her part, was melting down over her Bubba “taking mommy’s car.” It’s always something. My mom, of course was busy fretting over the fact we were late. I would have been freaking out over being late, except I had texted Bea that we were stuck in traffic and running late and that my parents were now with me and not meeting us….and she had responded to take my time, not panic and drive safe. I paid for parking, and my dad spent another 10 minutes backing the car up and realigning it just perfectly– yes, 10 minutes!– before he declared it good. Finally, we could head inside. The windows to Bea’s office do overlook the street, so I wonder how much of that spectacle she saw?
Once inside, introductions were made, and I took Kat to the bathroom. My parents went into the therapy room and chatted with Bea while Kat did her thing. In my mind, it was taking Kat forever, and I was seriously beginning to wonder what they were talking about in there? Of course, after the session, my parents reverted to form and therapy wasn’t really mentioned at all. So I have no idea if they liked Bea, or enjoyed Kat’s therapy session.
It seemed to go well. Play therapy is fun. Bea is a relaxed therapist, and my mom is a good mom– she knows how to play. Even my dad was really quite animated and talkative for my dad. I wonder how often Bea gets a chance to meet the parents of her adult patients?
After, Kat chose a place to eat, so we walked over and got lunch. Eating with my mom is always a tough thing for me. Her anorexia and eating rules are a huge trigger for my own disordered eating patterns. By the time we got back to the house, hubby was home from work, and once again, I was able to marvel at how it truly feels to be not alone.
Last night, in bed, I had the sudden thought; I don’t think I’ve ever been in a shrink’s office with either, let alone both, of my parents for a session before.