All this blah, my life spun around the axis of consequences. I find myself mumbling under my breathe ‘fucking dick’.
He is a fucking dick. Sometimes I can feel *so* bad for the dick he ended up being.
All of this shit blew up, unraveled and changed *everything*. Nothing of *my* life has been in any real control since then.
Nothing is ever simple for me, I must attract the bad kind of crazy.
I have therapy every Tuesday morning, some Tuesdays it is an absolute life line to make it through the week, other weeks it’s a comforting reminder of damn girl, you’ve made it pretty fucking far, have a cookie.
It was another Tuesday session, this time we delved in the timeline that was my ‘childhood’. It will take a great many sessions to unravel what has been so deeply woven that its grip on my adult relationships has at time, taken me to my knees.
What did you feel? What did you think? What crossed your mind? Not much, it’s all numb. I’ve done a bang up job of placing unresolved childhood traumas on the shit show that was my joke of a marriage.
Go me. Self-deprecation at its finest. I could write a book on my childhood, to me, when I get fragments of stories, they all seem not my own. Who could have a child and let, or do what my childhood was like? I couldn’t, I can’t even fathom it for my own little demon spawn.
It wasn’t that bad of day overall. The weather was nice, even though I couldn’t convince anyone to go for a walk on the trail. Little bastards. I bet if I said there would be ice cream at the end, they’d have lined up like the well trained humans they are not. 😉
Sometimes things that are almost semi-normal weave their way into your day, like pulling out of a parking lot and seeing the family based therapists drive by. I waved, they beeped, we all texted.
I kinda miss those days, I wouldn’t want that intensity back. I put my soul into that and I reaped what I could and I get that every day I interact with my kids on a level I thought was only what other people had.
I miss the humor. I miss the push to be vulnerable, every.fucking.day. There is a big difference from needing that controlled push to knowing you need be pushed but it will now come in the subtly of daily human interactions. The work didn’t stop, it just looks different.
I know this is their job, to invest in human relationships and families on a very deep and personal level. It takes a lot to let that in during a very hard time in life, roughly 10 hours a week being double teamed by therapists. Run forest run. Just saying.
There is no reprieve. Like ever.
I guess that’s what makes it semi normal, I live in a city with many other cars, they saw me and I saw them.
That’s passing on the street when it could have been anyone else but we each recognized the others car. when I realized the power they said would be in “goodbye”, for me to not run and hide from it but to work through the tears, the laughter the goofy sentimental stories.
Our therapy time went full force until the very end, it could have tapered off but I said no. I had intended to decide when that last session would be and that would be it. Draw the line, don’t say goodbye and just go. – Never see them again. Black and while.
They were good, I’m pretty sure they saw right through that. I think they knew I had that on the table – I don’t know if they knew how strongly that was on the table. But maybe they banked enough on their mad skillz to know I took enough in over those 8 months that I also knew it would have a trickledown effect to the kids and not in a good way. It would be a closed up, don’t talk, don’t feel. It was a lot of focus on me, because I was my children’s solid, the stronger I am, the better adjusted kids I will raise to face adverse challenges in like and walk out of those still whole human beings.
It wasn’t about me avoiding the really shitty, sad, lots of tears, snotty nose saying goodbye to people who moved in and camped out in your asshole for 8 months. I must show zero emotion in front of my children….
I get why it was so important, even if it was *so* hard, I got that more today than a couple weeks ago. Last week they planned to stop by and say hi. It was delightful and everyone in the house got a kick out of it. It was appreciated by all of us.
I let my kids see healthy goodbye, a healthy next step. If I had done what I would have done, the goodbye would have been on my selfish terms and mine only. Hopeful that I would never cross paths with these people I cared about and who I was confident to say cared about me too.
That is what made it click today, more so than when they stopped by the other week (which was really fucking cool in and of itself- just in case I haven’t pointed that out 9million time already).
Yes, it was a therapeutic relationship and we are not ‘friends’, but we are also not nothing. The ending wasn’t black or white. It was its own colorful mix of crazy. It was just different. Not bad, not good. Just different. Fuck me, I don’t do different, that’s uncontrolled!
Four months post discharge dynamic of what it was lives on, and with that dynamic means I get to laugh – like really laugh and really enjoy the spontaneity of it.
Had I avoided the big scary goodbye discharge session…. I’d have got to avoid the teary eye saying goodbye.
A good therapists needs to be able meet their clients on their level, built trust in those who don’t intrinsically get that concept. Push through progress and deal in their own realm the pitfalls of who they are treating. I respect these two people so much, it’s a level of devotion to their life path that isn’t one I’ve achieved yet and not one just anyone could.
So what prompted this mushy blog post on therapists that have been gone for 4 months? What significance is there that we past each other on a public street?
That is why the stupid goodbye was so important. There is no avoiding or embarrassed if you’d happen to see them in public because you bailed on the last few sessions. I carry no guilt or shame and therefore can’t be passed to my children and infused in their relationships.
Driving a few blocks up, I’m pulling closer to them. I delight in yelling obscenities to this dick driver with his unstylish wind-blown hair, nailing that horn.
What the fuck happened? What did the therapist with a fucking Masters do?? (this isn’t some kid right out of cracker jack therapy school – he’s got some time banked in here)
He threw his empty Starbucks cup out his window at my car. Who does that??
A therapy team that invested in the family at hand and worked with them to be empowered, not change them. That’s the person who knew his client base well enough to connect on (however some would deem distasteful)
A story I came home and told my 3 kids, none of them shocked at the level of that brazen move.
They are knew it was Steve and the cup, not Sarah.
I, in some very untraditional way, got to reap the humor found in having a cup thrown at your car and share that dumb ass stunt with me kids…. Reminding them it wasn’t a safe choice.
Their eyes glazed over and gave me the obligatory ‘yes, we understand mom’ “We Love Steve and Sarah” say.