We've now had 4 visits...an initial visit with both of us, individual visits, and another visit with both of us. At every point along the way, I've been impressed by the concrete, goal-driven, and insightful guidance we've gotten. There have been questionaires that gave us great insight into the things that make us tick and about our assumptions. At each visit we've had homework. It's been specific and tangible, and we discuss it at the subsequent visit. We have to schedule time for homework and for the travel time to the appointments, which isn't easy to do. Then again, nothing of value is easy to do.
After 4 visits, I now know that a lot of the information I had about my sexual relationship with my husband was wrong. Despite being given a dozen reasons over the years why we weren't connecting, the real reason was a failure to be honest about what was going on. It wasn't that he had no desire for me...or that other issues got in the way...or there were physical concerns. It was that he didn't know how to communicate the things that drove his desire, and was embarrassed by them.
All the damage to my self esteem...all the heartache...all the distance and fighting...was based on interpretation of faulty information.
At first I was so relieved to know that everything I knew to be true wasn't true at all.
But now I'm starting to get angry again. I've been lied to. Misled. Perhaps not intentionally, but consistently and repeatedly told things that weren't the truth. It me caused great personal devastation, thousands of tears, and many years of misery.
I don't know how to deal with this anger when it's co-mingled with relief and hope and love and understanding. Am I just supposed to let it go, suck it up, and move forward like it never happened?
After all of these lies and so many others, can I ever really trust him again?
Do I dare?
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
First session
This might have a chance after all.
Despite my best efforts, I was a nervous wreck by the time we got to Philly. Even fortified by a delicious lunch and a Bloody Mary, I felt an overwhelming sense of danger and doom. The tiny waiting room seemed not to have enough air to sustain life, or at least my hyperventilation. I tried to pass it off as allergies, but I was having trouble breathing and swallowing. Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I considered fleeing, vomiting, and faking my own death. Fortunately, I think it went completely unnoticed.
The office, in contrast to the oppressive waiting room, was large and spacious, with views of the city. I relaxed a bit, grabbed some tissues and hunkered down on the couch. I was determined not to be the one to drive the conversation, and for the most part, I didn't. When she asked what other factors she needed to know about, I had to speak up about the role of alcohol in the relationship. I wasn't sure it even had an impact (on anyone but me, that is), but when it came time to assign homework (which she calls homeplay), it came up.
The homeplay is this: 4 hours over the course of the week devoted to non-intercourse sexual play. It's scheduled, accountable time each day. She also wants him to get a recheck of testosterone and prolactin levels.
And then the bombshell: she oh-so-casually told him not to drink this week. OMFG! And just as casually, he agreed.
It sounds like the makings of a very nice week...and so far, it is. Almost three days in, and we're still on track. I'm taking things one day at a time and enjoying the assignment.
Next week is a double session: one hour for each of us, individually. The following week is a joint session where we lay out a strategy.
At least this time we have a strategy.
Despite my best efforts, I was a nervous wreck by the time we got to Philly. Even fortified by a delicious lunch and a Bloody Mary, I felt an overwhelming sense of danger and doom. The tiny waiting room seemed not to have enough air to sustain life, or at least my hyperventilation. I tried to pass it off as allergies, but I was having trouble breathing and swallowing. Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I considered fleeing, vomiting, and faking my own death. Fortunately, I think it went completely unnoticed.
The office, in contrast to the oppressive waiting room, was large and spacious, with views of the city. I relaxed a bit, grabbed some tissues and hunkered down on the couch. I was determined not to be the one to drive the conversation, and for the most part, I didn't. When she asked what other factors she needed to know about, I had to speak up about the role of alcohol in the relationship. I wasn't sure it even had an impact (on anyone but me, that is), but when it came time to assign homework (which she calls homeplay), it came up.
The homeplay is this: 4 hours over the course of the week devoted to non-intercourse sexual play. It's scheduled, accountable time each day. She also wants him to get a recheck of testosterone and prolactin levels.
And then the bombshell: she oh-so-casually told him not to drink this week. OMFG! And just as casually, he agreed.
It sounds like the makings of a very nice week...and so far, it is. Almost three days in, and we're still on track. I'm taking things one day at a time and enjoying the assignment.
Next week is a double session: one hour for each of us, individually. The following week is a joint session where we lay out a strategy.
At least this time we have a strategy.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Day -1
Tomorrow is the first appointment with the new therapist.
This week has been fraught with skirmishes, minor arguments, and snark.
And so much alcohol. Alcohol to the point of obliteration some nights. Despite saying I would never again rescue him from drinking, I did try to wake him to go to bed when he was passed out cold at 2:00 am. What a mistake that was. Seriously...never again.
I'm trying to keep occupied and positive to avoid being drawn into any more disagreements before we even get started. But I am feeling an overwhelming sense of dread instead of the hope that I had last time.
This time I don't want to be in the driver's seat. I don't want to be the one doing all the talking, all the crying, all the feeling like shit. Initially I will sit quietly and say what I need to and nothing else. I can't establish a dynamic that has me splaying my emotions all over the place while he sits passively and watches. No, not this time.
It doesn't bode well, does it?
This week has been fraught with skirmishes, minor arguments, and snark.
And so much alcohol. Alcohol to the point of obliteration some nights. Despite saying I would never again rescue him from drinking, I did try to wake him to go to bed when he was passed out cold at 2:00 am. What a mistake that was. Seriously...never again.
I'm trying to keep occupied and positive to avoid being drawn into any more disagreements before we even get started. But I am feeling an overwhelming sense of dread instead of the hope that I had last time.
This time I don't want to be in the driver's seat. I don't want to be the one doing all the talking, all the crying, all the feeling like shit. Initially I will sit quietly and say what I need to and nothing else. I can't establish a dynamic that has me splaying my emotions all over the place while he sits passively and watches. No, not this time.
It doesn't bode well, does it?
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