Post by greatcoastal on Aug 1, 2023 19:43:54 GMT -5
clairefranky.medium.com/our-couples-therapist-told-me-to-leave-mid-session-885b510dc59c
Our Couple’s Therapist Told Me to Leave Mid-Session
He Thought It Was for the Best
Claire Franky
There I was, sitting alone in front of our couple’s therapist again. Another session my husband had not attended. He refused to come last week. This week I had no idea where he was. He hadn’t come home in over forty-eight hours.
I would have been sad but I had nachos for dinner two nights in a row.
Perhaps some people would feel angry or upset about their spouse ditching them at couple’s therapy. Or embarrassed that they couldn’t tell the therapist where he was.
Not me.
I was glad for the break from him.
I also enjoyed talking without my husband being present, because I could speak truthfully without having to worry about the repercussions.
Which meant I roasted the shit out of him.
What else would you do at couples therapy?
....
Our therapist, Bill, and I were discussing my husband’s behavior.
I explained that things had escalated recently and he was becoming more out of control. I described his regular outbursts, which included shouting, throwing objects, slamming doors, drinking whiskey like it was water, stealing my purse, and kidnapping our dog.
It was pretty annoying when I was trying to watch The Bachelor.
Bill suggested that I have an escape plan and be ready to leave quickly if he were to get worse. He also said that I should think about leaving before it got to that point, but understood the predicament I was in.
(I needed my husband to give his written consent for our daughter and I to move. He didn’t care that we were moving, but he loved having something that I needed. We played cat and mouse for months, which brought him endless joy.)
The cute thing is that he thinks he won.
And that I hid all the forks and lightbulbs in an empty suitcase before I left.
....
As we were discussing this, (the outbursts, not the lightbulbs), I received a call from my husband. He had resurfaced after his trip to rock bottom, had forgotten about the therapy session, and asked why our daughter and I weren’t home.
Because we’re donating your sperm to science. Except the science people wouldn’t take it, so we’re burning it to ensure you can’t procreate and abandon more offspring.
He said, “You need to come home.”
I told him we would be back soon since he sounded calm and sober.
By sober I mean only seven drinks in.
When I hung up the phone, Bill said,
“You need to leave.”
Fuck, Bill! I thought we were buds.
I asked why since I had only been there fifteen minutes.
He repeated that it was better for me to go elsewhere, but if I wanted to return home I needed to go now.
Bill explained that my husband, who he strongly suspected had Narcissistic Personality Disorder and was addicted to multiple substances, needed to be in control.
He continued to say that if my wish was to keep him calm and willing to give me the signature I needed, then I would have to let him think he was in control of me. I would need to inflate his ego by meeting his trivial demands without showing any disdain.
Bill also said that I should play along with his fantasy that everything was fine until I could get what I needed, and get out calmly and quickly.
He clarified that not going home straight away when he asked me to, could bruise his ego and cause him to have an outburst.
Who is he? Mariah Carey?
....
I thanked Bill, stood up, lifted my daughter who was sleeping next to me in her car seat, and headed for the door. Bill advised me again that things could get worse and that I needed an escape plan. I nodded and drove home deep in thought.
I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow to get snacks, meaning I’ll be devastated at 10 pm tonight in my stupid, snackless house.
When I got home, I warmly greeted my husband who gave no explanation as to where he had been for the last two days. I fed our daughter and dog, cooked and ate dinner, and put our daughter to bed. I did all of this with a smile on my face. Then I sat quietly while my husband yelled at me and slammed doors, waking our baby, as the alcohol trickled through him.
At least I could tune him out and mentally plan my next Tik Tok dance.
I did the same thing every day for the next four weeks until he gave his signed consent.
----
Bill was right. His plan worked.
However, Bill was also right about things getting worse.
Those last few days were tough. The objects being thrown were now directed at me.
I kept calm and talked my husband down from his meltdowns. I said the things I knew he wanted to hear. I remembered how Bill had told me to leave in the middle of our session because it was that crucial that my husband felt in control. I applied that thinking to every interaction.
Luckily, my daughter and I made it safely away with his consent and a shitload of evidence filed nicely into a Fuck You Binder.
Our Couple’s Therapist Told Me to Leave Mid-Session
He Thought It Was for the Best
Claire Franky
There I was, sitting alone in front of our couple’s therapist again. Another session my husband had not attended. He refused to come last week. This week I had no idea where he was. He hadn’t come home in over forty-eight hours.
I would have been sad but I had nachos for dinner two nights in a row.
Perhaps some people would feel angry or upset about their spouse ditching them at couple’s therapy. Or embarrassed that they couldn’t tell the therapist where he was.
Not me.
I was glad for the break from him.
I also enjoyed talking without my husband being present, because I could speak truthfully without having to worry about the repercussions.
Which meant I roasted the shit out of him.
What else would you do at couples therapy?
....
Our therapist, Bill, and I were discussing my husband’s behavior.
I explained that things had escalated recently and he was becoming more out of control. I described his regular outbursts, which included shouting, throwing objects, slamming doors, drinking whiskey like it was water, stealing my purse, and kidnapping our dog.
It was pretty annoying when I was trying to watch The Bachelor.
Bill suggested that I have an escape plan and be ready to leave quickly if he were to get worse. He also said that I should think about leaving before it got to that point, but understood the predicament I was in.
(I needed my husband to give his written consent for our daughter and I to move. He didn’t care that we were moving, but he loved having something that I needed. We played cat and mouse for months, which brought him endless joy.)
The cute thing is that he thinks he won.
And that I hid all the forks and lightbulbs in an empty suitcase before I left.
....
As we were discussing this, (the outbursts, not the lightbulbs), I received a call from my husband. He had resurfaced after his trip to rock bottom, had forgotten about the therapy session, and asked why our daughter and I weren’t home.
Because we’re donating your sperm to science. Except the science people wouldn’t take it, so we’re burning it to ensure you can’t procreate and abandon more offspring.
He said, “You need to come home.”
I told him we would be back soon since he sounded calm and sober.
By sober I mean only seven drinks in.
When I hung up the phone, Bill said,
“You need to leave.”
Fuck, Bill! I thought we were buds.
I asked why since I had only been there fifteen minutes.
He repeated that it was better for me to go elsewhere, but if I wanted to return home I needed to go now.
Bill explained that my husband, who he strongly suspected had Narcissistic Personality Disorder and was addicted to multiple substances, needed to be in control.
He continued to say that if my wish was to keep him calm and willing to give me the signature I needed, then I would have to let him think he was in control of me. I would need to inflate his ego by meeting his trivial demands without showing any disdain.
Bill also said that I should play along with his fantasy that everything was fine until I could get what I needed, and get out calmly and quickly.
He clarified that not going home straight away when he asked me to, could bruise his ego and cause him to have an outburst.
Who is he? Mariah Carey?
....
I thanked Bill, stood up, lifted my daughter who was sleeping next to me in her car seat, and headed for the door. Bill advised me again that things could get worse and that I needed an escape plan. I nodded and drove home deep in thought.
I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow to get snacks, meaning I’ll be devastated at 10 pm tonight in my stupid, snackless house.
When I got home, I warmly greeted my husband who gave no explanation as to where he had been for the last two days. I fed our daughter and dog, cooked and ate dinner, and put our daughter to bed. I did all of this with a smile on my face. Then I sat quietly while my husband yelled at me and slammed doors, waking our baby, as the alcohol trickled through him.
At least I could tune him out and mentally plan my next Tik Tok dance.
I did the same thing every day for the next four weeks until he gave his signed consent.
----
Bill was right. His plan worked.
However, Bill was also right about things getting worse.
Those last few days were tough. The objects being thrown were now directed at me.
I kept calm and talked my husband down from his meltdowns. I said the things I knew he wanted to hear. I remembered how Bill had told me to leave in the middle of our session because it was that crucial that my husband felt in control. I applied that thinking to every interaction.
Luckily, my daughter and I made it safely away with his consent and a shitload of evidence filed nicely into a Fuck You Binder.
