Contributing BWC blogger Steam had the benefit of a good – nay great! – therapist. She offers up what she learned here:
by Steam
Sometimes I wonder: Am I
really this far along in my recovery from the largest trauma of my life? Is it
really possible? I see so many of us who are stuck and although I know we are
not supposed to judge our recovery against others, sometimes I can’t help but
use our collective as a barometer.
If my story has one thing
that is a little different, it might be that, if my husband had not agreed to go to therapy, that was a deal-breaker
right there. But he said yes.
Once upon a time, and maybe
where you live, as recently as yesterday, therapy was frowned upon.
You were mentally unstable
if you had to seek therapy.
Although that's not always
the case, in fact it rarely is, if you are just finding out you have been
betrayed, here is the truth:
You really ARE mentally unstable.
For damn good reason. You
have been rocked to the core. You know how you feel – you feel crazy.
But right now, for you,
crazy is the new normal.
And don't you dare feel
ashamed about this.
I knew, even on D-day, that
I wanted to be with my husband and, in my mind, that pointed to my own insanity.
I must be nuts to want to stay and yet I wanted to…and had no idea how
to do it.
This is where therapy
became a must, not just for me, not just for my husband, but as our therapist
pointed out on our first visit, for the third entity – “the relationship”.
Our therapist – let's call
her Mary – knew exactly why we were there and her first question was “do you
want to stay together?”. We both answered yes. If you are unsure if you want to
stay, I still believe therapy is a good place to learn why you’re not sure…and
perhaps become sure, one way or the other.
Mary's style is very active.
I didn't just watch someone nod her head and ask me “how does that make you
feel?”
No, we had to get off our
butts and do things, such as…
Learning to communicate
That is an art form and
neither of us had the tools. We never would have made it without them. Everything had to come out: ”Fine” was
not a real answer to “how are you?” and “nothing” was not an answer to “what are
you thinking?” If you did not feel like talking, you could set a time in the
not-so-distant future, say, 30
minutes, to get it together and communicate. We could not just shove our concerns
aside until they were convenient.
Dating
We had to go on a date once
a week and only one person planned it. No squabbling during planning. One
partner just planned it, told the other what to wear and to get in the car (which
explains why I went hiking in heels once – men sometimes miss the God in the
details, and I will never ever judge another woman by her footwear on the
trails. She may be on the same path as me, literally and figuratively).
We had been living in the
same house, quietly and often too independently, for so many years that
bringing fun back was a game-changer.
No matter how awful the
week was, we had something fun to look forward to, and no matter what, we had
to go. The change of scenery was always good. It only failed one time, our very
first time when I fell into a heap of tears looking at other happy couples. They
looked so young and untarnished, I knew I would never be like that again and it
killed me. But the next weekend, we adjusted and did it again. Practice makes
headway.
Validating
But above all else, Mary
urged me to feel and explore this state we call crazy and she called it PTSD
(hallelujah, it has a name! Facing it was the only way to go through it. I was
up, I was down, I was crying, I was re-living, I needed HELP and not just once
a week. I needed help from the person who betrayed me. Gasp! She asked
if my husband was willing to not just listen, but actively support me through
my bout with PTSD. It could not have been easy for him, but yes, he was.
She taught both of us that
“crazy” was totally normal, at least for now, and we both had to deal
with it.
This newfound me with my
need for passwords and complete transparency, who needed to know every moment
of every day where my husband was and who just texted, felt bossy and controlling,
wanting passwords and to “talk” at any hour of the day.
I was hurt, I was
shattered, I was NORMAL.
I have always known and
said to anyone that my husband is the kindest man I have ever known. He has
never said an unkind word to me in our 15 years together. Never put me down,
never noticed if my weight creeped up, or if he did, was brilliant enough not
to mention it. But what I put him through for at least six months was not
pretty, or easy or fun.
Without Mary and my husband’s
urging, I never could have set rules and demands. That was so not my style. I
needed permission to feel every feeling, to learn the difference between
feeling them and acting on them, and my husband learned a lot too!
Run, don’t walk to a good therapist!
If your husband tells you (or
you feel the need) to “put it behind us”, “leave the past in the past”, “never
speak about it again because it makes him (or you) feel bad” then you need some
tools, either to stay or to go,
and to find out why you want to or not, and the best place I know is inside the
office of someone trained to help.
How does that make you
feel? You don’t know? Make an appointment.
