Couple's Therapy Helped Me Through My Divorce — And An (Almost) Engagement
"This isn't working, we need to talk to someone," I cried desperately to my former husband, Adam.
After six months of "working" on our marriage, it was obvious that we couldn't figure it out alone. We needed to call for back-up. I had pleaded before, but Adam had resisted. Sensing the desperation in my voice, he acquiesced. I got a recommendation from a close friend and a week later, we were sitting on Paulette's overstuffed, shabby chic loveseat.
"I'd like to meet with you individually first, to get a 'history,'" said our spikey-haired therapist.
I liked this idea. It was a chance for each of us to tell our side of the story — one of three, as the adage goes (his, mine, and the truth). I went first, regaling Paulette with my struggle in being the unwanted breadwinner to a quasi-jobless husband who seemed to be stuck. Yet I also felt judged by him, trapped within the walls of our tiny studio apartment. She empathized and made me feel validated. Heard.
When Adam and I came back together for our session, we began to pull apart our issues and delve into them in smaller pieces, which felt less daunting. It was so much easier for me to speak freely about my feelings in there because Adam, the better arguer, couldn't twist my words around and make me feel confused. After 3 months of weekly therapy, I was more articulate and actually felt clearer-headed.
In her office, we were in the trust-tree, unafraid to express deep, emotionally charged sentiments. I had never felt so empowered. I had Paulette recommend a therapist for me to see on my own as well.
My thoughts had become bright and lucid. I realized that I wasn't going to recover from the damage done to our relationship. I didn't know how to express this to Adam. But Paulette did. She held my hand and guided me through. She helped me find my voice and use it to get what I want, instead of hiding my feelings as I had done for years.
Adam was a great guy with a huge heart. He would have laid in traffic for me. While I knew leaving was the best thing for both of us, it certainly wasn't easy. Paulette made it better. And I knew Adam was in good hands with her.
Three years ago I met my boyfriend, Dan. In my mid-30s, established and secure, I finally knew what I wanted — Dan was it. He was every piece of the formula that would equal a successful relationship.
Dan and I had been happily co-habitating in our charming Brooklyn abode for almost a year. He was content to continue living that way. I was not. I wanted to get married again, to make things official. Maybe it's the Southern girl in me. Or maybe I just don't want my only marriage to have been to the wrong person. Plus, I didn't feel bonafide just being "Dan's girlfriend" for the rest of my life. Being his wife, or his parent's daughter-in-law made me feel like a part of something much bigger — a family.
I tried to express these feelings to Dan as best as I could, but I was emotional. And he was somewhat close-minded. We just weren't on the same page — possibly even the same chapter. I knew we needed some help. Therapy didn't have to be reserved for a relationship in trouble; this time I was determined to make a pre-emptive strike.
This summer, Dan agreed to see Paulette with me. Was it strange to take my current boyfriend to the same person who helped me divorce my former husband? Maybe. But finding a therapist you value and trust isn't as easy as it sounds. And at 37, I didn't have the wherewithal to go through the process. I needed someone we could both be open and honest with, and luckily my beau deferred to me.
In a different downtown location seven years after our first meeting, my beloved pixie therapist sat across from me once again. This time, instead of helping me find an ending, she would help navigate the road to starting our new life. Together.
You Might Also Like
