My butt hadn’t even begun to warm the seat cushion when it became abundantly clear: There would be no sitting back and getting comfy in that chair.
“What made it OK to stay with a drunk all those years?” the therapist asked my husband within the opening five minutes of our very first session.
The balls, right? Of course, both of us just sat there, stunned. It’s actually funny now, to think about my sweet, kind, reserved hubby trying to come up with a response to a question like that on the spot, when he’d never even been to therapy before in his life.
Couldn’t tell you what was going through my head at that moment. My heart, on the other hand, somehow knew.
This was going to be a good fit. Continue reading “Therapy”