This is gonna be some serious, personal, real life blogging. Consider yourself warned.
Been going to therapy with the husband for the purpose of pulling our heads out of our assses and avoiding divorce. Seemed like the best, last-ditch effort in light of the facts:
We love eachother very much.
We have a seven year old that is just as much daddy’s little gearhead as she’s mommy’s angel baby.
We are pregnant.
Neither of us likes the idea of separating, we just have not been able to get along worth a shit for TOO long now.
Our therapist has us scheduled to go in together one week, then go in individually one week, rinse and repeat for two months before making any “major life choices about the relationship”. Tonight marks one month and one week into the process, and I had an independant session. I’m begining to realize that I’m paying someone a sizeable amount of money to nod and listen and tell me everything my best friend Tina has been saying for years. I’m finding myself regularly responding to my therapists insightful conclusions with eloquent phrases like, “so this really sucks” and “bum deal I guess”.
She says she can’t give me advice and it is not her intention to lead me towards any one decision or another. Then she hangs up the laundry list of “all we’ve learned together about the serious problematic tendencies” of my husband whom is apparently now clinically recognized to have little to no empathy, a serious problem accepting responsibility or even maintaining accountability, and a problem being honest with others as well as himself.
Bleh.
Tina, if things continue as charted, I still don’t ever want to hear “I told you so”. I’m sure I’ll hear it anyway but let the records show I’ve requested that particular phrase be off-limits.
