Nothing to do with my childhood

At some point during our first therapy session, when referring to one of my own less than perfect character traits, I’d laughed and made a joke by saying Tell me about your childhood. Sue, the therapist, made a note and gently cooed We can do that if you want? [Cue exasperated sigh.]

A couple of weeks (and Xmas) necessarily passed.

Early into our second session, my Wife mentioned something about Us having come from similar backgrounds. Instantly Sue latched onto this and refered back to my comment from the previous week. I pointed out I had been joking and that, even though my parents had died when I was young, I’d had to live in a cupboard under the stairs and had been shipped off to boarding school, I had had a reasonably happy childhood. Sue never cracked. My Wife took it on Herself to dispel the joke.

Other than that, I’m not really sure we got very far in the next hour.

Our lack of communication was mentioned, but it’s hardly rocket science to know there isn’t much of that, and it wasn’t explored in any depth.

There was brief discussion of how there were things I didn’t expect to be able to talk about in front of my Wife, and how, whilst I understood the couples’ therapy paradigm, I struck me as pointless to talk to a different therapist independently. There are elephants in the room and my Wife identified this one as SEX … but I felt obliged to point out that that was not the only pachyderm.
Did I think this was a safe enough environment to discuss these things together?
No.
Did I think it could be?
Possibly, but unless we could find a way to talk about things, there’s little to be gained from talking about what we need to talk about.

As with the previous session, there was the suggestion We could try a couple of exercises. This lead my Wife to mention the homework – specifically the 5 Languages of Love – We had been set previously – a topic to which there had, so far, been no suggestion of returning. My Wife queried whether We should have tried these tasks individually or together?
Whichever we felt comfortable with.
Was this something I felt I could talk about at home?
Sure. But there’s ugly stuff not far below the surface.

And that was about where we ran out of time.

We agreed to a third session the next, but that had to be rescheduled due to illness.
And the rescheduled date was itself postponed due to family matters (in the wider family).
The diary was left unmarked after that. TBC.

2 Responses to “Nothing to do with my childhood”

  1. corsetandstockings Says:

    Hang on in there – one of the three of you will crack at some stage (though I’d put money on it not being the therapist !!) 😄

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