Counseling

The problem with marriage counseling changed with each therapist. Our first counselor became so interested in my background as the daughter of an alcoholic mother and drug-addicted father, that he forgot all about the purpose of our sessions. John would sit there in silence as the hippie therapist (still clad in his 1970s give love a chance uniform, no less) attempted to make sense of my upbringing and my present achievements. Both John and I got tired of that very quickly.

We tried again. By the time I reached out to the second counselor, I knew our relationship was in trouble. I decided to find a black male therapist who I hoped would referee our arguments. I figured John couldn't pull the race or gender cards if another black male told him he was falling short of the marks of husband and father. Boy did I make a mistake. It turns out that I had found the world's most chauvinistic therapist this side of the equator. He advised me that it was my JOB to care for the child and the house. (Again. Confused. If those were my jobs then shouldn't John be required to work, pay the bills? Shouldn't I, then, have the option of staying home to be a home-maker? I mean if we are going to go chauvinist, let's go the whole 9 yards.) He also suggested that John be permitted to spend more money in clubs, and that I should tighten my belt by starting my day earlier to prepare a bag lunch before I left for campus. In the end, I wrote old DR. GRANBERRY a letter stating that his lack of professionalism was affecting our therapeutic results. If he wanted to continue with us, there would have to be some changes. Once John read over my letter, he was too embarrassed to return to DR. GRANBERRY'S office. So, we were on to another counselor.

It was becoming more and more difficult to attend therapy because no counselor wanted to hold sessions with the child present. Unfortunately John and I had no support system down here, and very little money for sitters. Still, we made it happen. The next counselor was fairly non-descript. She had us engage in mirror exercises wherein one of us would speak for 5-7 minutes while the other listened. At the end of the "sending" period, the "receiver" would then repeat what s/he had heard her partner say. We got that down, but there was never a single moment when we addressed what the other party had said. It was a waste of money and time. So, we quit again, and would not revisit the issue until after I had asked for a divorce.

Perhaps you are thinking... isn't this supposed to be a blog about motherhood and autism? Yes, it is. What I am getting at here is that life didn't pause because Caleb was unable to walk or talk. We had to deal with these very weighty issues while trying to deal with our son. What I have noticed in writing these stories is that I am either writing all about Caleb or all about John. Truthfully, I can barely remember what was going on with the one when I was totally caught up with doing for the other. That remains a challenge for me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.


....Back to the divorce....