Return to the therapist’s slightly musty sofa
Where was I. Right! Why did I feel compelled to pay someone to help me get my shit together?*
I stopped seeing my therapist right around the time I started writing this thingie. She’d done what she could for me, and you guys were a lot better for the day to day miseries of my situation. And then I got pregnant, and everything became perfect and wonderful.
I’ve considered going back a few times. When Bunlet was about three months old, I thought about it. I was SO ANGRY, all the time. I knew some of it was just FUCKING DEPRESSED, but it was reeeeeeally hard. I was furious at my husband, furious at Bun Bun, snapping all the time over nothing. I did some things I’m super not proud of. I became a person who throws things. Only when by myself, and only soft things like dish towels. But I worried about it getting out of hand, and it felt so NOT ME. Normally I repress and internalize all my anger.
And I got a bit mean with my toddler. I found myself googling “what counts as child abuse?” For the record, nothing I’ve ever done counts as child abuse. But I was scared. Then things got better. Since I strive for honesty, the cure for my raging temper was not self control, though I did get looooooads better at figuring out which situations were going to push me and how to avoid them. And Bun Bun adjusted to Bunlet, and I adjusted to having a toddler, and to having two babies. But the real cure was going back to work. Yeah. Less time with my children made me a better parent.
So I didn’t go back to the therapist.
Then I did some professional development at work, and the person in charge of me told me to get some fucking help for my self esteem problems. You know, if I thought they might keep me from achieving my goals. So I went so far as requesting some names and bookmarking a therapist’s website! But I didn’t go back. Because who has the fucking time?
Then shit got pretty tough with my husband. Still all within normal parents of two young children parameters, but not the way I wanted to live. We’d have a fight, and I’d think the air was cleared. But the next day I’d immediately be furious again at the smallest of things. YOU PUT YOUR COFFEE CUP ON THE COUNTER AND NOT IN THE DISHWASHER AM I YOUR FUCKING SLAVE THAT I SHOULD CLEAN UP AFTER YOU I HATE YOU!!!! It went on like this for months, with plenty of breaks for happiness and laughter and enjoying our wonderful children, but so much anger and suppressed squabbling. I hate squabbling. I just went around resenting him all day every day. And the being pissed at my children (well, mainly Bun Bun) for things that were not their fault flared up again.
Finally, after like three back to back fights with Mr. Bunny, I gave up. I called.**
I have a wonderful life and yet I am angry all the time, I explained at our meeting.
And what did she reply? You’ll have to wait to find out.
*See my thoughts on therapy here.
**Very charmingly, he and I met up for a drink that afternoon, and he revealed that he’d contacted a therapist too. Awww.