I had an eventful trip to the therapist this morning. I had a migraine and was trying hard not to puke all over his nice blue carpet. There was couple’s counseling going on in the office next door, and the walls seemed awfully thin.
You could hear pretty much everything, including the wife going into a rage at her husband. Their therapist seemed to be making a valiant effort to hold it all together.
My therapist was uneasy about the whole thing. I think he was annoyed that it was distracting us and it was none of our business, though we couldn’t avoid hearing it.
But for some reason a warm feeling came over me, despite my head feeling like it had a knife lodged in it.
I felt bad for the people next door, and I’ve seen friends’ marriages fall apart lately, which hurts a lot.
But for all my challenges and quirks, I wasn’t having to do the kind of appointment that went on next door.
Marriage is work. Always will be. But I love my wife more and more every day. She’s built a business from nothing. She stays true to her Faith. She’s a super mom. She’s been tolerating my shit for many years. I’m proud of her. And we make a point to talk things out instead of letting things slide.
So in the therapist’s office, listening to the dysfunction next door, I was feeling like the grass is greener on my side of the street, despite some of my more recent struggles.
I’ve been going several weeks between appointments the last year. But this has been a rough winter.
I’ll be making weekly visits for a while.
And that’s fine with me, because I’ve done enough therapy to know it works if you keep at it.