I didn’t know what to expect at a Counseling session. My first session was to be me alone because my wife refused to attend. It was preceded by a mix of feelings, including uncertainty, inadequacy (going it alone), and even a little curiosity.
Neither of my parents were big on structured advice. It was more along the lines of “Stop annoying your brother” or “Stop breaking the rules at school” or “Just stop!” So I am not ashamed to say I wondered what a counseling session would be like. Would my psyche be ripped from me and cut up and organized into tiny pieces so I could see my many flaws? Would I sit down, say two sentences, then burst into tears? Would she have practical advice for me?
I’m not sure any of these things happened. I didn’t cry like a baby and I didn’t get much in the way of advice. My psyche might have been diassembled but, if so, it was done very subtly. The very first thing she wanted to know was the timeline for what had happened. With the interplay of so many different things, I had to concentrate and organize my thoughts and explanations. I think this is what made it easier for me.
I look back on the session and wonder about the things I didn’t say because I was busy thinking about the timeline. I didn’t really talk about my feelings much because I was telling a non-fiction tale with many characters and times and places. Perhaps that will count against me in some way. I don’t have any frame of reference for counseling, so maybe it was odd of me? Maybe I was expected to sit down and say, “The bitch. She’s broken my heart. My daughters are distraught. Help me.” But I can’t do it like that. I try to look at both sides and explain why I think she has gone down the path of moving into the basement bedroom suite by herself.
But looking at both sides didn’t get me many answers because I don’t really know why she did it, whether she will keep doing it, or whether she’ll one day soon be gone when I get home. The counselor wants to see me again soon, so perhaps I will get some answers then. I hope so.