Whatever Works

Talk therapy is for the birds.

I know for some of you out there, it provides a valuable service. And, that is GREAT! We can all use a support system in life. It's just that, I think I'm a little too messed up for talk therapy.

I had my second session ever today. My primary physician thought it would be good for me to see "someone" and to "talk." She said that she thought I could use some "me time." I don't want to be a difficult patient, so I agreed, but, if you ask me, a more perfect form of "me time" looks like a bed inside a quiet room and the promise of uninterrupted sleep.

Instead, this morning my "me time" took place in an office. I walked through the threshold and saw two pieces of furniture: a chair and the stereotypical couch. I wonder, what would she have done if I had sat in the chair? Clearly, the couch was intended for me, but WHY IS THAT???

I sat on the couch.

She sat down across from me, looking very comfy in her chair. "Now, your younger son," she probed, "he is seven?"

"Yes." I answered.

Thus begins the staredown. I suppose this is the point where people on "the couch" just start vomiting every bit of information they can about the topic the person in "the chair" throws out. But, I'm uncomfortable with that. Is it my legal background? Am I just difficult? Am I protective?

Silence. She smiled. I smiled back. We stared at each other. I answered exactly what she asked me. Next, please.

"And, so, what is he like?" she asked.

"In what regard?" I countered.

This is going to be a long hour. I've been told that I compartmentalize my feelings. I see that as a good thing. After all, if I looked at the big picture that will unfold in our household--the cumulative disabilities and how they will play out into adulthood--I think any mom would be a bit blue. Instead, I've chosen to fight the fires as they appear in front of me. And, along the way, I find the humor where I can and the celebrations as they come.

"Do you cry in the car?" I hear her ask.

"If my nine-year-old hits me I do." I respond.

"Well, I can see where that would bring tears!" she says.

Smile from her. Smile from me. Silence.

Depression in this life is very real. Marriage problems in this life are very real. Anxiety, financial woes--these are very concrete problems relating to life with special needs. Every person is different and how he/she chooses to meet those needs is going to be different.

One thing is for sure, for me, it was NOT going to be this woman sitting across the room from me. I am not a spill-your-guts kind-of gal. I think I more prefer the ditch-your-kid-and-retreat-to-the-Mom-Cave approach. I enjoy dreaming about its new decor, the wet bar, and the spa boy, who I think I am going to name Roberto. (That's a latin version of my husband's middle name--is that weird?) Sanity is our goal when we come out the other side of all this, so I think our theme should be: WHATEVER WORKS!