When we first arrived at the doctor’s office, I felt like a bundle of nerves. I kept it well-hidden, at least I think I did. John rarely notices when I’m really nervous because I learned a long time ago to keep the coward’s part of myself hidden. It’s very hard for people to attack you verbally or emotionally, if they can’t find the part of you that will flinch or cower away.
Truth be told, I wasn’t completely honest with Doctor Smith when we first arrived. In fact, from the moment we walked in her door and sat down on opposite sofas, we put on the John and Jane show. We told stories about each other, we regaled her with small amusements – the pattern of conversational behavior we used to entertain our friends with.
It occurred to me after just fifteen minutes that we were going no where. When the doctor studied both of us, writing down notes on her yellow legal pad, I began to feel self-concious. She was wearing a nicely tailored suit, not a hair out of place and she looked quite comfortable in the office that felt quite small all of a sudden. John kept talking, talking was something John was very good at. Our rhythms still meshed and I started to say something in one of his pauses and then I stopped.
I’m not sure if the Doctor noticed my silence or not. I listened to John expand on some complimentary things he had to say and when he was done, Doctor Smith leaned forward and asked why were there and what did we hope to gain from the counseling. She looked at me and I met her gaze quietly. I had absolutely no idea.
That was a first.
“I don’t trust him.” I said bluntly. “I hate the choices he made. I hate the way he’s made me feel. I think I might even hate him.”
I did not look at John. I’d told him that I didn’t trust him before, but I never said the other words. I never said them because despite my own hurt and confusion, I hadn’t wanted to hurt him. I didn’t look at him because I didn’t want to see the hurt there.
“And what do you want me to help you do?” Doctor Smith prodded me.
“I want to find out whether I really want to stay in the marriage or if I want a divorce.”
“Let me ask you this … do you love him?”
“Yes.” Unhesistatingly the answer came out.
“Do you want to stay married?”
“We’ve been together for more than ten years, I don’t want to end it without at least trying to save it.”
“But do you want to?”
I’d answered the question. Annoyance flashed through me briefly, but I rarely if ever backed down from a confrontation. I looked from the doctor and studied John. I could see a mixture of puzzlement and hurt in his expression. I felt a small amount of satisfaction at that. Perhaps he was finally starting to get what I had been feeling these last several weeks.
“Jane?”
I looked back at the doctor. “I’m not ready to call it quits yet. So if we can save it, I want to save it.”
I heard John blow out a breath and I knew he’d been as uncertain of my answer as I had been. Interesting, we can entertain with the best of them – we anticipate each other’s jokes and stories – we shared a camaraderie that Doctor Smith described as exhausting. Yet the deeply personal, entrenched emotional responses – we could not predict.
When we left the doctor’s office with reams of paperwork and the doctor’s admonition to answer the questions as honestly as possible, I knew something neither John nor the doctor did – I still wasn’t telling them the whole truth. In my defense, I didn’t know the whole of it yet – because until that very moment in the doctor’s office – I hadn’t looked at my feelings too closely.
I didn’t want my marriage to end at all. I didn’t want to be there at the counselor’s office. I didn’t want to feel like my husband was a stranger. I wanted to jump up and down and scream. I wanted to smack him. I wanted to smack myself. I felt like a failure and an idiot and I wanted to go back in time and change every decision I ever made.
I hurt.
We were quiet in the car on the way home. Were we only in her office for just one hour? Why did it feel like an eternity?
“How do you feel?” John asked.
“Tired.” I responded, deflecting away from the real misery inside. “Just tired. How about you?”
“Tired, I guess. Not sure – suppose you can’t really tell after one appointment, can you?”
“No, it takes a long time – she has to learn about us, we have to learn to trust her – that’s why this initial phase is four sessions – one with us, one with each of us individually and then back to us for the fourth.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
So we were seeing a marriage counselor – why did it feel like we were even further apart than before?