Wednesday, February 3, 2010

This? This is therapy.

Three years ago, while I was pregnant with my daughter and my husband was in the process of leaving me for another woman, I went to see a therapist.

I had never talked to a mental health professional before, and didn't know what to expect. So I wasn't sure if it's normal for them to stare at you blankly and yawn occasionally while you blather on about how you really don't know why you're here, because you're fine, obviously this is a mistake, you'll just be on your way, and then you break down in a puddle of pathetic sobbing tears....

Anyway. After two one hour sessions, she made this genius diagnosis: I had "a very sad life".

I never went back. Who was she to judge my life? The everything that was my existence. My marriage, my friendships, my childhood, my children?

I look back now and I see. She was right. She was an unprofessional hack. But she had a point.

My life? It used to suck. Now? In your face, shitty therapist. I fixed it. Without you.

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