Page 11 of The Therapist
Squashing some irritation at the way she is talking to me and the way she seems to be using tears to manipulate me, I say, ‘I only want to help you.’
‘Please just meet him,’ she says, her tone changing as she smiles at me. I can see that she is used to getting everything she wants. It must be hard for her to find herself in a situation that she can’t control completely. ‘I know that it will make a difference if you do. I think that you’re really good at what you do, and I would never have believed this but you’re actually a better therapist than Ben is, maybe because you’re a woman. I feel like you really understand me and what’s going on and I think that meeting Mike would really help things.’
It’s a calculated compliment but I can’t help the good feeling that comes from her words. I know I’m a good therapist but it’s always nice to have it confirmed.
‘Okay,’ I decide to agree, against my better judgement. Perhaps meeting her husband will allow me to understand exactly what she’s hiding.
And I am curious to meet Mike, to see how he presents himself to the world. Abusers can be incredibly charming to strangers and it’s only behind closed doors that they let their true selves come out.
‘But, Sandy, you know from our discussions that change may not be possible for Mike. If he is gaslighting you, he needs to be able to acknowledge it and get help so that he stops his pattern from repeating.’
‘I know, I know.’ Sandy flaps her hand. Today she is dressed in tight blue jeans and a soft navy jumper. She looks lovely in everything she wears and I know that if she got divorced, she wouldn’t struggle to find someone new to share her life with. I need to get to the root of what is tying her to this man.
‘I do understand your feelings and you have every reason to want a functional relationship.’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ She cocks her head to one side. ‘Are you married? Or…divorced, yes, I think you’re divorced.’ The barb pricks but I maintain a neutral façade.
I’ve noticed this about Sandy over the last couple of sessions. When she feels I am pushing her to leave, she begins asking personal questions and it makes me wonder if she did the same thing with Ben. I know enough to steer her away from my life.
‘We aren’t here to talk about me,’ I say in reply to her question. ‘We’ve never really discussed your parents. Do they or did they have a good marriage?’
Sandy glances at the clock on the wall as though ascertaining how much time is left in her session. An expression I’ve never seen crosses her face, a kind of shutting down.
‘They have a fine marriage. They live on the South Coast so we don’t get to see them as much as I would like. I don’t think they understand me or that they even want to. They’re happy enough although it’s a very, like, 1950s marriage. My dad goes to work and my mum stays home and it’s always been like that. I mean, I don’t work so it’s not only about work, more about how they behave with each other. When I was a child, Dad always had to be served dinner first and Mum always made sure that the house was clean and my sister and I were behaving nicely before he came home. He ruled the roost but he was a good father, except for…I mean he drank some.’ Her gaze darts from side to side and it’s obvious to me that she’s uncomfortable now.
I make a note on the pad in front of me.Grew up keeping the secret of abusive father? Has chosen to repeat.
‘What did you just write down?’ Sandy asks, irritation flickering across her features, and I have a feeling she has inadvertently revealed something about herself, something true.
‘Exactly what you told me.’ There’s no way she can read what I’ve written from where she is sitting. I am in my usual leather tub chair, a present from my own father when I completed my studies.
‘Every good psychologist needs a comfortable chair to sit in,’ he told me on the card he wrote to go with the gift. However terrible my teenage years were, I always knew that I had the love and support of my parents. I still do.
If Sandy doesn’t want to discuss her parents, there’s something there that I need to pay attention to.
‘Anyway, my parents have nothing to do with anything. I see them on Christmas and we visit over the summer holidays but I can’t count on them for help or anything. It’s not like they have alot of money and so…if Mike and I get divorced, I will be one of those single mothers living in poverty. I know that for sure. And I refuse to live in poverty.’
‘You can get help; the government has a lot of programmes available to help single mothers and he would have to pay child support…’ I try to imagine Sandy having to watch every penny but can’t. Her clothes look expensive, her nails are perfect and diamonds sparkle on her hands. She looks like a woman who spends time and money on herself.
But money can’t buy the happiness and peace she is desperate for. The therapist in me takes a step forward.Why are you being so harsh?I sit up straight in my chair, dismissing the judgemental voice inside my head.
‘Yeah,’ she snorts, ‘I’ve read about all the men whopaytheir child support. It’s so easy for a man, you know, they can leave, they can just leave and make another life for themselves and that’s not fair. We’re stuck with the kids and having to worry about feeding them and caring for them while we work – I mean, some women.’ She waves her hand again. ‘You wait till you meet Mike; he’s really good-looking and charming and he will have someone else in his life like that.’ She snaps her fingers.
‘But is that a reason to stay with someone who you claim gaslights you?’
‘Claim?’
I clear my throat, a little ashamed of myself. ‘I guess I’m wondering what is tying you to someone who makes your life very hard.’
‘I still love him.’ She shrugs. ‘I wish I didn’t. But I do.’
Again, I wonder if this is true.
There is a lot more to this situation than what she’s telling me and it will be a good thing to meet her husband so that I can be sure of what is and isn’t the truth.
We sit in silence for a few minutes as Sandy plays with the gold link bracelet she has around her wrist.
‘Mike gave this to me on our first anniversary,’ she says, smiling. ‘We already had a baby and I was…Felix was not a sleeper and I thought that I wasn’t going to survive. I hadn’t even remembered it was our first anniversary but he came home early in the afternoon with flowers and this gift and he told me he’d booked me a hair appointment and he had a dinner reservation.’
