Or was it me?

We had a significant problem over the past month and I was quite angry. In fact, when I woke up this morning I realized I was still mad.

However, I decided to go to therapy.

I went in, told him I was still angry, couldn't figure out exactly why, but that I came in with an open heart and an open mind. Maybe we could figure this out.

He wasn't defensive, he wasn't glib, he wasn't dismissive (all of which he can and has been in the past on occasion). We just talked and both listened to each other.

The core issue was that I was scared that he was going to refer me to another psychiatrist. I re-assured him that I was just on a diet. He reassured me that even if I wasn't that (1) he DID want to hear about it and (2) he wouldn't refer me out - period. Well, unless we both agreed that it was in my best interest AND he would continue to see me and work closely with the new doc.

He acknowledged that his statements about "not wanting to hear about it" were not helpful.

I said that there was absolutely no way he could have known that he was about to step into a mine field. What, on one day, might have been an innocuous turn of a phrase, might, on another and given a different circumstance, be totally inappropriate for me to hear. There is no way any human can predict it - unless I tell them.

I was amazed at how adult I felt.

We got to the bottom of it all and I feel as though a tumor has been excised from me. He feels better about it too.

It's so good to have him back.

It's good to have me back.