|
<font color="green">My mother took me to get help when I was 13. We went in to the doctor and with me sitting next to her(pretending to read a book) she told him everything that I had ever done that she was not happy about. She had not one positive thing to say in 45 minutes of monologue. When she finally ran out of breath, the doctor looked at me and asked, "What do you have to say about all this?" Being 13 and having listened to mom tell how awful I was, I told him, "Like she told you, I am a *****." I put my nose back into my book and refused to have anything more to do with either of them until they finally said we could leave. Perhaps if I could have talked to him I would have been helped, I don't know. Three years later she took me to a 'family session' ( my brother was severe adhd and had other issues as well) where the therapist seemed to want me to agree that if I had misbehaved it was right that she spank me. Since she didn't spank me - she beat me with a webbed belt - I wouldn't agree with him either. I think some of our moms need therapy every bit as much as some of us do. My mother is finally getting therapy at age 69. </font>
__________________
dalila
Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but it doesn't get you anywhere.
-Erma Bombeck
|