Client AH.67.109 - Session 3

(Beep. Music fades in)

Okay, so, your joke wasn't great or really all that good, but I think you're being a little too hard on yourself. Let's take a second to look at what you did right. As you so astutely noticed, she is, in fact, going through a hard time, and that led her to do something a bit cliched. Even as she was doing it,  she knew it was a bit of a stunt, just one that happened to be worth the cathartic release.

Okay so, your joke didn't land, and it didn't get even a chuckle. But that's not a reason to get upset because it did manage to do so three things.

One, your comment made her feel seen, on one hand. Two, you then took the opportunity the awkward silence gave you to establish yourself as a resource should the stunt (in air quotes) prove to not be enough for her right now. And finally, you gave her the assurance that you are still here.

I know those two last points sound similar, but I promise that's not just me scrambling to make you feel better about an awkward moment. They genuinely are different  At least, they're different (music cuts) when you consider that when her uncle died, her newly widowed aunt found herself with this nasty tendency to dissociate and went after this specific niece at least one time with a knife. It was probably more than once. But there's only one time that the police know about. So there's that.

(New music fades in)

“That” being something I could have handled with a bit more tact. Then again, I don't know how someone is supposed to have tact when saying something like that, so that's a point for me. Not technically. I'm just taking it.

And no, she's not afraid of you hurting her. She's not afraid that you'll somehow find a knife in the office and use it against her without someone stepping in. That couldn't be further from the truth. In reality, it's not that she's afraid of losing you so much as she's afraid of you being lost. Like her aunt was. After all, her aunt up until then, had never been a violent woman. Not until her pain stripped her good nature away. And then it seemed like she was making up for lost time.

The child down the hall couldn't handle that happening to you. And that might be why I'm here. Or not. Maybe not. Probably not.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But you have lost yourself, right? Or that's what you fear has happened. But it didn't happen when he died. That much is certain. It happened sometime before. But you don't know when. (Pause.) I agree with her that you are someone who should be protected. In terms of value not relative to your capabilities. You definitely can protect and look out for yourself and others, and that is why it's so important to both of us that you be safe.

Some people say the world needs warriors, some may say. And in some regard, I think they are right.

We need fighters but not people who fight to be right but those who fight for what's right. And that's you. With the only added note being your specialty or focus in helping those who are particularly weak, vulnerable, and fragile.

A child, I mean. Many in fact.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Your love for your husband and his love for you might have been--certainly are--prolific, but at the same time, I don't think many people envied you when you got married because suddenly you were stepmom to four children who had come to hate the very concept of “mom” or maternal figures in general.

Not that anyone could blame them. With a mother who was venom incarnate and grandmothers who had both passed on, there was something inevitable about it. and then you came along. You who suddenly appeared in their life without much notice.  Suddenly because your husband had wisely refrained from bringing women around his children until he was sure they were the one. And then there was you. And he was so absolutely certain sure that he could not bear to wait.

And you didn't want to wait, either. Because of them. Because you knew they were hurting. Your oldest son was at the age when he was starting to realize just how unfair his plight was. That other kids got a Mom and he ended up with a pearl wearing demon.

He need you. They all did. Even then. Before it became so obvious.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I saw a moment that wasn't mine to see. Story of my life. But this one in particular was… personal. It was between you and your oldest son. The night your husband had the car accident. And the doctors couldn't even begin to describe a miracle that could keep him around.

I know I sometimes say things too bluntly, but give me some credit, I don't do that to kids or around kids. And he was still a kid, at 12. That might be a controversial opinion, but that's where I stand. No one is ever going to persuade me otherwise.

Your son. wanted to be tough. That's how he always acted with you. It was what he did to push you away. But you never left. No matter what he did or said.

He thought his dad was all he had to lean on. I mean, his mom was out of the way. Grandparents dead. And he didn't trust you.  Yes, he had three siblings, but perils of being the oldest: your younger siblings can't be asked to brace you. That's your job. So it was just dad, and he was dying. Or that's what the doctors kept saying.

Your son was bigger than you even then. Puberty hit him hard and early. And it left you a bit afraid of him. You didn't want to admit it out loud, and if you did, you'd be quick to add that this was a fear other people had put into you in their gossipy critiques and supposed lamentations. They warned you that he would lash out at you, especially as a teenager, and you should be weary given his size. Someone even told you to send him away. After all, you were automatically a target because you were the stepmom to a kid who had a truly horrible mother. He was a lost cause. He couldn't cope. Better to cut your losses and save the energy for the other three

And he did try you, you have to admit. You also have to admit that at first you didn't know what to do. You didn't even tell your husband.

But then that moment happened. He started crumbling. And instinctively you grabbed him. You wrapped your body around him as tightly as you could. And he did not like that. He yelled. He squirmed. He thrashed. But you held on.

You tried to justify it to yourself the morning after. The hospital was on a busy street. With shady characters in the parking lots all around. You couldn't let him leave, not when he was hurting and not when he was in that state. You wouldn't.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Where did that strength come from? You never figured it out. But the other day in the break room, your colleagues were talking about feats of superhuman strength and you thought about this again. For the first time in years.

You were so small, your arms so weak and fragile, and you were shaking yourself. But you held onto him. You never let go. And nothing could have pried you off of him.

It was because he needed you, you said. Necessity bore untold power.  But decades later that would only raise more questions. Especially when your husband is involved.

(Pause)

You should call your son, by the way. Yeah he's full grown. But he still could stand to hear your voice. And you his.

Let me and him be your lighthouse back to the shore like you were for him. I know you aren't ready to anchor yourself just yet. I can't ask you to do what to do. But could you consider coming towards the shore line?

Slow steps. Gradual journey. At least move towards land.

(Music fades out. Beep.)