by Jodi LaPalm
“I haven’t had any coffee today,” I lied, holding up my right hand to show her the shakes were indeed real.
“Alright. Well, maybe you should cut down on the caffeine until we get those panic attacks back under control,” she instructed. “Let’s get to work, shall we? How were the past few days?”
Despite earlier attempts to prepare, I really had little idea where to begin. And yet I was determined to make progress, because I couldn’t continue therapy three times a week and be a good wife, mother, or person. More than tiresome; it was getting old.
“Well, I revisited my relationship with Philip,” I offered.
“Good! Anything you care to share?” she asked, genuinely pleased.
“It was kind of like going through it all over again. I vividly remembered our first meetings, getting to know each other, falling in love...”
“And how did that make you feel, Courtney?”
“Parts of it made me happy. And of course, parts brought the pain back,” I told her honestly.
“At what times were you happy?”
I paused, struggling to think–really hard-about what made me happy.
“When I became so comfortable with him that I willingly gave myself and let the past insecurities over my rape go. And the way he made me feel, not just sexually, but personally...as a woman...is something I’ll never forget.”
“So you owe him, in some ways, for your life today as a wife and mother?” Dr. Benson implied.
I nodded, wiping surprise tears.
“And what is it exactly that made you sad?” she asked softly.
The tears rushed faster now, and she automatically reached for a tissue box. I obnoxiously blew my nose and wiped it, inhaling slowly. Today it was the scent of chocolate chip cookies in the air, and my stomach responded. Once again, my morning somehow left no time for coffee or food.
“Telling Philip I didn’t want to be with him. And leaving,” I cried. “Those things made me sad.”
“Why do you think you did that?”
“I-I never wanted to regret not using my power of choice,” I heaved.
“You’re power of choice?” Dr. Benson clarified.
I nodded.
“This was important to you,” she observed, jotting a note on her pad.
“My father...he kept reminding me that even when things seemed unfair, like when I was attacked, the choice was always mine to make about how I wanted life to be.” I sloppily wiped my nose. “He insisted it was something no one could take away from me.”
“And that’s why you let Philip go?”
“It became my choice-to give him a true chance with his wife and make his family whole. He couldn’t seem to make the decision, so I made it for him,” I answered matter-of-factly.
“And how was it for you, Courtney, after you told him to leave?”
“Devastating. Because when we were together, for the first time since the rape, I felt almost like a complete person-alive and breathing,” I paused. “He saw me when I was invisible. And once he was no longer there, it was as if I disappeared. Courtney was essentially erased from the daily fabric of life. But even worse, she was suffocating-and dying a slow death without him.”
“But you never contacted each other?”
“Nope,” I said, suddenly over-interested in pulling a small wayward thread from the side seam of my jeans.
“Why not?” she pried.
“We agreed it would be for the best. In fact, I insisted on it. Of course, it helped matters a great deal when I moved out of town. Away from him...”
“Do you ever wonder what might have been?” Dr. Benson again noted something, and this time I couldn’t care less about what she wrote.
I was messed up, and I knew it.
“I used to think about it constantly,” I confessed. “I’d imagine us living together, shopping, cooking, spending quiet evenings at home and long nights making love. In my earlier daydreams, it all seemed idyllic. But then over time, I began to acknowledge the reality of dealing with an ex-wife and children and the baggage which came with it.”
“And you didn’t want to deal with that?”
“No, I probably could have dealt with it,” I countered, “but I didn’t want Philip to deal with it. His hands were full enough with a potential broken family; he didn’t need a broken girl as well.”
“Courtney, you may not realize this but had you stayed with him, you would have been taking the cowardly path.” Sensing an argument, Dr. Benson quickly continued. “Because asking him to forgo the chance to re-build a once strong marriage for a fantasy one isn’t brave. Pushing him to work at something which appeared damaged–but could possibly be repaired-takes real guts.”
“Then why don’t I feel brave?” I challenged with sarcasm.
“Feeling brave now isn’t the point,” Dr. Benson politely emphasized. “The fact that once again you’ve proven in your past you can make the right choices to overcome adversity is what’s important here. You’re much stronger than you realize. It’s not just a pat compliment either, Courtney. You have an unseen force–an undeniable will to not only survive the difficulties that come your way but also the ones you created yourself.”
“Great,” I muttered, completely unconvinced.
“Well, let’s look at the facts, shall we? You overcame a brutal sexual attack at the height of your personal development,” she stated.
“But I developed OCD in an effort to control my environment and became terrified of men,” I argued.
“And you engaged in therapy to get the OCD to a manageable level so you could finish college and get a job. You also learned to trust Philip-physically, mentally, and emotionally.”
“But when we parted, I experienced a major OCD setback from the stress of leaving him and the shame over our affair. Which, by the way, put me back in full-time therapy for almost a year.”
“Which you also overcame, eventually leading you to return once again to society and meet Alex,” she countered smugly, and I debated between slapping her across the cheek or lauding my accomplishments.
“I guess I did.”
“Courtney, please try to understand you’re not alone in your failings. There is not one person out there–myself included–who doesn’t have some imperfections. The key is to admit those and acknowledge the faults. You did nothing wrong by falling in love with Philip–even if he was married–and you did everything right by letting him have another chance with his family. Let go of the guilt, Courtney. It’s time.”
At the mention of time, Dr. Benson glanced at her watch and informed my hour was up. And when she added she’d like to see me again in weeks rather than days, I became relieved.
Maybe there is hope for me yet, I smiled and exited her office into the bright sunshine.
***
Going home wasn’t as strange as I imagined it might be. It was mine, after all. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, colorful schemes within the rooms–each had either been hand-picked or approved by me and thus, the entire space reflected what I hoped to create for my family.
It was our haven, the dream I held onto loosely as a young girl while playing make-believe with my hand-me-down doll house. And even after that dream was shattered–not once, but twice–I never let it go. I needed to dig deep inside me to gather every last bit of strength but once I did, I used its gasping power to rescue my crushed dream from the clutches of a burning fire.
Rising from the ashes, it became the only thing I still possessed that was exclusively my own. Untouched and pure, this dream of a simple–and normal-life I could be proud of was, in effect, my very own Phoenix.
Miraculously over time I, too, was able to rise anew. With ever-lasting hope, I persevered and found redemption in my roles as wife and mother.
Yet once again, here I was...dying in a fire of my own making. And I now feared I might never be resurrected and brought back to the very life I’d always wished could someday be mine.
***
How would we be together? I fretted. Would I appear the same?
I felt entirely different. Yet I didn’t know why.
Methodically roaming room to room, I put things in their proper place, returned items to other areas, and gathered laundry. Once finished, I ran a load of towels and browsed through the stack of mail-all bills and one hefty check for work I did awhile back. I tossed them on the counter with little interest and went through the house once more before heading back into the kitchen to start dinner.
There wasn’t much to pick from, and I sighed at the need to add a mundane task such as grocery shopping to my overwhelming list of things to do. Wasn’t it enough I had to fix me? Now, I had to worry about stocking the fridge, too?
The idea of basic chores–housekeeping, laundry, shopping, bills, appointments, running the kids–created a wave of dread to seep into my aching body. Even the prospect of work, which typically brought me joy, held no appeal.
Everything seemed difficult. It was all too much.
Just then the back door slammed, causing Rosie to leap from her restful spot and skitter long claws across the tile floor toward its sound.
“Mom? You here?” Mitch called.
“I’m in the kitchen,” I answered, and the sound of my voice startled me so I dropped the frozen hamburger I held in my hands onto my left foot.
“What was that?” Sylvie asked, gliding into the room in a long jean skirt, pale pink ruffled blouse, and brown cowgirl vest complete with fringe.
“I dropped the hamburger,” I replied pleasantly while cursing under my breath. “Come give Momma a big hug, Sweet Pea.”
She came into my arms, and the feeling of her against my chest was one of absolute bliss. Holding her petite body, I pet her slight curls with my hand until she gradually pulled away.
“Have your days been good with Dad and at school?” I asked, now looking at her outfit with closer inspection. “Isn’t this part of your Halloween costume?”
“Yep! I needed it for my country look today. Dad dug it out for me,” she cheerily replied, and I instantly understood why there were two plastic bins out of place in the basement storage.
“Hey, Mom,” Mitch said as if I’d never been gone.
“Mitchell! Come here.” I opened my arms, and he came to me, too slowly. But when he was finally in my embrace, I noticed his own arms wrapped tightly around my waist and squeezed hard.
“So! Why don’t you kids catch me up while I start dinner?” I offered, hoping their stories of childhood woes would help me forget my own adult ones.
“Dad said we could take a drive to the outlet mall this weekend so I can get some new shoes for baseball,” Mitch informed.
“He did, did he?” I asked with suspicion.
“He did,” Sylvie confirmed, “and he said I could get a new swimsuit. And then we could stop at Rudy’s for burgers!” She was out of breath now, and I released a low chuckle.
“Well, it sounds like Dad has it all figured out. Guess I should make this hamburger into something other than burgers then!” I said happily while inside I boiled.
Not only did I not want to go shopping this weekend, I now had to come up with another plan for dinner! Returning the hamburger to the freezer, I grabbed a frozen pizza and chicken nuggets. The kids squealed with delight at the sight of this horrific meal, and I knew at least they’d eat heartily tonight.
An hour later Alex came home, and I quickly ducked into the bedroom to summon enough nerve to see him. After greeting the kids, he walked in to find me sitting on the bed, folding towels.
“Hey there,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorway. He looked tired–and scared, as if he didn’t know whether he should enter or not.
A new sorrow came over me. This room-where we connected and confided and planned–now left us separated and unsure and lost.
I wanted to find him again. But I didn’t. Instead, I remained on the bed, and he stayed in the doorway.
“Hey,” I faked enthusiasm. “How have things been here? The kids seem happy.”
“They are,” he agreed. “But they missed their mom.”
“I missed them, too. Terribly.” He moved past me to change out of his suit, and I realized with horror that I didn’t say I missed him.
I went to the walk-in closet, and the space, which once seemed massive-with its tiers of hanging clothes, shelves of folded sweaters, and neat pairs of shoes-now appeared claustrophobic. As he hung his suit-coat with his back to me, I became brave.
“I missed you, too, Alex,” I hugged him from behind. Raising both hands, he laid them on mine while staring at the wall.
“Me too, Courtney. Me too.”
He turned to hug me, and in my bizarre state of comprehension it seemed viselike, more desperate than any embrace he’d ever given. I held him just as closely, and we remained-silent and still-until Mitch hollered from the other room that the oven beeper went off.
Reluctantly, we let go.
Dinner went on as if I’d never left and with it being a weekend night, homework was put off for another day. Afterward, the four of us settled in for a card game and over the table, Alex and I stole intermittent glances, but only when we thought the other wasn’t actually looking.
He appeared different to me, and I tried to figure out why.
With the kids bickering, Alex and I ended the tournament after only two games. All three fell asleep while watching a movie and rather than wake them, I placed pillows under crooked heads and covered restful bodies with blankets. The kids considered it a rare treat to “camp-out,” and I took advantage, thus avoiding a stressful battle over bedtimes and need to talk with Alex.
Within the comfort of my own bed, I fell asleep in minutes.
Then sometime deep in the night, I heard Alex. “You awake?” he whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
I debated whether to speak or feign sleep. “Yes,” I told the dark.
“Did things go okay?” he asked.
Facing him, I barely detected the shape of his form in the abyss between us. Yet just as suddenly, I remembered every wrinkle and mole and curve of his body.
“I really think they did.”
“So, are you okay now?” he hoped.
“No,” I responded bluntly. “I still have work to do. But I can definitely say I’m better than before.”
“Well that’s something, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is. It takes small steps, and I just need to remember that.” Reaching blindly for his hand, I gripped it in mine. “You’re an amazing man, Alex, and I can’t express how I appreciate the patience and support...,” I began to cry. “You don’t deserve this from me–or anyone-and I know I’m asking for so much, but I hope you understand I-I notice it. I couldn’t get through this without you.”
“I’m here for you, Courtney,” he brought me against him. “Yesterday, today, and always...” he paused. “Just don’t forget I’m here.”
choice
Due to my absentee parenting of late, I gave into the plans made without me. I was in little mood to mingle with the general public, but I did need to be with my family.
Seven hours later, we returned–beat from hours of browsing, trying on, and purchasing, and stuffed from a late afternoon lunch of gourmet burgers, fresh-made onion rings, and extra-thick milkshakes. The day became a surprisingly pleasant distraction, keeping my current thoughts clear and my past ruminations at bay.
Once home, the kids ran to their rooms with the new belongings while Alex and I headed for the back patio, beer in hand. There would be no dinner tonight.
The spring air remained crisp but comfortable enough with our fleece vests and jeans. Strolling side by side around the yard, we inspected the lawn and surrounding landscape, making mental notes of wh
at required attention after a long, dormant winter. Eventually settling into the reclining chairs by our back corner of trees, I surveyed the house from an entirely different angle.
Falling in love with its burnt-red brick and stately arches the very first time I laid eyes upon them, I still marveled to this day that this beautiful home was actually ours. For in the time following my break-up with Philip, I really began to doubt whether marriage, kids, and a house were even in the grand plan for me.
I downed the rest of my beer and listened intently to Alex discuss his ideas for extending the yard.