Three women attended therapy sessions. They each had separated from their spouses and were trying to adjust to life as a single parent. Each one expressed her feelings and wanted to know how to deal with them.
Our first speaker was fifty-two year old May. She was short, and pudgy, wearing a tight fitting brown pantsuit. She wore her hair in a short afro that was almost totally gray. Her large, brown eyes were blood shot from sleepless nights and worry. Now that her husband was out of the home, she and the children were trying to adjust.
I had to stop the madness. For ten years, my hubby struggled with addiction. He struggled to make friends. He struggled trying to get people to like him. I struggled as well, trying to be a helpful wife. "Hubby," I said," you can't make people like you. You have to like yourself, first." That didn't work. "How about the fact that the kids and I love you," I asked. "Isn't that enough for right now?" His mouth said, "Yes," His actions said otherwise. I tried everything to get him to stop using drugs. I nagged, and nagged him. Then I let him alone and that made matters worse. I tried giving him attention. He said, "You're invading my space." If I left him alone, he said I didn't care. He would go to his rehabilitation meetings and talk at the people instead of discussing his problems. After a while, even I could see the members weren't even listening. I thought a move to a better neighborhood would make things better. Instead, Hubby found more troublemakers. He liked having friends at least ten or fifteen years younger than himself because they "make me feel young." The last straw came when I arrived home to the smell of marijuana, coming from our basement. The cops removed hubby from our home. The children are upset, but I had to stop the madness. Maybe now that Hubby is by himself, he'll learn to like himself, and stop killing himself. We'll pray for him.
We hadn't heard from May for a while when Mary began coming to the sessions.