I’m not afraid to admit it — I see a therapist. Well, really he’s a counselor. Well, actually, a marriage counselor. And okay, I don’t exactly “see” him — it’s more like every few years the Big Bean and I get to a point where either I’m going to kill him or he’s going to kill me and since we both love each other just a *little* bit more than we want to see each other dead, we call in a third party to help us with that.
Side note: I’m not sure why I call it therapy except that it sounds way more COOL than marriage counseling. Marriage counseling sounds like you’re headed for the Big D (Divorce, not Dallas) and I don’t really like the idea of that, and lots of people are in therapy on TV and in the movies, like Uma Thurman and Barbra Streisand and Tony Soprano (yes, I know he’s not a real person) and I want to be Just Like Them.
So anyway… we saw this guy, Dr. D, for a few sessions about seven or eight years ago. We really liked him right off the bat because he said “shit” during our first appointment – at which point we both gasped and looked at each other like “He just said a bad word” and we just knew that this was a match.
Plus, he wasn’t cheesy (break out the hand puppets on us and we’re gonna eat you ALIVE) and he was pretty good at not letting one of us (okay, ME) railroad the conversation, which normally I wouldn’t like at all but even I have to admit that it’s probably good to let the Big Bean get a word in edgewise when we’re trying to Work On Our Relationship. But only then.
Dr. D helped us back then and we moved on to bigger and better problems. Which brings us to today.
Lately we’ve had trouble not murdering each other communicating and the subject has come up more than once that maybe it would be a good idea to get an outside opinion. But mostly it’s just been used as an empty threat because it’s really an inconvenient endeavor, getting everyone’s schedules straight and everything, plus it’s fairly expensive and one of our problems is money so you do the math.
So basically we’ve just been killing time, arguing over the Big Bean’s schedule and his obsession with working out and my obsession with NOT working out and money and debt and Who Does the Most Around the House and sniping and nitpicking each other to death and threatening each other with therapy. Yeah. It’s been fun.
But then the other night, the Big Bean fell asleep on the couch and woke up around 1:30AM and came to bed but I was fast asleep, completely spread out, right in the middle, with our menagerie of animals surrounding me. He stood there for a minute, not sure if he should wake me up to move or just go back to the couch. At least, that’s his story. I’m not so sure.
Either way, I woke up to find the Big Bean standing over me in the dark with a pillow in his hand, and that’s when I knew I should probably make the appointment.
So I did, and we went this morning, and it felt good, like we were actually DOING something to try and fix these wanting to murder each other communication issues of ours instead of just marking time while things got worse. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not actually headed for prison for murder the Big D – we’re both Lifers here. But it sure is easy to let the little things build up and build up and build up until everything just explodes in this melee of ugliness and then things get said (or yelled) that shouldn’t and you can’t take that shit back, you know. Not really.
And besides, I really do LUUUUURVVV the Big Bean (no matter how much smack I might talk about him) and I know he loves me and for the most part we’re happy and enjoy each other’s company and have fun and laugh together. We have a long history of Happy, and now we’ve got this great Bean added into the mix which just makes it all the more Worth It. A few counseling sessions every seven years or so seems like a small price to pay for that.
Another side note: I just went back and counted and there are 11 paragraphs before this one (although most of them are really just run-on sentences because that’s how I roll). So a total of 12 paragraphs it has taken me to get to the point of the whole story. I will be amazed if anyone has actually stayed with me this far. Bless your heart if you have, you must be really bored or have your own set of issues. I’ll get to the point now.\
To make a long story short (I crack myself up), while we were in our session I was going on (and on and on – have you noticed I tend to do that?) about how the Big Bean attacks instead of argues and how when he does that I am just overcome with the urge to run and hide because I don’t want to deal with it. So I just SHUT DOWN and can’t speak or fight back because I’m so angry and upset I can’t even DEAL.
And Dr. D says, “I’m really surprised at that. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would react that way. Probably because you have so much chutzpah.”
I was completely derailed. I never really came back again after that. For the rest of the session, all I could think was He said I have chutzpah. Even with the Big Bean sitting there next to me, telling another person how Irresponsible and Horrible I am (my interpretation), which normally would hold my COMPLETE attention, there was a running buzz in the back of my head – chutzpah chutzpah chutzpah – and I would tell myself to focus but I just kept thinking about that WORD.
I’ve heard it a million times before but I really don’t know what it means… Isn’t it a Jewish term? Where do “Jewish terms” come from – the Torah? Or are they just Hebrew words in general and not religious at all? How do you spell chutzpah? Doesn’t it mean balls? Did Dr. D just say that I have balls? Is Dr. D Jewish? Why does anyone care if someone is Jewish or not? Focus, bejewell, focus.
I barely made it through the rest of the hour. Got out, headed straight for the office and my good friend Dictionary.com, or as I like to call him, Dick. And according to old Dick, the definition of the word chutzpah is this:
1. unmitigated effrontery or impudence; gall
2. audacity; nerve
Sounds like balls to me! And it’s true, I DO have balls — ginormous, imposing, majestic, hard-as-nails balls, and I’m proud of them. Of course, Dick makes it sound like a bad thing, but I know that my woman balls are a good thing, and I know that Dr. D knows that, too.
Overall, I’m feeling pretty good about therapy.Stumble it!