He has an entire world that he needs to return to when he leaves your office

To My Husband's Therapist,

Firstly, thank you for your hard work. My previously therapy-phobic husband now looks forward to Thursday all week. He looks forward to being himself and unwinding in the safety of your office, and I know you two have a great rapport filled with divrei Torah and learning that spices up each session.

And he’s doing really important work.

So I can ignore the giant hole in our already stretched budget. And I can ignore the fact that most of what he repeats to me in your name are things I’ve said to him at least once in the past 15 years — generally accompanied by tears or pleading. My words fell on deaf ears. But that’s okay, because it’s so much easier to hear something from someone you’re paying to listen to you. I get that. I just sit and silently salute myself for my spot-on instincts, sans degree.

Here’s the thing: You seem to have a “break then build them” method, encouraging your clients to heal their inner child so they can become strong. But every time you send my husband home with “homework” or “something to think about,” my life falls apart.

I didn’t realize that encouraging my husband to work on his baggage would mean I’d need to do most things alone: things like bringing in Shabbos, making Pesach, taking care of our beautiful family. Oh, he’s there physically. But he’s unable to help me, unable to be there for anyone outside of his emotions, his perception, his narrative.

I know that therapy is a process, that all good things take time, that you can’t rush recovery. But the thing is that my husband was never broken. Not at all. He was bent, if that.

Now? He just keeps breaking, over and over.

Maybe I’m not cheering on his healing or supporting him as much as I should. That’s because I need to keep all the pieces together — the kids, the house, the money — while he luxuriates in “finding his truth” and reliving his childhood.

Again, there are definitely parts of the whole thing that I’m happy about. Things I thought I’d need to simply accept for the rest of my life are beginning to shift toward the better, and that’s incredible. But I didn’t realize how much the whole family would have to endure in order for him to work through the past.

I know he’s the one who is your client. He’s your priority, his emotional health is your goal, your task. But he has an entire world that he needs to return to when he leaves your office. A job, a chavrusa, a wife, children, parents. We’re also important, and we shouldn’t need to be someone’s client to feel that way. Emotional health is essential, but so is the respect of those closest to you.

And mine might be eroding as he embarks on this journey with you.

I know you’re just doing your job.

I appreciate that. I have a job, too.

But there has to be a way to help grown men — husbands and fathers — other than reverting them back to the moody, brooding teenagers they once were.

And there has to be a way to treat your clients while remembering that they have ecosystems — children, friends, parents — who are not your clients, but with whom your client needs to interact appropriately outside of your office.

For all our sakes, I hope you can find that way.

Your client's wife

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 843)