When my wife told me that she wanted to get some personal one-on-one therapy, I was all for it.
It was after we’d both had some counselling as a couple and the therapist suggested we take time on our own to sort a few things out from our individual perspectives and pasts, which made perfect sense.
I had three solo sessions myself and concluded that my dad had been somewhat on the distant side – which may account for my own reluctance to display affection and emotion. I considered the job well done.
Privately, I was delighted with this outcome as my battery for soul-searching was running low and I wasn’t sure I had the stomach for any more self-reflection.
There was also the matter of cost. For the usual reasons, our household budget has been under a fair bit of strain recently. While I considered the cost of couples therapy an investment in our joint future and well worth splashing out on, the individual sessions were, to my mind, something of an optional extra.
I agreed to the sessions in a spirit of willingness, and to demonstrate enthusiasm for the whole process, rather expecting a similar attitude from my wife.
She has embraced individual therapy with a passion. While I obviously don’t know what she has been telling the therapist, there is no mistaking her energy and positivity about the sessions.
Which is great, except that I have given up the individual sessions and she shows no sign whatsoever of giving hers up. Meanwhile, the therapy bills are mounting up as if she is on a psychological taxi ride with no idea of the eventual destination.
To be completely frank, I am still trying to get my head around paying someone to listen to us talk. I don’t mind paying for services, whether that’s a plumber or a window cleaner, but there’s usually something tangible that I can affix the ensuing invoice to.
This is why therapy still jars a bit with me, even though I realise that the tangible benefit is that it might make us into better human beings – which may prove of more lasting benefit than a dual-flush toilet or a streak-free window.
Such positive thinking on my part did not survive a recent conversation when my wife revealed that she was contemplating upping her solo sessions from once a week to twice a week. The conversation concluded with me using the phrase “money for old rope” and adjourning to the local for some one-person therapy of my own.
I have since apologised, and agreed – through gritted teeth – that we can afford twice-weekly sessions for her for another month or so, after which she must consider herself all talked out, or find a free alternative.
I must admit that, as well as the expense, my grumpiness on the topic is partly to do with jealousy that she has found so much satisfaction in the therapy, and partly with a suspicion that she is enjoying the opportunity to grumble about me to the therapist.
I might be more inclined to agree to extend her sessions even further if she would come clean about what she is finding to discuss that is so interesting, but she takes great delight in reminding me that “confidentiality is a vital part of the therapeutic process”.
Failing disclosure, I might feel better about the whole business if the therapist offered a BOGOF deal – or at least a loyalty card?
Disclaimer: The copyright of this article belongs to the original author. Reposting this article is solely for the purpose of information dissemination and does not constitute any investment advice. If there is any infringement, please contact us immediately. We will make corrections or deletions as necessary. Thank you.
