Member-only story
I didn’t want my marriage…until I was told it was beyond fixing
The first thing I noticed, other than the chaotically cluttered office, was the therapist’s handlebar mustache. It took up half his face and hid most of his mouth. The second thing I noticed was his oversized wooden desk and the tiny loveseat across from it. There was no other seating.
James and I exchanged hellos with the therapist. He introduced himself as Miles and encouraged us to crowd onto the tiny sofa. James’s leg touched mine, and I shoved myself farther into the corner.
Since James’s accident two years earlier, our marriage had unraveled, leaving only one fraying thread. James had begged me to see a marriage therapist with him, and I begrudgingly agreed.
Honestly, I didn’t see the point. After James suffered a traumatic brain injury and PTSD from his accident, he had forgotten much of our life together and had an affair with a work contractor. Even though he was remorseful and wanted to fix our marriage, I found myself sinking deep into bipolar depression and self-harming.
Basically, we were a mess.
Miles studied our intake sheets and the surveys we had individually filled out. After a minute or two, he looked up. “Mia, why are you here?”
