Our Marriage Therapist Fired Us

Mia Hayes
4 min readAug 31, 2022

I didn’t want my marriage…until I was told it was beyond fixing

Photo by SHVETS production

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?”

I shrugged. “He’s making me.”

Miles asked James to recount the events of the previous two years, and I began laughing because our life sounded like a bad, unbelievable made-for-TV drama. Miles’s glare cut me off and he motioned for James to continue. I sat with my hands shoved under my thighs and stared at the wall clock, begging it to fast forward.

When it was my turn to talk, Miles said bluntly, “What do you want?”

Years of hurt exploded from me. “I want him to never have done any of it,” I yelled. “I want my old life back. I want to be able to forget everything like he gets to.” Sobs shook my body, and James laid a hand on my back. I shrugged away; I hated his touch.

Miles tapped a pen on the desk as I wiped my nose and tears with a tissue. He frowned at us. The wall clock appeared stuck at 10:53 — we still had twenty minutes left and I wanted to run out of the room.

Mia Hayes

40-something who 💯 doesn’t have it all figured out, but long story short, I survived. Love big. Love hard. Love you. www.miahayesauthor.com