Therapeutic Sessions Ch. 01

Therapeutic Sessions -01 - Two Pillars of Manhood

Making an engineer our of a counselor

This is chapter one of several 'conversations in therapy.' Each chapter will be stand-alone, not interconnected by plot or any characters. Enjoy.

Relax: It's just a story, people.

[Copyright 2022, all rights reserved. Works published on this site may not be copied, reproduced, or used for any purpose without the written consent of the listed author]

"Good afternoon, you two," Beverly Gleason greeted us. My soon-to-be-ex-wife Cheryl was seated to my left. I'm Jody - Jody Nelson, and I was both anxious and dispassionate about our second of twelve court-ordered counseling appointments. Our first, only three days prior, had been a mixed bag.

The previous hour-long session had consisted mostly of generalities, housekeeping, and 'Dr. Bev's' set of rules. It was odd that I hadn't seen anything on the walls supporting her claim of being a doctor. I wondered what Cheryl and I calling her by a title she likely didn't hold was all about. I guessed we'd find out at some point.

For my part, this sham of a delay tactic needed to end as soon as possible, and I was prepared to go old school on both of these women the moment the opportunity presented itself.

Cheryl had been careless, running around with her lover. I hadn't been looking for it, so when a business associate had clued me in, I'd been heartbroken. She was a beautiful woman, and I'd trusted her for nine years - seven and a half of those as her loving and trusting husband. I should have been more cautious and less trusting, I'd thought, once the shock had worn off. I'd just wanted someone who cared enough about me to not totally fuck me over - or perhaps I'd just wanted to believe in the ideal of such a relationship.

It had been difficult coming to terms with things I'd been told about this ugly world as a young man. . I'd had a strange life, and counted among my early mentors members of the Sicilian mob in the Midwest, members of the Jewish mafia in Hollywood, and many other wealthy and powerful people. Upon reflection, my desire and my decision to trust people - including my wife - stemmed from a visceral negative reaction to that grim diagnosis of humanity, coming from those corrupt and unsavory people. I'd wanted to believe that they'd been caught in a cycle of abuse and mistrust, receiving both what they gave, what they expected, and maybe what they'd had no choice but to receive when they'd been younger. The truth though, was that they were dead on - no pun intended - about much of what they said regarding humanity. The selfishness and the decisions made as a result, I'd seen a thousand times over. Nobody in their right mind would consider believing a mob boss over a college professor with regard to human nature and societal norms, but in my life experience the gangsters were killing the sociologists and psychologists on the big scoreboard. Maybe that was because the mobsters were living it, while the others were simply studying it. As shocking as it may seem, I figured that out without the help of any fake doctors.

One year after purchasing my own restaurant, I'd met Cheryl. As a customer, she'd flirted shamelessly whenever our paths had crossed. Cheryl was not a SoCal bombshell. She possessed a raw natural beauty. When she'd worn make-up on our first date, I almost hadn't recognized her. At five-foot-three, with a petite figure, she'd turned many heads, and I believed she still did turn a few.

I won't give a blow-by-blow of our relationship. It was much the same as other people, I supposed. We'd been totally in love for the first three years, and then the luster faded slightly, but not totally. Like most, we'd argued about money, especially how to use it in the short-term, or invest for our future. Still, that had seemed quite normal to me, and we'd never gone to bed angry with one another. In truth, I'd sometimes looked forward to the make-up sex!

The only other issue in our marriage - besides her recent treachery - was her outlook on societal topics. Cheryl certainly had had some strange ideas about how the world worked. I'd supposed that originally stemmed from being young and her college years. I'd learned first-hand how the real world worked, and I'd often tried to help her understand the differences between her opinions and reality, but they'd never stuck with her.

If you never see the man behind the curtain, you'll likely see things very differently. Oz will still be great and powerful... to you. Indeed, if you fall for the con, he may even gain real power over you eventually. That's the whole point, if people took the time to consider it. Still, the truth remains that it's just an old con man pulling a bunch of levers, maintaining an illusion. No matter how badly you get scammed, that will always be true. There is a bottom; there is bedrock. I felt like my feet were squarely planted on it. Her societal beliefs had been and were based on theory in a textbook. Mine were based on real life and real action. There's only one truth in every instance, after all, never individual truths, as she'd been pandered into believing all those years ago.

We'd decided to hold off on a family for a while. Cheryl was two years younger than I, and time had been on our side. Getting set up financially first had made a lot of sense, and Cheryl wasn't nearly as flighty when it came to money. I had spent lots of time in my business, and the hours had been crazy. Cheryl had gone to work as a bank teller for a year, and then, had taken a job as an administrative assistant for a large regional insurance company. She'd loved her new job and had developed some very deep and rewarding relationships there.

That's where Jonathan Springfield had come in, unbeknownst to me at that time. He'd been transferred in from the state next to ours. Cheryl must have fallen for him, or at least fallen under his spell, right from the start. She'd only mentioned him once - and not by name - as a new Vice President. It had taken me almost nine months to stop dismissing our troubles and start investigating. It had been one of my most regrettable actions, because had I started just six weeks earlier, I might have been able to nip it in the bud - or at least stop first instance of out-and-out physical infidelity.

Before I'd even gotten knee-deep in checking up on her, a friend had mentioned having seen her with this guy, and he'd thought they'd looked too 'chummy' for it to have been all business. A few bucks to an investigation firm, and two weeks later I'd had all the information I'd dreaded.

Of course, I'd been a day late and a dollar short, and Cheryl had been crying and apologizing after the fact. I'd left our home; she'd promised she didn't love him. I'd filed while she'd begged for another chance. I'd spent plenty of time at my favorite watering hole, going through the five stages of grief. She'd decided to fight for her marriage, gotten a good lawyer, and had been granted a transfer to another department at her job when she'd asked. After the initial stalling tactics by Cheryl's attorney, we'd had our first court date. That's where it had been announced by the judge that we would be heading to marriage therapy. My gut reaction had been, Marriage therapy? Can't they just call it what it is? Obviously, I hadn't said that out loud in court.

I'd known exactly what I'd be getting myself into. I'd let Cheryl pick. I'd known that if I'd pushed her to see an older, more traditional counselor, she would've become defensive immediately, drawing out both the selection process and the "therapy" process too. I'd just wanted it done.

"Mr. Nelson... Jody," Doctor Beverly brought me out of my reverie. "You were somewhere else, I think. Are we ready to begin?"

I nodded, and Beverly told Cheryl we would start with her today. During the previous session, both Cheryl and I had revealed what had led to us being there, but we hadn't delved into reasons or feelings. The session had ended when Cheryl had tried to claim she had made a mistake, and I'd interrupted to explain how ridiculous and feeble that line of reasoning was.

But I'd be damned if she didn't start right where she had left off. As I cleared my throat, Beverly stared daggers at me. I'm sure she'd practiced that look in the mirror.

"Cheryl," she scolded, "we discussed this last week. I don't think it's productive to characterize what happened as a mistake."

Cheryl sighed. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant starting the whole dreadful mess with Jona... with him was a mistake. My mistake was falling for his line of bulls... his line, in the first place. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm hoping to discover what made me do it - either here, or with my own therapist."

I wasn't sure what shocked me more in that opening salvo. Doctor Beverly went right at her, but not only didn't Cheryl budge, she articulated her position in a way that immediately softened me up. With the blood in my heart still boiling, I re-hardened quickly - and not in the fun way. Cheryl had always been good with words.

Cheryl went on, explaining in painful detail both the seduction and how he'd made her feel. She went to great lengths to describe her guilt, but also her giddiness whenever Jonathan had flirted. She knew it was wrong, it was only supposed to be a bit of fun, it shouldn't have ever gotten as far as it did, yada -yada.

At some point, Beverly must have noticed my sour look. She cut Cheryl short, and said she wanted to let me respond after we took five minutes. The session was scheduled for two hours, so we all took turns at the restroom and grabbed a fresh beverage.

"Jody," she began as we took our seats, "you've heard what your wife said..." Beverly ignored my frown at the use of the word 'wife,' and continued.

"So how do you feel right now?" she asked. "Would you like to respond?"

I'd had a few minutes to prepare, and took a moment to think about how to start. I wanted to keep my emotions under control, but I could feel some bile already rising in my throat.

"Well," I started tactfully, "I don't think I believe her."

Before I could get my next sentence out, Beverly interrupted. "What in particular do you think she's not being truthful about?"

"I don't... well, most of it," I stuttered, having been put off balance. "For one thing, she couldn't possibly have felt guilty about what she was doing to me, or she wouldn't have done it... twice."

"Okay, Jody," Beverly said with a motherly tone. "Tell us how you feel. I don't believe Cheryl said anything about doing anything to you, only her feelings about what she, herself, had done. Please try to think about how you feel in response to what Cheryl just told us. I want to focus on your feelings, not being accusatory."

"My feelings are accusatory," I stated evenly. "I've had some time to process all this, Doc. My feelings are under control now."

Beverly studied me for a moment. I didn't like the look she gave. I was sure she was going to make this conversation go sideways just to prove a point to me, and worse, I couldn't anticipate how exactly she was going to manage it.

"Jody," Beverly began, "first, please don't call me 'Doc.' I find it demeaning. Secondly, I'm trying to get you to verbalize your inner feelings about what Cheryl said. She's opened up sufficiently and very succinctly. I'm curious, and want her to hear out loud, your response."

I thought hard for a bit, and both women seemed fine to patiently await my answer. Of course, I'd heard it all before, both at our kitchen table and partially in front of the judge. Here, again, I had a bad feeling that the ulterior motive was to gain my compliance and maybe acceptance of Cheryl's actions in an effort to keep us together. Why not simply handcuff us to each other until one of us was dead?

"Okay, Beverly," I answered with a scowl. "I feel hurt. I feel wounded - badly. It's hard enough as a man to feel those feelings - to really experience them. Cheryl has already explained - she was looking for a little adventure - but it doesn't get any easier to hear the more it's said.

"Unlike Forrest Gump or Foreigner, I already know what love is. So does she. At least she knows my definition. It's one-hundred-and-one percent fidelity. If either of us were to decide we no longer wanted that, it's a simple conversation: asking the other for a divorce.

"Cheryl let this guy flirt with her and then seduce her. She played along. He may think he's a Romeo, but the way I 'feel' is that Cheryl went along with it, probably with little or no resistance beyond a bit of 'hard to get.'

"She knew my position, and she knew what I'd do, if she went with him or any other man. That's exactly what's happening, except now she's digging up all those feelings that I've already worked through, as a way to delay what I 'feel' is inevitable based on my other feelings, and also the personal beliefs that I made very clear to her a long time ago.

I'd seen the change on Beverly's face when I'd made oblique reference to my 'man card.' I just knew she was chomping at the bit to hammer me about it. She didn't disappoint, but she started with a bit of misdirection.

"That's quite a lot to unpack, Jody," she said sympathetically. "But I want to first focus on something you said about knowing what would happen. Are you saying that your wife knew, unequivocally, that there would be zero forgiveness for such actions? Further, was that her stance if you'd done what she's done? That she'd never forgive you?"

"All rhetorical," I replied firmly. "And of course she did."

"Fair enough," Beverly continued. "So you mentioned that men shouldn't have to feel hurt or heartache... "

I cut her off. "That's not what I said."

"Hang on, Jody," she responded. "That's what I heard. You said you went through the pain and the hurt, which is hard enough for a man. What did you mean by that?"

"I meant that men aren't supposed to be wounded in that sense," I told her. "Men can deal with physical pain far easier than emotional pain. When a man is assaulted - emotionally, I think you call it - especially by someone who means everything to them, it's worse than being shot."

"I understand now," Beverly continued. "We're talking about male pride and possibly ego." She completely ignored my look of disdain as she trudged forward.

"Is that how it felt?" she asked. "Like being shot?"

I shook my head. "No. My chest suddenly hurt a lot. And then, as my mind started to sort it out, an image - or vision - of the two of them together made me puke uncontrollably. Five minutes later, I knew there was no going back." I paused momentarily. "And I think you might want to look up pride and ego. We're definitely not talking about that here."

Now it was Beverly's turn to snarl. "I'll take that under advisement." Her tone was condescending. I looked up at the clock and realized, thankfully, we were nearly to the end of today's session. Beverly saw it too, and went through her closing and setting up our next meeting. I was surprised she hadn't mentioned a few one-on-one sessions.

That night I sat with a bottle of my favorite bourbon. Some famous psychologist somewhere had likely coined the phrase "two steps forward, one step back." I was steppin' back that night for the first time in a few months. I'd thought I'd had a good handle on my emotions, and had known exactly what my feelings for Cheryl. I'd steeled myself against her pleadings. I'd told myself I was looking forward to facing the world on my own and creating new memories.

Two generous drinks in, I started to philosophize. Then I started writing it all down. My thoughts about Cheryl began to pour out of me. My feelings on her betrayal followed, as did my admonishment about a society that turned a blind eye to her indiscretions. I wrote about a court system that cared vey little what was fair and just. People's misery was nothing to them but a means to make money.

Then I thought about the session earlier with Beverly, and her fixation on men's ego and pride.

By the time I was finished, I thought I had a pretty good rebuttal for what I expected to come at our next meeting. I'd refine it a bit, but I was preparing to put a quick and decisive end to this.

At our next get together, Cheryl pulled out all the stops. She wore a shorter-than-business-appropriate black skirt, and a sassy blouse with an extra button undone. I caught a whiff of my favorite perfume, and almost laughed at the attempt to soften me up. What a silly woman, I thought. Then I got sad. It meant that she didn't know me nearly as well as she thought she did - but that meant that, I too, had been wrong. I'd thought she knew me better than that too. Alright, she did manage to soften me up a bit, but I'd never admit it.

Doctor Beverly finished her customary greeting and got straight to the point.

"Cheryl, Jody," she began, "I'd like to try something a little different today. Cheryl, you've explained your position and what happened to your husband." Beverly turned toward me as she said that with a 'don't you dare say it,'" look. She was on her game, I guess.

"You've explained yourself in here as well," she continued. "I'd like you to turn toward Jody, look him in the eye, and tell him how sorry you are - if in fact you are sorry. I haven't heard those words from you yet, and I don't see how you can expect Jody to give a little in this negotiation if he doesn't feel your remorse. You need to tell him how you feel about him and give him a reason to want to keep your marriage alive."

It sounded reasonable enough on the surface, but it struck me as silly at best. If she thought I wanted to keep Cheryl, or that this was some sort of negotiation, she was sadly mistaken. The little montage I'd created could wait though. Hearing Cheryl stumble through her apology was going to be the highlight of my day.

"Jody," Cheryl said stoically, sitting up straight. "I'm so, so sorry for what I've done..."

Beverly interrupted her right off the bat and told her to be specific regarding her apology and everything else that she was about to say.

Cheryl took a deep breath, after being corrected in front of me, and continued. "Jody, I'm sorry for... stepping out on you. It was foolish of me. It was a very foolish thing to do. I was selfish. It will never happen again. I've learned a hard lesson, and I've also learned that I love you too much to lose you, baby."

Beverly took right over then. "Okay," she said, "very good, Cheryl. Jody, can you turn towards your wife - and yes, she's still your wife for the time being - and let her know how you feel about what she's told you?"

"I feel like shit about it, doc," I stated flatly, raising one eyebrow to warn her about interrupting me. "This isn't a cattle auction. I didn't come down here to buy a used car, only to have the two of you tag-team me into upgrading to an AMC Gremlin. Everything you're proposing in this upcoming 'negotiation,' I've already negotiated with myself a hundred times over, and I've made my decisions. We're here because a judge has to put a check in a box. I'm sure that, as a man, he was pained to have to do it, but I understand it's his job."

Dr. Beverly's face went through untold mood changes. She was beet red, and I was certain I saw smoke coming out of her left ear, although that may have been the table-top humidifier that was behind her. Either way, it was quite amusing.

"First, Mr. Nelson," she replied with a definite edge in her voice, "It's Doctor, or just Beverly, and we've been through this." It didn't go unnoticed that we were back to formal names. "Second, no cussing, and we've already agreed to that ground rule too. Third I don't appreciate the innuendo about some sort of collusion. I'm here as a guide, to help the two of you see if there's anything to salvage in your marriage. I am, among other things, a marriage counselor, not a divorce cheerleader."