09 July 2026

This Week in Therapy

Let’s begin with the ending, with me saying to my obnoxious housemate and soon-to-be-ex-husband in joint therapy, “What about my brutality? I have enough to write a book about you, and I’ll publish it under a pseudonym… if you’re nice to me. Otherwise, it’s your last name on the billboards, and everyone will know what you did.” The therapist and I laughed, because it was somehow a lighthearted moment (and she probably could tell he wouldn’t be triggered by our laughter) and then his reply got lost in the static of the virtual meeting. I liked that part, where no one heard or cared what he said, because I was so funny.

Despite my promise to go easy on the jerk, there were a few questions I was determined to ask about in our session this week. I started with the family therapy question, asking him how he felt when he heard our teenager calling me “abusive” and saying the only memories of me they could dredge up through the “trauma” of their childhood were purely negative, of me yelling and yelling at them, all the time. That it was so bad that they were “driven to violence” and couldn’t even call me their mother.

He laughed. He said our kid was incredible, that he was “in awe of [their] brutality.” I asked him, “You’re in awe? Of brutality? How does it compare to yours?” He answered, “Oh, [they have] much more.”

In the family therapy session where my child called me abusive, I did protest, and demand clarification that no physical abuse had happened, and that this was a serious accusation toward an adult, a parent, an educator. That being called abusive over verbal harm caused through extended yelling, a pattern of behavior that I addressed and remediated in myself, was unreasonable, especially when our relationship had been steadily improving. I said that I could tell and show them plenty of happy memories we had together, including the one in the photo that I pulled from my desk and held up to the camera, with my kid and I hugging on our front porch.

That’s about when my child’s father started yelling into the meeting screen (and reverberating through his ceiling to the floor beneath my feet) about how he would leave the meeting if I minimized the teen’s feelings. Did I want him pulling out our happy wedding photos in joint therapy? (There aren’t any.) Screaming that he would end the meeting if I argued with them again! Therapists are trained to notice that kind of thing, dude. Pretty sure everyone can see you but you, so go ahead, show your/you’re (an) ass, again. We all suspect narcissism, by the way, so ask your therapist about it today!

So in joint therapy I asked him about that exchange in family therapy, and he proved yet again that he has none of what I would consider a fatherly instinct. What he’s doing with our teenager is very unhealthy, encouraging them to hate their mother. This is not how fathers typically act. This is not condoned by society. It may be, in fact, morally or ethically wrong. His rejection of our younger child is sickening, against all natural instincts, and he doesn’t seem to have the ability to see her or love her, saying in our session, “She’s fine. She’s always fine. Everyone loves her. Everyone always loves her. She doesn’t need me. It’s [our teenager] I have to focus on, they’re the one who can’t be around you anymore. They need me now.”

Okay, dude. You go do that psychological thing you’re doing, where you think you’re protecting your ego, but actually you’re just deferring the ego death necessary for you to self-actualize. That’s all you now.

I also asked him why he felt the need to tell me that he talked to two of our friends and was glad to see that I hadn’t been “bad-mouthing” him. (I had, oh I so had, with a mouth so bad, they were rolling in the aisles, yes, indeed, I had.) He said when our one friend didn’t get out of her truck and immediately start kicking his ass, that’s how he knew I hadn’t. “Why would she kick your ass?” I asked him innocently, drawing on my script for dealing with racist jokes. I don’t get it! Tilt head, twirl hair, I’m a dumb girl, explain your sins to me so I can understand!

He won’t. He says, “You know why.” Yes, I know why, but can you answer this question with a five paragraph essay, please? Still, this is the best I can hope for. He knows our friend would want to kick his ass for what he did to me, if she hadn’t already moved past that immature emotional expression, and if I hadn’t already asked everyone to not take sides. I liked saying that, too. “I asked them all to be nice to you, because I still have to deal with you.” That all sounds like something I would say.

And, in a great miracle that makes me glad I didn’t tear him a new one in therapy, he says they’re moving out. He’s going to keep paying the mortgage for the house, while he and the teenager move to the townhouse and start paying a nominal rent and utilities. I’m getting what I want? I’m getting what I want! I’m getting what I want. Oh heavens, here comes reality again, dropping like a piano from the sky.

No timeline on their moving out yet, but I’ve started preparing my younger child with the idea that sometimes teenagers like to move to their own houses to practice for being an adult. Sometimes a parent goes with them, to help them in the new house— maybe that will happen in our family soon! My little kid seems okay with the idea, and it’s not like she interacts much with her father or sibling anyway. She’s more excited about possibly riding the yellow van to kindergarten in September, or going to the neighborhood pool together on Friday after swim lesson. Just the two of us, like usual.

Anyway, my time is up for today, gotta go hug that kid and keep my chin up. You, too, okay? Love ya.

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Updated, 10:12 pm, EDT:

And in a flash, it was done. The Devil is sleeping at his new house tonight, and the price I pay is my firstborn child, who doesn’t want to sleep under the same roof as me ever again. They both took bins of clothes, but no furniture yet, just camping gear. It has been 111 nights since I moved into the attic, and tonight he is out of my house.

He sprang the event on me as I emerged from writing this, and if I hadn’t prepared my younger child yesterday, intuitively, she would have been blindsided by his actions today. I’m sure some part of her is still feeling the strangeness of the change, but I’m trying to appear calm and stable as if all is well, because it is.

We went to Aikido together, because of course he hadn’t actually agreed to watch his child for the event on the shared calendar, and then we came home and did our usual brushing teeth and bedtime snuggles, a little late, but okay, and I took out the trash, because it’s the night for that, too. I took a lot of deep breaths, and did not quite feel like I needed to scream or swear. The solitude is like a scenic overlook that gives me terrible vertigo. I can just imagine myself tumbling over the beautiful precipice and adding to all the lovely colors in the branches below. Yes, I’ll admire the view, but I’ll sit down first. Have a drink of water. Breathe.

I have mostly moved through the irrational panic and am trying to feel the weird joy. His water-flosser and electric toothbrush are out of the bathroom, clearing space for nothingness. I asked him to take our bed, the one we bought a decade ago so we’d have room for three adults to sleep comfortably together, and I’ll clean out my nightstand, so he can take the set of two, along with the bed. Not tonight, but eventually. Tonight I’m going to listen to music and read and go to bed when I feel like it, which I suspect will be sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up, and we’ll get ready for school, and I’ll collect more hugs from my friends at Aikido, and I’ll take my kid to swim class, and we’ll go see the free outdoor movie down the hill after we splash around at the neighborhood pool with our friend. Later this month, we’ll fly to Florida and have a whole week with my parents. This change is going to be a big challenge, and I know I can totally do this. See, it’s in writing now, so that makes it true.

God, I am so tired, because I have been so strong, and I am so thankful for kindness, especially when my strength falters. I carry my dear friends in my mind, and feel their encouragement to be my best self, all of the time. I am immersed in love, like water all around me, and with my calm intention, I keep myself afloat. May it be ever so. Goodnight, I love you. Amen.