Things are getting deeper in counselling.

Tonight we started talking about history, because I said that the last time we spoke that I felt tears behind my eyes and strong emotions when I started talking about why the history of my relationship was important.

I talked about the bits and bobs I have around the house, why they are important to me and what piece of our history they related to. Richard (the counsellor) suggested putting objects on last session’s diagram to symbolise the areas – I went upstairs and brought down a picture that has been beside my bed for more than quarter of a century: a very young me (23?) with his arms wrapped around a 33 year old man who was to become my husband. I have a sleepy-happy look in my eye; he looks … distant, maybe.

Richard already knew our “origin story”, but I needed to highlight that when I met my husband he was leaving an alcoholic recovery centre and was in AA. Aside from being the most beautiful man I had met, my head said that he was a safe bet: I was not going to relive the life my mum had with my drinking father.

I moved onto the next important memory for me, which centres around the film “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” – the normally slutty lad awkwardly perched on the side of the bed with the man he adores similarly perched on the other: our first date! As I left we kissed – a lot – and I got my first ever beard-burn!

Our next date was “Muriel’s Wedding”; it was years until I saw the end of that movie! (nudge-nudge, wink-wink)

I talked about how my literal-brain walled off an important way that I expressed myself. He was telling me about the abuse he suffered as a child and young adult at the hands of his father with the connivance of his mother. I cried. He said “when you cry, I feel as though I have to rescue you and it becomes about you and not about what I am saying”. My stupid brain shut down that part of myself and I have never got it working properly again. If you hear that somebody suffered from abuse, what is the most appropriate response?

Then I talked about how things got darker.

His first relapse.

The situation around this caused him to relieve his earlier abuse. He wasn’t able to get the support necessary from Fellowship (AA), and turned to drink to make what he needed to do easier.

I shouldn’t condemn him for that. yet – I felt betrayed. I feel bad for feeling like that, but the feeling is there – still – all these years later.

Then I went further into the dark years, how sometimes things got violent – his son even witnessing an assault on me. I remember the occasion. That was an event that would come back to haunt him later.

I said that I accused my husband’s friends of being a “bad influence”. Pretty patronising – he was a grown up and accountable for his choices. I suppose, by accusing his friends of “leading him astray”, that I was absolving him of responsibility.

Later, he fell out with some of his children. He didn’t really understand why. Sometimes, when he was in his dark places, he would talk at me for hours – sometimes angrily, as though I was the son or father. Then he would be angry with me myself for not finding out the answers – why did his son reject him.

After a few years of being told that I should find the answers, I did. I found his son’s address and one Saturday turned up on his doorstep and asked to talk. I think that his son was so surprised to see me that he didn’t know what so say, and invited me in when I asked if we could talk. I was unconfrontational – I was there for answers not accusations. Besides, I had no indication from my husband that he wanted anything more than to know why his son had pushed him out of his life.

There were a lot of “reasons”, some I felt were fair, some less so, but I didn’t judge them instead recording them to take back to my husband. I was particularly shocked when the son said that he remembered is father assaulting me. I remembered the occasion, but I didn’t expect him to. I don’t know why I shouldn’t have.

My husband dismissed all the reasons when I told him – including the assault saying that his son wasn’t there. I didn’t argue. He asked whether I’d challenged his son about anything. I said “no, I didn’t want to get thrown out before I got the answers you wanted,” which wasn’t the right answer. My literal brain had again taken him at his word of just wanting answers.

That led onto defending my husband. I never called people out in public if they said something upsetting, instead I would take them to one side and explain that what they’d said was offensive. I never told my husband that I spoke to people and defended him: this wasn’t a performative act and didn’t need witnessing.

Throughout this session I felt heavy emotion in my chest and behind my eyes. I wanted to cry, but that wall was – is – still there. Ricard said that they would come when they are ready.

I feel a huge weight of stuff that needs to be aired – spoken, shared, acknowledged, and then put away.