We've been going to Relate, which, for non-Brits, is a service devoted to helping people with relationship problems. Arguably we should have gone to it in about 2008, but it took a while to get around to it. I tried in 2010 - but it went horribly wrong - and then we kept passing each other the contact details but neither of us did anything about it. Then in December himself took the plunge, just in time for the New Year's Eve row...
So in early Jan we turned up at the Canterbury office. It was exactly as my friend said, a waiting room with a gas fire in a nice old building. In the consultation room I found myself wondering what had happened to the broken mouldings. Our first appointment was a general "what do you want to get out of this?" session. About 40 minutes in the counsellor suggested "So you really want to discuss ways of parting amicably?"
I wondered whether this was a "trick" question, to elicit a response. 3-5 years ago I might have said "Yes" but I'm more cautious now, and I like my house. The truth is, we want to find out whether we do want to separate or not, because I don't know any more. M was quite excited by the prospect a while back but he's calmed down a bit now. There is a nagging feeling - did she ask that question to get that response? Or was it what she had really concluded from our responses? It reminded me of when James and I went to Westminster Pastoral Counselling and got the "We think your marriage is over" answer from the gang there. I think this woman thought the same, but unless someone I love comes along and commands my love and affection, I am likely to remain in this situation until some people come to remove me in a box. M is casting about, and if he gets this job in Portsmouth perhaps we'll get the trial separation. The experience of going to Relate is not an unpleasant process, because to a great extent we already know all this stuff about each other, although I occasionally find myself digging up horrifying examples of bad behaviour that I have buried and forgotten and forgiven and feeling surprisingly upset by them..
Tonight, to celebrate a new job, we went to our local Italian. We hadn't been for ages, but the waiter was immensely apologetic because there was no lamb "I am so sorry, and last time you were here I made a mistake..." I assured him that I couldn't remember the mistake, only the good experiences (the limoncello, the flavoured butter, the nice food). I felt remarkably cheerful (Citalopram and the anti-inflammatory diet!) and we had a second bottle of wine. I walked there and back, which is extraordinary, I never used to do that even in my healthy days! I must be getting better. We decided not to go to the pub afterwards, as we had had our bout of sociability (our lovely Spanish teacher turned up along with Ned's old boss J - a married man, scandaloso!) and feared that A might be there (although we believe him to be in the Far East). That's the trouble with small towns, but also the delight.
So in early Jan we turned up at the Canterbury office. It was exactly as my friend said, a waiting room with a gas fire in a nice old building. In the consultation room I found myself wondering what had happened to the broken mouldings. Our first appointment was a general "what do you want to get out of this?" session. About 40 minutes in the counsellor suggested "So you really want to discuss ways of parting amicably?"
I wondered whether this was a "trick" question, to elicit a response. 3-5 years ago I might have said "Yes" but I'm more cautious now, and I like my house. The truth is, we want to find out whether we do want to separate or not, because I don't know any more. M was quite excited by the prospect a while back but he's calmed down a bit now. There is a nagging feeling - did she ask that question to get that response? Or was it what she had really concluded from our responses? It reminded me of when James and I went to Westminster Pastoral Counselling and got the "We think your marriage is over" answer from the gang there. I think this woman thought the same, but unless someone I love comes along and commands my love and affection, I am likely to remain in this situation until some people come to remove me in a box. M is casting about, and if he gets this job in Portsmouth perhaps we'll get the trial separation. The experience of going to Relate is not an unpleasant process, because to a great extent we already know all this stuff about each other, although I occasionally find myself digging up horrifying examples of bad behaviour that I have buried and forgotten and forgiven and feeling surprisingly upset by them..
Tonight, to celebrate a new job, we went to our local Italian. We hadn't been for ages, but the waiter was immensely apologetic because there was no lamb "I am so sorry, and last time you were here I made a mistake..." I assured him that I couldn't remember the mistake, only the good experiences (the limoncello, the flavoured butter, the nice food). I felt remarkably cheerful (Citalopram and the anti-inflammatory diet!) and we had a second bottle of wine. I walked there and back, which is extraordinary, I never used to do that even in my healthy days! I must be getting better. We decided not to go to the pub afterwards, as we had had our bout of sociability (our lovely Spanish teacher turned up along with Ned's old boss J - a married man, scandaloso!) and feared that A might be there (although we believe him to be in the Far East). That's the trouble with small towns, but also the delight.
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