I blink at her question and shake my head. "No"
"Even if you could, what would that do? Atlas said that you filing to separate from him was hisa-hamoment. He needed to come to that moment himself."
I frown, considering her words and remembering Atlas' own.
How he apologized so sincerely, how he took responsibility for everything, how he acknowledged my hurt, I tried to deny.
As he spoke, I felt my body rebelling. Atlas was probably the first person to really apologize to me for causing me harm. My mother never did for her behavior, so whenever someone did apologize, I felt like I needed to flee or deflect.
I also felt unworthy of an apology. I felt like I needed to apologize to him.
And I probably will, because...oh, Atlas.I can't even think about it without crying.
Dr. Pace's voice pulls me back, "Usually, when patients are forced into that chair—by parents or siblings, by spouses, by their children, they fail."
The word makes me flinch, but she keeps going.
"People think therapy will fix the issue for them. Therapy gives you the tools to fix it yourself and make sure you can fix it if it breaks again. I'm not a witch who can cast a spell and fix your life—you have to want to."
The words make sense. Could I have tried harder and what does that even look like? Even if I got Atlas in with a therapist, would he have actually tried, or would he have pretended? Questions I'll never know the answer to.
But at least, in the here and now, he is trying.
"Now, since the only absolutes in this life are death and taxes," she snarks, and I huff a genuine laugh. "This is a nuanced issue. There are external influences that can make people seek therapy—namely, wanting to do better for theirkids or their spouse—but that's the distinction: the person wants to do betterforthem, notbecauseof them. Does that make sense?"
"I don't know," I answer after a beat.
"Why are you in therapy, Wendy?"
I blink. "To fix myself."
"Right. Because you recognized that something was wrong with yourself. What did you tell me that first day?"
"I want to be the mom my kids deserve."
"You're hereforyour kids, notbecauseof them. And now Atlas is getting helpforyou and your boys. Do you understand the distinction now?"
I nod, "I think so, but... how do I get rid of the guilt?"
"Well, what's under the guilt?"
“What do you mean?”
"When you think of that guilt, what are the other emotions that accompany it? People don't feel in absolutes. What else do you feel?"
"Angry," I admit reluctantly.
"Towards?"
"Atlas," I whisper, "And myself for feeling angry."
"Why aren't you allowed to feel angry?"
I stay silent, clenching my jaw.
My hands squeeze my knees, my feet press into the floor, irritation slowly builds inside of me, burning hotter and hotter.
"Because..." I trail off.
