“Emma!” he shouts. “I said that one time. I’m sorry! I was mad. You chucked the remote and shattered it. What was I supposed to say?”
“That’s a good place to begin,” Dr. Belo chimes in. “Why don’t wecalmlystart with this event and try to figure out where our communication went wrong, hmm?” She scribbles on her notepad, her thin-frame glasses inching closer to the tip of her nose.
“It was last week—”
“It was last week,” I cut Steven off before he can finish. “I was getting everything ready for our last week before I went back to work. I had a list. But Steven wanted me torelax.” I hold up air quotes. “I didn’t have time. But he kept pressing, said let’s watch a movie together, and I threw the remote across the room.”
I shrug like the last part of that is normal behavior and no one should be concerned. Steven sighs softly, looking at Dr. Belo, probably telepathically sayingsee what I mean?
“And what were you feeling when you reached for the remote?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Mad. Annoyed. I felt like I wanted to jump out of the window and figured maybe throwing the remote was the safest option?” I feel the lump in my throat swell as the words roll out of me. “I felt like no one cared about what needed to be done but me, and of course I’d love to sit down and relax, but I was afraid if I didn’t get everything done, then the next day’s list of things would pile on top of it, and then it would snowball, and I would get suffocated. And I didn’t know how to communicate that without feeling like I had to destroy something.” Tears, slow and painful, start to cloud my vision.
“How did reacting that way make you feel?”
“Embarrassed,” I whimper, and Steven scoots closer to me.
“Were the children around?” She asks this, and something inside me breaks apart. I let out anuncontrollable sob, shame and guilt washing over me at the idea of my children seeing me react that way. Treat their father that way.
“No,” Steven says, “they were in bed upstairs.”
“But they could have been,” I say weakly. As I do, I feel a crawling sensation move up my arms, and I have to quickly shake my limbs to get it off me. Something about the thought has my body reacting in an obscure way, and I feel like the only way to control it is clutching my hands together.
Steven notices and places a hand on my trembling knee. Of their own volition, my legs slow and eventually stop moving, relaxing under the weight of his touch.
“Steven, how did this interaction make you feel?” she asks, turning her gaze to him.
He exhales slowly, probably unsure if sharing his feelings will make things better or worse.
“I was confused at first. Then I was mad, and I reacted poorly, asking if she was out of her mind.” His grip on my knee tightens. “But after some time, I ended up just concerned.”
“Why?” she asks, still writing on the notepad.
“That’s not her,” he says, clearing his throat, his voice thick. “Emma is the gentlest person I know. To see her be destructive is alarming, so I’m concerned for whatever is going on inside of her.”
One of his hands moves up to mine still clutched at my chest, wedging its way between my palms and gripping me like a lifeline. I can’t help but lean into him.
“Have either of you discussed this situation since?”
“No,” he says, gripping the inside of my thigh and pulling me closer to him. The tension and frustration is still there, I know it is, but thephysical need to be touched and comforted by him overpowers those feelings, and suddenly his arms are wrapped around me, and all I can do is sob quietly into his chest.
“Well, from what I see, what you’re going through seems to be very typical during the postpartum stage. As you both know, hormones after having a baby take about a year to level out, longer if you’re nursing. So it’s very possible the reaction Emma had was from overstimulation. Even if it’s not her normal behavior, it’s common to feel concerned, but I don’t think we need to worry just yet. And Emma, have you considered asking Steven to help you with these lists you have?”
I look up from Steven’s chest, mildly stunned by the question. “No.”
“Why not?” She leans forward.
“I don’t want to,” I whisper.
Steven releases his grip around me and snorts. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to bother you.”
“Emma, that’s crazy!” he blurts, but Dr. Belo raises a hand.
“Let’s stay away from the word crazy.”
Steven nods. “Right. That’s… You won’t bother me. I want to help you.”
