The Downside of Therapy

Today I had the second appointment with the Parenting Consultant, because as a mother (and not just as a single parent) I believe that it could only help myself and Raphaela if I had an objective voice to help me asses certain decisions for my daughter - like Gan for next year - and to give me more tools to deal with the Terrible Twos.

I understand the rationale, the more you know about the mother and her childhood, the more you understand the origin of her choices and coping mechanisms.  I understand that the consultant comes from a background as a therapist, and that she approaches her clients with the traditional Freudian "Tell me about your mother..."

But after today, I remember why I put my therapy on hold several years ago:  put simply, I need help to create a plan in which I take care of my daughter without sacrificing my own identity and sanity.  I need practical information on how to diffuse the occasional tantrum, how to encourage Raphaela to explore and grow while setting important boundaries.

I do NOT need to rehash every excruciating detail of my difficult childhood.  I do NOT need a virtual stranger to make comments which make me feel like an incompetent mother and a terrible human being who deserves to be alone.  I most certainly do not want this woman to rip open many old and painful wounds, and then cut me off by saying, "I'm sorry, our time is up for today."

I spent the rest of the day 'processing' our session, and quite frankly, feeling like s**t about myself, not wanting contact with other human beings.  Before our next meeting, I am going to make it clear to the Parenting Consultant that while I appreciate her approach, it is not working for me, and it is not fulfilling the purpose I intended.  I would like to continue to work with her somewhere in the middle, somewhere between trauma and light conversation.