MEMOIR

What Makes People Go into Therapy for the First Time?

For me, it was this

Image by freestockcenter on Freepik

I could feel my face going red as I reached for the teaspoon. I needed to check if I was trembling before I risked lifting the cup and taking a sip of the lukewarm cappuccino.

I felt alone. Alone in the company of the three women I’d considered my friends, the ones I thought would always be there.

We’d forged connections when our children were babies and had been meeting every week for over fifteen years. The coffee morning had been my anchor, the one hour a week to share fears, tears and laughter.

It had seen me through three miscarriages and a divorce.

But right now, I felt bereft. Sailing alone in a sea of grief.

One of the women, Miriam, was angry with me. My son had upset her angelic one. Had bullied him, she said. And she would allow no discussion.

I caught sight of Miriam’s gleeful smile as she mentioned the dinner party she’d held the night before. A dinner party for six.

“We didn’t invite you,” she said. “It was for couples.”

Funny, how words can sometimes feel like punches. Memories of my friendless childhood and the cruelty of girls crowded my mind as I steadied myself by…