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This makes me think of Vern and his wife May. He originally came in alone “for advice.” Vern was a big guy, forty five, loud. He filled up the room. Vern claimed his wife “just doesn’t understand how men are, Doc.”I said “Well, why don’t you bring her along so we can straighten her out?” He asked me if I was serious. I said “Yeah, invite her, why not. We can explain how men are.”Vern knew I was messing with him a little but he brought May next time. I took another chance and wrote up new papers and consent forms for couples counseling.Just ten minutes into the session, May’s tears were falling when she said in a strong even voice, “Vern, Dr. McPhee, I want you both to know that unless things change, I don’t think I can stay in the house any more.”Vern’s eyes opened wide. I saw fear and confusion there, not anger, even though he looked away quickly. Then he turned to me and said, “Doc, she doesn’t mean it, she’s just a little upset.” (I did the marriage counselor thing and said, “Don’t talk about her, talk to her.”)Vern: “You don’t mean it, May, we’ve been married twenty years and we have two kids!”May: “I do mean it, Vern. I’ve tried so hard, so hard. The twins are seniors now and soon they’ll be gone. I don’t see staying after that. You’ll be OK.”Vern: “I don’t know what you want! What do you want? I’ll do whatever you want!”May: “I want you to stop yelling in the house. It scares me and the twins. I want you to talk to me like a person. I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. I want you to listen to me, really listen. And the twins too.”I summarized what May was saying until Vern understood and could repeat it back, more or less. Then I took guesses at what Vern was feeling and tried that out. When they both started nodding, I made them an offer: I’d do my very best marriage counseling for them, and they’d both have to try out some new ways of talking to each other, and it would be really hard sometimes and there’d be plenty of homework.They signed on.We started with strategies to stop Vern from yelling in the house — that was basic and not difficult given the stakes.The rest consisted in teaching old-fashioned empathic listening skills. It was hard for Vern at first, but fairly soon they were almost competitive about whose empathy was the most accurate. I still smile when I remember those middle sessions when they were showing off about their new skills.I think the whole counseling wasn’t more than 10 or 12 weeks. At the last session May hugged me, and to my surprise and delight, so did Vern.

We’d been together for 22 years and had four children who at the time this happened were 13, 11, 8 and 5.Our marriage had been good over the years but at the time this happened we were not very happy together; I suspected that he was cheating but had no real evidence, and we bickered rather than sitting down to sort out our problems.One night we were having the sort of sleepy cuddling session that might or might not lead to sex, depending if we fell asleep or not. It was very enjoyable until my husband said “I love you, Julie”. My name is not Julie.I jumped out of bed and could barely breathe, got to the bathroom where I was very sick and then came back to confront him. He admitted he’d been cheating but swore he would end it, begged forgiveness and told me he was willing to go to relationship counselling.The next four months were a living hell as we tried to make things work. I later found out that he hadn’t exactly ended things with his mistress, just put them on temporary hold. Learning from my younger two children that he’d taken them to meet “daddy’s friend Julie” was a further blow to my esteem but I still thought we should try to work things out for the children.My employers were understanding and supportive of my difficulties and allowed me to work flexibly for a while so that I could go to the marriage counselling with my husband and make up the time.We went on holiday with the children for a ‘fresh start’ and it really was a good holiday, all of us enjoyed it, he bought me an eternity ring as a symbol of our fresh start and it seemed as though we were going to get past this.But two weeks later - it was a Thursday just four days after my husband’s birthday - he came home from work and instead of coming inside, just stood at the door and jangled his keys at me. All in a rush he said “I don’t love you any more, I’m leaving you. Don’t tell the children.”I was so stunned at this turnaround that I just looked at him and said “but your dinner’s in the oven”. However he’d already gone. I got the children to bed with a plastered-on smile, then sat shivering in a chair, unable to cry or function at all. At around four am I stripped the bedding off our bed and bundled it all into the bin. No more tartan and dark coloured bedding, I told myself. I didn’t sleep all night anyway, so it didn’t matter.The next morning I took the children to school then rang in to work and explained that he’d walked out on me and I needed the day off to sort things out.I went shopping for plain white bedding, then I came home and broke down. I cried so hard I thought that I would never stop. I felt that everything I believed in, everything I trusted, was gone. I was scared to stand in case the floor turned to quicksand. I had nobody to turn to for support; my mother had died many years earlier and my father was terminally ill.So that was June. In late August, my ex decided to allow me to tell the children that he wasn’t just ‘working away’, but I insisted that he should be the one to explain to them. To his credit he was fairly sensitive to them, but obviously they were all very upset.By November he had bought a house so he could have them to stay, his girlfriend had dumped him and he started this awful back and forth where he’d lead me to believe he wanted us to try again, but then would say he wasn’t ready. We went on a family holiday together in the January and again in the summer, and so it went on for about nine months with us sort of dating, sleeping together, then him withdrawing from contact.I couldn’t cope with it any more, so I told him it had to stop. That we either got back together properly or we split up for good, and as far as I was concerned I wanted to split up. So we did. We divided our finances, agreed a schedule for contact with the children, and prepared to face the future as separated parents.Nine years after that I brought up the subject of divorce, but he had a panic attack so we didn’t mention it again until two years ago (a further five years on). He said he would sort it out and brought me the forms to sign, but since then he hasn’t made any moves to actually get divorced.In the seventeen years since he first left, I’ve lost count of the number of girlfriends who have come and gone in his life. The latest one seems nice, and maybe she’ll stick around for a while.Me? I had a wonderful seven years with someone who helped me do a lot of healing, and though we ended that by mutual consent we have stayed good friends. But I am very happy to be single, even though it is not the way I ever thought my life would turn out.

I found out she wished she never had me.I was born in Hawaii, lived there less than two years and remember nothing about my tropical birthplace.As a kid, I was always told we would take a family trip back to Honolulu….next year. But, next year never came and at the age of 50, I have still never been back to where I was born… but my son has.With five kids, I divorced my husband; even after marriage counseling, he would not control his abuse. He had been in jail for getting two DWIs within a month, I had a clean record, so I got custody of our kids.I drank alcohol too, but it had not caused problems until after we split. I remarried and was soon drinking every night. When I found out I was pregnant with my sixth child, I stopped drinking. Our son was born and died on the same day; March 20, 2008. I have not had a drink since.While sober, my bipolar disorder surfaced, causing a manic episode and a three-week stay in the hospital.Enough time had passed since his arrest, so my ex-husband took custody of our kids and I was forbidden to see them unless supervised. I lost everything; my children, my home, my job, and my family. Thank God my current husband didn’t leave.Upon recovery, I could not afford an attorney to get visitation changed.I was on medication, got a new job, lived in a small apartment and was heart broken that I could not see my kids unsupervised. I could still talk with them on the phone. Also, I still had parental rights, including notification of travel within 50 miles of their home.My mom made plans with my ex husband and took my son to Hawaii without a word to me about the trip.Of all the places in the world, she chose to travel with my son to Hawaii, the place she promised to take me but never did.I found out from my daughter after talking with her on the phone.“Is Bryce there? Can I talk with him next?” I asked.“Oh, he’s in Hawaii with Nana Sue.” she said.A torpedo of sickness shot through my gut and exploded throughout my body with thousands of shrapnel pieces lodging in my heart.I felt dismissed as a mother. I had the legal right to know my child would be taken thousands of miles away.That‘s what my mom did; classic passive aggressive spitefulness.I choose to see the bright side, however, in my mother’s callous act. It triggered a major turning point for me: Operation Get My Kids Back.With 30% of my teacher’s paycheck going to child support, I needed another source of income. I got an after-school job coaching gymnastics and I was able to raise the $2,500 it took to retain an attorney and start the custody process.I’m happy my son got to experience Hawaii and spend time with his grandma. I wasn’t mad about that.I was angry because when I needed my mom the most, at the height of my illness, it was as if I did not exist. It felt like she traded me in for a second chance at being a mom with MY kids, and an opportunity to be a wife with their dad.My mom and I have since been to counseling where I found out she wished she never had me; I did not meet her expectations as a daughter. And, she continues to debate her not telling me about the trip.“I asked his DAD and he gave HIS consent.” she always says, completely overlooking my desire to be included and informed about my kids.My mom took my son to Hawaii. Maybe her intentions were good.Whatever her motive, what she did was like uncorking a volcano.Aggravated cracks in our unstable relationship created an arsenal of lava which erupted like the anger within me. Unsupervised and out of control, the hot molten rock destroyed everything in its path, including any rapport I had with my mom.As things cool off and time passes, hopefully my mom and I can have a healthy relationship. Maybe the damaging lava will provide the soil with nutrients needed to form a beautiful island; a place of rebirth, like Hawaii.