The Couples’ Therapy

“I’m a little confused,” disclosed the psychologist after introducing herself to us.

It was our first visit to the couple’s therapy centre.

Prior to this initial appointment we had to do two online questionnaires: 1. How do we feel about our relationship. 2. The status of our current mental health.

This was to be done in private and NOT to be discussed with our partner prior to the first session.

Naturally, you are curious what the other person wrote. Do they feel the same way you do? Or do they have serious concerns that you were not aware of?

Apprehension is therefore inevitable as you anxiously await the “results” of your “exam”.

Our psychologist shuffled through a shallow stack of papers in her lap and shook her head in apparent confusion.

“When I read your results, I had to ask myself if there was some form of trauma in your life, because you both scored so high in ‘couple satisfaction’ that, I have to be honest, we very rarely see couples in this centre with such high scores,” she admitted.

We both nodded in response to the trauma statement and snuggled in closer to each other on the couch, bonding deeper over our mutually “high scores”.

“Sadly,” she continued, “we usually see couples that are too far gone – they present to us too late and there is not much we can do by that point, so its nice to see a couple present early so we can focus on preventative strategies.”

I was 26 weeks pregnant at that point and I had to laugh when she said “present early”.

I confessed to her that we’d been meaning to seek professional help for years, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Having active strategies to help us cope emotionally, communicate better and support each through our infertility would have made a profound difference on our journey.

Instead, we flailed and fumbled through – fighting and falling along the way – and somehow, miraculously, stayed together through it all.

Katherine listened intently as we chronicled our saga, jotting down occasional notes in that intimidating way that psychologists do.

“We have a lot of healing to do,” I recognized, “but we also need to develop some strategies for our relationship to cope with the upcoming stress of having twins.”

She mulled it over.

It was a lot to cover in a few short sessions: to unpack the trauma of the last few years, to attempt to re-establish some form of physical and emotional intimacy and to discuss coping strategies for future stress (which is INEVITABLE with kids, especially twins).

This was definitely a challenge.

“Ok,” Katherine smiled and nodded with resolve, “let’s do this.”

“Jarod,” she began, “tell me how the infertility affected you.”

I stared at her in awe with a deep respect for her wise, direct and intentional question.

I admit that it took me several years to see through the dense fog of my own suffering (which is perfectly normal), but when I did I FINALLY had the realisation that the partners of those going through IVF also suffer in a very significant way – for watching someone you love suffer and feeling totally helpless is a very special form of torture – but they often DON’T get the acknowledgement they deserve.

Jarod’s lip started to quiver and I found myself blinking back tears as he started to cry.

“She didn’t deserve this,” he cried, “she’s such a beautiful, happy person. She didn’t deserve this suffering.”

He buried his face in his hands and continued to cry.

I sat there speechless, overwhelmed with emotion.

Katherine leaned forward and encouraged Jarod to continue.

“She’s been in so much physical and emotional pain,” he continued, “that I have watched her soul slowly die,” he could hardly talk at this point, “and there was nothing I could do to help her.”

I gulped. He was right. My fire was gone; blown out by the powerful gusts of pain and suffering.

“I lost her,” he continued, “and I never realized how much her happiness affected me until it was gone.”

The honest, heartbreaking words coming out of his mouth fell to the ground, heavy with pain.

He told Katherine how he tried to be strong – for me – and also because he felt guilty about his broken sadness because, “Katrina was the one going through all the pain, not me.”

He told Katherine that he knew I had no energy to support him, so he FINALLY reached out to his closest friends and family (right toward the end of our journey when we were the most broken) and asked for support and, except for one family member, was not only met with silence but a total lack of empathy.

Katherine acknowledged how hard that would have been for him, being so fragile and being so vulnerable and getting very little response to his “cry for help”.

“All I wanted was coffee and a good conversation,” he said, “and for someone to call and check up on me once in a while – that’s all I wanted. I wasn’t asking for much.”

Katherine went onto explain another layer of this complicated grief: now he was grieving the change of relationships and loss of “primary attachments”.

The people he thought he could rely on at the lowest time in his life were not there for him. And now he had to grieve that (on top of all the other grief that he was experiencing).

Talk about adding insult to injury.

I knew this had been the case, but I never gave him the empathy and acknowledgment that he deserved – once again highlighting how terribly neglected the partners of women going through IVF are.

And another complicated aspect of infertility is that the level of support you need increases with time (as opposed to ACUTE episodes of grief or trauma where your need for emotional support decreases with time).

Our few sessions (before the twins were born) with Katherine were heavy and emotional.

We usually drove home silent and exhausted.

But having a professional “facilitator” and “interpreter” meant our conversations were intentional and productive.

We talked about our childhood – the good and the bad and how these experiences directly affect our marriage.

We talked about the beginning of our relationship – remembering fondly that euphoric “in-love” obsession that drove us to do whatever was necessary to be together from opposite ends of the earth.

We talked frankly about sex – the changes with infertility and IVF, the changes in pregnancy and the changes to come after having kids.

And we talked about our fights – how we fight and what we fight about.

We were hoping to learn how to fight better and fight well.

But then the twins came…….

And the therapy stopped……

And in our sleep-deprived state more fighting began……