I am no heart surgeon – but still, I held a tender heart in my hands today.
Three months in to our 6-month contract, and my client is hitting his core place. His belief that having children would make him a man – and without them, even as he creeps up to his 50th birthday, he remains, a boy.
He outs himself about halfway through the session. Admits that he’s been using his wife’s decision not to have children as his excuse not to face the question of his own desire. I keep remembering to stay quiet, as he unravels this question for himself.
He goes a little further, and admits that nothing in his life prepared him to become a father. That it scares him. He faces the fact that his life is awesome – great wife, enough money, tons of friends – but he is changing. He wants more. She wants more. But their ideas of “more” are very different. Following their desires could tear them apart, or make them closer. He can make choices. He can be bold, take leadership here, find new ways to expand. Or…not.
We both see it clearly – as if we are fortune tellers, even though there is no crystal ball between us.
See, first, she told him she wanted to bring another person into their relationship – a woman – and he was on board. Then, she told him that she might want to be with another man – and he jumped overboard. His feelings of jealousy, his worry of being outdone in the bedroom, and ultimately, facing his deepest fear. That he will have sacrificed his deepest desire for her – having children – and she will leave him.
We can – and do – sacrifice our desires on the altar of our relationship. But we never forgive our mate for it. Or ourselves.
He sees it. Where he lost himself. And so, together, we excavate him.
When he came to me, he wanted a few simple things – a more reliable erection, to last longer in bed, to please his wife more. Yet, week after week – we never talked about any of those things. He kept wondering, when were we going to get to the good stuff?
But I knew that ultimately, what brought him to me, was never any of those things. And having those things wasn’t going to make a damned bit of difference to his wife, either.
It was the compromises he made and didn’t mean. It was the grudges he held, and the mini-lies they’ve both told, scattered beneath their shared landscape like little landmines.
It was the secret pact of so many marriages – I promise never to want more than you’re willing to give me.
Until the day comes when someone breaks the pact. They can’t help it. It’s not personal. It’s just their humanity breaking through the surface of the status quo of their lives.
And yes, it’s contagious. She caught it from her best friend. And now he will catch it from her. Then, he’ll pass it on. And so on and so on.
This is who we really are. Walking, talking, breathing, eating, sleeping, procreating, fucking, bundles of cells and nerves and desires. Wrapped up with a mind that tortures us, a past that holds us hostage, and a soul that yearns for freedom and bliss.
I put my hand on his foot, propped up beside me on the couch in my little home office, and we sit in the silence together as his world unravels. A little later, I place my hand on his knee, and he places his over top, while we smile through the fullness of tears behind our eyes. I hug him as he leaves. Not once, but three times. I am his witness, his guide, his confidante – his coach.
I am no heart surgeon. But I do hold tender hearts in my hands. Every day.
