“Well, I asked how your personal life has been going lately. But, after that look on your face, I’d like to know where your brain went just now.”
“It’s nothing.” I quickly try to shut down where this is going. I know it’s relevant, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’d almost rather talk about my lack of a personal life or pathetic attempts at dating than get into the traumatic shit from my childhood, even though I know, broken as I am, that those two things are directly related.
“Well, it’s not nothing. Judging by how cagey you’re being, I’d say it’s probably the answer to everything.” She sets down her notepad, her tone becoming softer, more serious. “Ali, come on. What were you thinking about?”
I sigh, tilting my head back and forth, debating whether to offer any crumb of information. I know I need to open up, but I’m also hesitant to see where this leads. I cave in a little. “My mom,” I say nonchalantly, hoping the casual tone will make her think there’s nothing to see here.
“What specifically about her?”
“Nothing. Let’s move on.” I tighten the hold I have on my legs, wishing I could burrow into the sofa and disappear. Why did I decide therapy was a good idea? I knew I’d have to open up about this stuff, yet when the time comes, I don’t want to. I want Dr. Kassen’s help, but I don’t know how to just let her do her job. I want to heal, but I’m terrified of ripping off the bandage and exposing my wounds to the open air.
Dr. Kassen presses me. “No, Ali. This means something. Come on, open up. I know it’s hard, but you won’t heal without bleeding a little first.” She isn’t letting me out of this one.
“I was thinking about the day she abandoned me,” I say matter-of-factly. I hope the finality in my voice will stop this conversation where it is.
“What do you remember?”
I sigh, annoyed. “I was four. I remember it was April. My bedroom window was cracked open, and the air felt cool. I know it was a Saturday morning because I remember watching cartoons. Dad had run out to get coffee. Mom put me in the den to watch television and shut the French doors behind her when she left, and she never did that. She never shut the doors. I remember feeling like it was to distract me from something, but I wasn’t sure what. She ran up the stairs, and it sounded like she was moving something heavy. I heard the front door open and all the movement upstairs abruptly stopped. After a few moments, I could hear her and Dad’s voices in the upstairs hallway. Not the exact conversation, but the tone of their voices. It was loud and hurried. I heard rushed footsteps coming down the stairs, and I peeked through an opening in the curtain on the door. There was a yellow leather suitcase in the hallway. Once they were outside, I could hear my dad pleading, ‘Katherine, what about Alice?’ Mom said, ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice sounded sad, but firm. His hand was around her wrist, and she pulled away from him. I moved over to the bay window and watched her walk out the door with her suitcase and get into a taxi. She didn't even look back.”
Dr. Kassen sighs and tilts her head. “Ali, I didn’t realize you saw it happen.”
“Yeah. I sat there for a while. I wasn’t sure if I should come out, and I knew eavesdropping was naughty. I could hear Dad pacing back and forth in the hallway. Eventually he came in and put my shoes on and said we were going to the park.”
“And that’s when he told you what happened?”
“Yep. Well, sort of. He said nothing the entire way there, just held my hand as we walked in silence. He let me ride the carousel like usual and then sat me down on the bench to drop the bomb on me. He gave me some metaphorical bullshit about carousels and how she had to get off.” I sigh and shake my head. “The long and short of it, I came to realize eventually, was that she just didn’t want to be a wife and mother, so she just got up and abandoned us.”
“And there it is.” Dr. Kassen sounds like she’s just had an epiphany. The imaginary light bulb shining brightly over her head. The realization of:oh, that's why Alice is so fucked up.
“There what is?” My brow furrows.
“Ali, you’ve used the term abandoned twice now. You haven’t said your parents split, or your mother left. You’ve chosen to use the term abandoned. Why do you think that is?”
“Because that’s what she did.” A spade is a spade. Why would I call it anything other than what it is?
“But have you ever considered this could be why you struggle with relationships? Maybe why you don’t trust people or let your guard down for them?”
“What are you talking about?” I stare across her office, fixing my gaze on a vase of flowers on her desk. It’s easier than looking her in the eye while I pretend my mother has had no influence on me.
Dr. Kassen leans forward and presses again. “Ali, your mother left you. This wasn’t just a typical divorce and split up of the family after years of struggle or unhappiness. You’ve said your childhood until that point was idyllic, that you didn’t see it coming. She left your father, giving almost no reason, and left you behind. That has to affect you.”
“Nope, not at all.” I sit in my indignation. I dig my heels in, though I know I have no standing. I don’t think my childhood before her leaving was idyllic. I just think as a child I was blind to all the red flags and didn’t realize I was living in a lie.
Even at only four years old, I wasn’t particularly close with my mother. She wasn’t doting or hands on, we just sort of existed in the same space. There were moments where she seemed to display affection toward me, but they were scarce. Between my workaholic father and my distant mother, I learned to be self-sufficient at a very early age. Her leaving me wasn’t an emotional gut punch until years later, when the development of my brain could catch up and unpack it all. It wasn’t until those moments growing up when you truly need your mother that I understood the impact of it. Like when I was a teenager and my body changed, or when the first boy broke my heart. Dad did his best to fumble through the embarrassing topics, but we never really discussed her again.
“Stop it. You know it has. It’s okay to admit that.”
Fine. Let’s dig up this grave then, shall we? The anger that’s been building inside me bubbles to the surface. I slap my right hand down onto my open palm. “It’s not fucking fair! She just left me. She put me in that room and just walked out the door. She didn’t say goodbye. She barely gave me a thought. Who fucking does that to a child? She didn’t want me and she sure as shit has made no effort to know me my entire life. She shouldn’t get some power now to be the reason for how I’ve turned out or what problems I have. She doesn’t even deserve the honor of being a terrible mother. She wasn’t a mother at all.” I am breathless, and I can feel my cheeks burning as my hands shake. “Whatever, I don’t need her. I had Dad, that was enough. I did just fine on my own.”
Dr. Kassen’s eyes are sympathetic as she pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. She’s clearly gotten the spark she wanted from me. She shifts in her chair to redirect the conversation.
“Ali, did you just hear yourself? You said even though you had your father, you did just fine on your own. You’ve been isolating yourself. You keep everyone at an arm’s length, pushing away any connection.”
I feel myself getting angrier and defensive. “Yeah, well, they can’t hurt me or leave me if they never get close enough.” I cross my arms, as if my obvious attachment issues are some kind of battle wound to be proud of.
“Look, Ali. You have endured unfathomable loss in your life, and I know how much pain it has caused you. You’ve been so occupied trying to protect child Ali that you’ve neglected to take care of adult Ali. You are resilient. But in that resilience, you have built walls around yourself. And those walls don’t just keep danger out, they also deflect love, joy, and happiness. You deserve those things, Ali.”
“I don’t know how to have them.”
