Who here is in couples therapy?

Trying to find a roadmap with directions to relational empowerment

Today, I reflect on three years of couples therapy, exploring the challenges of maintaining emotional connection amid the demands of parenting a child with a chronic illness. It delves into personal growth, relational empowerment, and the hope of finding fulfillment together, rather than just individually. Can we do it? I have no idea. But if you have any tips, I would LOVE THEM.

I’ve found comfort in telling myself, I could do it on my own. But I don’t want to. I want to align on our needs and wants—and then do it together.

Three years ago today, we started couples therapy. It wasn’t something I thought Josh would take kindly to, but I reluctantly agreed. He’s the silent type, not that he is quite, just doesn’t know or want to talk about feelings and emotions. Says things like, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Because he doesn’t. I can’t fault him for that.

For those of you who don’t know me, I am a chronic oversharer—a person with bad boundaries, or, if I’m being generous, someone who just has different boundaries. I feel a sense of shame in not sharing. In my family, it was almost a competition—who feels the most, who needs the most attention—volleying for it over dinner. Drama was a kind of currency: simultaneously frowned upon and cherished. It made life interesting. It was the meat in the salad. And the best drama? The kind that didn’t involve you.

Couples therapy was my psychiatrist’s idea. When M was diagnosed with CF, I had her to help me navigate postpartum anxiety, and Josh had—well, he had a hard time. He had so many resources but no way to access them or believe they could actually help. I don’t know if I would be here without my psychiatrist. I saw her once a week, and we talked through everything. She fine-tuned my meds, giving me relief and hope. This careful balance of talk therapy and medical intervention changed everything. Before her, I had only heard of postpartum depression, not postpartum anxiety. I know they’re related, but I wasn’t sad—I was scared.

For the first two years of M’s life, I saw my therapist every week. And every week, I found myself talking more and more about the distance growing between Josh and me. It wasn’t that I wanted to be with someone else. I wanted him to enjoy us—our family. I wanted to be on the same page, to have the kind of emotional support you get from a close friend, sibling, or parent. If you’re lucky, you get that from your partner, too.

I often ask people if their parents are still together. Then I follow up with, But do they still like each other? This surprises people. Maybe because it’s personal, or maybe because you’d assume that if they are together, they must love each other. But I don’t think you can assume that.

People stay together for a lot of reasons. Love might be one of them. But when I say love, I don’t mean obligation, history, or shared responsibilities. I mean passionate, romantic closeness—the cuddle-your-cold-toes-against-my-legs-under-the-covers kind of love. The kind of enduring love that Carrie Bradshaw finds with Mr. Big in Sex and the City (a show that has not aged well, by the way).

Josh and I have stayed together, I think, because we do love and respect each other. I can’t speak for him, but we also make a good team. We can complete projects together. And we are co-leaders of the biggest project of our lives: keeping Margaret alive. For me, that means savoring every moment with her. For him, it’s different. The job of keeping her alive is a job.

When my therapist suggested couples therapy, my first thought was, That sounds like work. Why am I always the one putting in the emotional labor? I’m already so damn tired. But I found someone—thanks to this website (not an ad, but honestly, it changed therapy for me). I was able to find a therapist who took my insurance and seemed like a good fit in 20 minutes. Before the pandemic, finding therapy meant calling around, leaving messages, waiting for callbacks, sitting through awkward first sessions, only to realize it wasn’t the right match. The friction of finding help was so high that it was just easier not to get help. This changed everything.

When I searched for a couples therapist, I had one main criterion: someone nice. I’m from the Midwest. If you don’t verbally affirm everything I say, I assume you hate me. It’s a thing. I also say “sorry” all the time. (Is that a Midwest thing too?)

Secretly, I wanted a therapist who would be on my side. I don’t like to admit it, but a part of me just wanted someone to back me up—to validate that I was married to a difficult, brilliant man. I missed the old us—the couple that giggled before falling asleep. But I wanted that old version of us to somehow exist now, within the reality of our lives today. Wishful thinking. And yet, if I’m honest, I still believe we can get there.

Couples therapy has been up and down. I love our therapist. But even with that, Josh and I remain stuck in the same cycle—we show up for each other, but we need different things. The reality is, we’ve grown apart in the way we cope with the ever-changing landscape of Margaret’s illness. I want our therapist to fix it, to give us advice, to make it better. But after three years, we’re still in a stalemate.

Last week, The New York Times Magazine ran an article on manhood and marriage featuring the masculinity expert Terry Real. The title? “How I Learned That the Problem in My Marriage Was Me.” Hooked, right? That’s the secret dream of everyone who brings their partner to therapy.

Terry Real introduced me to the idea of relational empowerment. For the last decade, we’ve been culturally focused on individual empowerment—self-care, doing it alone, knowing our worth. I’ve found comfort in telling myself, I could do it on my own. But I don’t want to. I want to align on our needs and wants—and then do it together. I want to believe, deep down, that together, we can have it all.

We show up for each other, but we need different things. The reality is, we’ve grown apart in the way we cope with the ever-changing landscape of Margaret’s illness.

The goal of relational empowerment is to recognize that both partners bring trauma and skills to the table. That by working on our own shit, we can show up better for ourselves and for each other. That connection is possible.

For the first time, in theory, couples can reach actualization together.

"Couples actualization" is when both partners work toward their full potential—individually and as a unit—by supporting each other's growth while deepening their connection. It’s self-actualization, but together.

I need a map to get there. And I know it will take work. But it is the kind of work that means something.

Are you in it with me?

Love,
Carissa

P.S. Feeling creatively stuck? I am. So at PIL, we made a journal to get you out of that meh place and back into your flow. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been posting less and less because I just don’t know how to start. This book is designed to give you just the right push to find your brilliance again. If you want to support BAKS, buy a journal. Or just share it with someone who might find comfort and less alone when they read it.