Page 16 of Every Promise Broken

“And are you ready to talk about it now?”

“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly. “But I think I need to talk about it, ready or not, because it’s eating away at me.”

Dr. Smizor nods and smiles. “We can talk about as much or as little as you’re comfortable with, Whit.”

Rubbing the pads of my index finger and thumb together on either side of the laptop, I drag in a deep breath, holding it for a five count, before exhaling. My chest tightens. Constricted. I’m getting myself all worked up, and even though I know that, I still can’t seem to calm down. I swear, my head is my own worst enemy sometimes.

I sit back in my chair, letting my head fall back as I stare up at the ceiling.I can do this. This is what she’s here for. She’s not going to judge me or make fun of me or berate me for the awful choices I’ve made.

Dr. Smizor has the patience of a saint. She sits on the other side of the screen, waiting as I compose myself. Never once does she make me feel like I need to hurry up and say what I needto say, nor does she appear bothered even in the slightest. And I know that’s her job, but I don’t think she realizes how helpful it is for me. All my life, any time I got really worked up about something, or something angered or upset me, it would be hard for me to voice it. Like my hurt would be an inconvenience to those around me.

It wasn’t until I started seeing Dr. Smizor when I was younger that I truly learned it’s okay to express how I’m feeling. It’s something that really helped me when I got married, especially because Conrad was so terrible about communicating in general. One of us had to initiate the hard conversations, otherwise we’d never talk about anything. His inability to talk about his feelings comes from how he was raised, and I know that. Henrik Strauss was a man of few words. He worked hard, provided for his family, and didn’t believe in fussing over feelings and emotions. A trait he passed on to his son.

My inability comes from a mix of my neurodiversity and a trauma response that developed when I was a teenager, when I opened up to my parents about something huge, and they shut me down.

Realizing far too many seconds have passed in silence, I decide to spit it out in the best way I know how.

“About a month ago, something happened with Conrad,” I murmur, eyes cast downward onto my keyboard. My cheeks heat, and I’m sure they’re red as an apple right now. “We, uh…” Clearing my throat from the emotion bubbling up, I say, “We were intimate.”

“Well, first of all, I’m glad you felt safe to share that with me,” she murmurs softly, and when I glance up, I don’t see an ounce of judgement on her face. “That must be heavy holding on to that for you. Secondly, do you want to share more?”

I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay. Why don’t you tell me about what led up to this happening.”

Heaving a sigh, I think about the question. Think about everything that led up to Conrad and I ending up alone in his house while a yard full of our closest friends mingled around outside, completely oblivious to the lines we were crossing inside.

Dr. Smizor knows about my dad and his health issues. She also is aware of how costly it all is, and how stressed I’ve been because of it. So, I decide to start there. “I was at work, and I’d just gotten another late notice from the bank regarding the mortgage for the clinic. It wasn’t my first, or even my second, late notice, and I knew I was going to lose the building if I didn’t do something.” Glancing up at her, her eyes are kind as they take me in. I breathe out a small laugh. “But you know me, when I get overwhelmed or stressed out, my first reaction is to bury my head in the sand and avoid it.”

She smiles sympathetically, but doesn’t say anything, letting me continue. I take another deep breath.

“Anyway, that night was my friend’s birthday party. It was at Conrad’s ranch, and for a moment, I strongly considered skipping it. I didn’t feel in the mood to celebrate or put on a happy face in front of Conrad, but in the end, I decided to go because I thought being around my friends may help my mood. May help me forget about my stress for a night.”

“You have a very strong circle of friends,” she says. “I can see why you would come to that conclusion. Did it help?”

Swishing my mouth to the side, thumb and index fingers still rubbing together, I shake my head. “Not really, no. I felt so disconnected. Like I was underwater, watching everybody celebrate and socialize above me. Away from me. I drank a couple of beers, hoping maybe that would snap me out of it, but it didn’t. If anything, all it did was make it worse. And then…And then I went into the house to catch my breath,” I go on. “To try to calm down. I splashed some cold water on my face, did some breathing exercises, but when I came out of the bathroom, Conrad was there.”

The memory of coming out and finding Conrad there waiting for me is crystal clear. Like it’s permanently burned into my brain. The look of concern etched onto his handsome face. The way I froze in place when I spotted him. But most of all, the way my shoulders relaxed and it felt like I was finally able to take a deep breath easily for the first time all day.

“What happened from there?” Dr. Smizor asks.

The scene plays out in my mind. Vividly. “He asked me what was wrong. I lied and said I was fine.” Huffing out a laugh, I say, “I wasn’t fine. He knew it. But something about him being there felt like exactly what I needed in that moment. It felt like if I could confide in anyone about the weight on my shoulders, it would be him. But I don’t understand why. I have Reggie…my boyfriend.” The label tastes bitter on my tongue. “I cheated on my boyfriend with my ex-husband, and I don’t understand why I would do that.”

My pulse roars in my ears as I get all of that out, my chest feeling like it’s going to cave in.

“As I hope you know, this is a judgement-free space. My role here isn’t to judge anything that you do or don’t do. All of this must be a lot to process. How are you feeling about this?”

Another small laugh bubbles up, even though I don’t find anything funny.How am I feeling?“I’m feeling disappointed in myself,” I reply. “For letting myself find comfort in Conrad, knowing it could never go anywhere. For not finding comfort in my boyfriend. And for doing this to him.”

“Be fair to yourself, Whit. It sounds like you were lonely and looking for a connection, and Conrad was there and able to provide that to you. I know from speaking with you about himback when you two were married that he used to be someone you were able to find that connection with in the past before the divorce, so it would make sense that you turned to him again. How did it feel at the time?”

Looking off to the side, unable to face her as I remember exactly how it felt. “It felt like I could breathe,” I say, pressure building behind my eyes. I blink it away. “Like I was going to be okay, even if temporarily.”

“And now, you said you feel disappointed in yourself. Can you elaborate on that?”

Looking down in my lap where my hands are fidgeting with one another, I give myself a moment. “It’s been years, Dr. Smizor. It’s been nearly four years since we’ve gotten a divorce, and even longer than that since we’ve been intimate. I really thought I was past all of this. I’ve moved on. I’m with Reggie now. I’m supposed to love Reggie now. That part of my life is over, yet one crappy day and I’m falling back into Conrad’s arms.”

Dr. Smizor nods, her expression empathetic as she regards me. “It sounds like you were experiencing some big feelings, and that must have been hard, and this was an avenue you took to find that comfort you were seeking. Have you talked to Conrad about what happened that night?” she asks, even though I’m sure she knows the answer.

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