For almost an hour, in the counsellor’s room, I ranted and raved, accused and self-justified. I also cried a lot.By contrast, my then husband didn’t shed a tear, but held himself stiffly, his head and neck rigid as he delivered his devastating blows to our relationship coldly, almost robotically.That we were both in pain would have been very clear to the therapist. It was only our third session, but it was also our last, as my partner of 23 years was shortly heading off on a sabbatical — a spiritual quest to South and Central America ‘to find himself’.
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