The Therapy Session

This is a continuation from my post yesterday:  First Impressions: Munch and Therapy

I looked around the room and saw all the degrees and plaques on his wall. He looked my age. Maybe a little older. He seemed accomplished and smiled. “I have to get the legal jargon that I’m required to say out before we begin” he said. “Okay” I replied. The sun was in my eyes and he said something about hurting yourself, hurting others and calling in a Peace Officer and having you institutionalized.

Munch listened intently and asked “I’m going to be arrested?” “No.  I have to tell your mom what the law says before we begin the appointment” he said. “Are you sure no one is coming to arrest me?” he asked. “No one will come and arrest you Munch” I replied. I held his hand to comfort him.

He asked my sweet little boy did he have a nickname? “Yes” he replied. He asked him to tell him what it is. Munch said, “B, Munchkin or Munch”. “Can I call you B?” he asked. “Yes” said Munch. He started to ask him general questions about school. Did he like school? What did he like about school? Did he know what bullying was?

Munch answered the questions and I sat there listening and learning things unsaid about my sweet boy. Like the fact that he was angry that his teacher gave him a daily report and no one else (we asked his teacher to do this). But, that wasn’t his real progress report and that he got his real progress report and he got A’s, B’s and D’s (he didn’t). I just listened.

When he paused. I interjected and said, “Munch, we asked your teacher to give us a daily report to let us know how you were doing. We wanted to know if you had a good or bad day so that we could talk about it each day when you got home. That’s why he sends the report home. Also, you didn’t get any D’s on your progress report. You got 3 C’s and that’s okay because we’re going to work on bringing those C’s to B’s. But, you currently have a C in Math so everything with your grades is okay.”

He didn’t respond. He just listened. I kissed his forehead. The therapist just smiled and asked Munch about bullying and had he ever been bullied at school. Munch responded “Yes, I know what bullying is. It is when someone does or says something that is mean to you. They can either be bigger or smaller. They are doing things to hurt  you. Mommy says that’s um mal-ec-ouso.” I interject “malicious”. “Yes, malicious. One time when I was at recess these three boys were trying to bully me by trying to trip me. My friend Marissa told them not to do it and she went and told the teacher. The teacher said he would handle it. They never tripped me. Marissa defended me.”

I sat there stoic. My baby had never told me this. When? I didn’t want to interrupt. I just listened. I was happy that his friend was there to help, but why didn’t he say something to me I wondered. The therapist asked Munch if he could repeat after him. He gave him 3 words “Christian, Black, 54”. Munch repeated them. He said, “Great. Can you tell me what upsets you?”

Munch started talking about when he can’t sleep. The therapist asked me “What time does he go to bed?” I responded “Between 9 and 9:30 and maybe falls asleep by 10.” I felt the need to justify my response. “I don’t get off work until 5 pm. By the time I get him from aftercare it’s between 6 and 6:30. I get him home and let him watch TV while I get dinner on the table by 7. It takes him approximately 30 minutes to eat. While he’s eating, I’m reviewing the homework he did in aftercare and erasing and going over the work. He has to read for 20 minutes minimum each night and write on his daily reading log. It’s bath and then bed time. I give him an hour of free time to watch TV or play before bed” I said.

Munch interrupted and began telling him about the movie Zootopia we saw last weekend and how that upset him because the animals were turning rabid and what if he turned rabid? The therapist interjected and asked Munch to repeat those three words that he gave him earlier. Munch said, “Christian, Black and um…” He couldn’t remember the last word. He said, “It was a number”. Munch said, “One?” “No, it was 54” he said. “But, you did really good. You got two out of three” he told him.

Munch smiled. He asked me does Munch always switch topics when he talks? “Yes, he’s always done that. I do it so it seems normal. My mom did it.” I responded. He said, “Okay”. He listened. He asked “B, can you please step outside in the waiting room so that your mom and I can talk?” Munch looked at me hesitantly “Mommy, are you going to be okay?” “Yes, baby. I’ll be fine” I replied. “Will, I be okay?” he asked. The therapist said, “Look at this cool screen. It’s a security screen that I’m giving to your mom. She’ll be able to see you right outside the door.”

“Okay” he said. He walked out the door. I looked down at the screen. Munch was listening at the closed door.

The therapist turned to me to begin to give me his assessment of the visit.

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14 thoughts on “The Therapy Session

  1. You are a great mom! How you find the time to fit everything in should be encouraging to any single mother! Sounds like he connected with the therapist and he definitely loves his mom and looks out for you the way only children that age know how.

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    1. That was definitely my favorite part. In all his uneasiness Mommy is still his first priority! a true man to be.
      *I have my fingers crossed*. . . but it seems thus far you’ve found a wonderful therapist. At least we know he’s is observant, especially having Munch repeat those memory words. β™₯

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      1. Yep. He’s a worry wart though. I just want him to be a kid and worry about kid things. I will always be there and protect him and I just want him to worry about kid stuff.

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      2. Lolz, it funny you said “worry about kid stuff”, because Frank and I were just talking about the fact that kids today (Munch’s age) are sooooo grown and are never doing kid stuff. I was nothing like that, but Frank was the “take care of Momma” type too. Despite saying all of that, I’m beginning to think we’ll need Munch’s little worry wart personality with the way the world is going. Someone has to have some heart! :o)

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      3. LOL. It gets too much. I just want him to focus on things he likes and stop worrying about me. He was freaking out around Christmas talking about robbers were going to come and hurt me. Crying and wouldn’t sleep. I had to get him up and show him the alarm and explain to him that each entry or window is monitored to notify the police if someone were to break in. We would be fine. He then calmed down. He saw a Sparkle TV commercial with robbers on it (showing on the Disney Junior channel) and it freaked him out.

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