It is NOT all about YOU!!



Today we had a family meeting with my son at the hospital.

The social worker who met with us was a likeable man who appeared to have a lot of experience dealing with young adults. My son told me, during my last visit, that he liked the social worker. He wasn't fond of the psychiatrist assigned to him, but fortunately the psychiatrist's main concern was how he was handling his meds.

My son has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Like mother, like son. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

The social worker sat with us in a small room that reminded me of a holding cell. We spoke for about half an hour without my son present. My husband, oldest son, and I expressed our concerns. The social worker gave us an overview of my son's visit thus far and his hopes for my son once he is discharged from the hospital tomorrow.

I felt a bit on edge when my son joined us in the room. I knew it was only a matter of time before my husband, Dave, would jump in and start talking about himself.

It's always about him.

Things went well for about ten to fifteen minutes. The conversation was rightfully focused on my son.

Then it happened.

Dave started talking about himself. His late nights at our local bar, his insomnia. He spoke of riding his skateboard at breakneck speed down the steep hill of a two-way road (yes, I'm still talking about my husband!). His resolve to stop behaving like a 25yo.

I glanced over at my son during my husband's monologue. He rolled his eyes and gave his head a small shake.

The social worker listened politely. Once my husband stopped talking, the social worker redirected the conversation back to my son.

This happened multiple times. My husband would go off on some tangent about himself. Something totally unrelated to the topic of my son. My son always had the same reaction.

This was the behavior I witnessed when Dave and I were in couples counseling. He tried to dominate the conversation and struggled to listen.

I try to be understanding, but I honestly find it infuriating.

I am starting to think Dave needs therapy more than my son does.