![]() ![]() Feldstein (not his real name), for years, eventually leaving him because he urged her to take some responsibility and learn to forgive. She was with that particular therapist, Dr. Mom, generally unable-or perhaps unwilling-to break any cycles or move forward, used her time with this doctor and others to befriend and convince them why her victimhood was so insurmountable, all the while having a child in tow who could, and hould, have been elsewhere. While I can’t say for sure, since my mom isn’t here to confirm, I do believe I was there in that waiting room for every single appointment, which would have been weekly or even more frequently. Confused, bored beyond words, wondering why I wasn’t somewhere else. One hour, maybe more, sitting still and quiet, without book or television (and long before the days of handheld lectronics or anything portable that could remotely entertain a kid of that age) or any other diversion a kid might need. The entire thing.Īs a young girl of five or six, I spent many hours of at least several years staring at the wall in the waiting room of my mother’s therapist. The reality was that it was not just part of the picture it was the picture itself. Maybe my family would have been just as idiosyncratic even without the Holocaust in the picture, but it’s not possible to know. ![]()
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