The Perfect Child(38)

I listened as she rattled off therapy goals for Janie. The first thing she wanted to do was teach her how to identify and name her emotions. She explained young children thought abuse was their fault, and our overarching goal would always be helping Janie understand that she wasn’t bad. She’d work on developing their relationship and building some of Janie’s other skills before she tackled her attachment issues. It all sounded very intense.

I filled Christopher in on the session when he got home that night. He got angry when I described the session, like I’d gone without him to create a secret alliance with Dr. Chandler, even though he’d known all about the appointment. We’d talked about it beforehand.

“You told me to take her by herself,” I cried. “We could’ve rescheduled the appointment if you wanted to be there.”

“I just didn’t know you’d make all these important decisions together.” His forehead was pinched.

I threw up my hands. “We didn’t make any decisions. The only thing we decided was that Janie is going to need a lot of therapy, and we already knew that.”

He watched Janie thumbing through books on the coffee table in the living room. She hummed under her breath while she looked. “She doesn’t even know she’s hurting you by ignoring you.”

“Oh my God, Christopher. She knows she’s doing it, and she’s doing it on purpose.” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice. Sometimes I caught her sneaking glances at me when she didn’t think I was looking, and there was no mistaking the smugness on her face when she talked with someone while I was in the same room or in close proximity.

“It’s just not her fault.”

“I wish you’d hear what I’m saying to you. I’m actually agreeing with you. It’s not her fault. She can’t help what her mom did to her, and she doesn’t even realize that’s why she hates me, but Christopher, she does hate me.”





TWENTY-TWO

CHRISTOPHER BAUER

I listened as Dr. Chandler explained again how Janie’s behavior was motivated by attention; it didn’t matter whether it was positive or negative. She’d drilled it into our heads since our second session that we needed to ignore her bad behavior whenever we could because she fed off the attention and emotional energy that we gave her when she was acting out. We only praised her and paid attention when she did something positive, no matter how small it was. So far, it was working. We’d had nine fewer tantrums this week.

“I think it’s time that we tackled Janie’s selective mutism,” she said next.

I hated the name and the fact that Dr. Chandler had stuck a label on her behavior. I didn’t like labeling children with psychological disorders. They were too young to be slapped with mental health diagnoses. Kids changed constantly. And besides, how could they make any kind of diagnosis about her psychological state when she was so traumatized and far behind developmentally? They needed to give her time to catch up first.

“During your nighttime reading routine tonight, I want you to explain to Janie that you would like her to tell Hannah good night after you finish reading. All she has to say is good night. That’s it. Let her know that you’re no longer going to tell her good night unless she tells Hannah good night, too, because it’s not fair to say good night to you without saying good night to her,” Dr. Chandler said with conviction.

“And if she doesn’t do it?” I asked.

“Then you don’t tell her good night,” Dr. Chandler said as if it was going to be that simple.

“It seems really mean.” And childish, I wanted to add, but I didn’t say it out loud. She was supposed to be the expert.

“Janie needs to learn that the two of you are a unit and if she hurts Hannah, it hurts your feelings, too, because you care about Hannah as much as you do her.” Her voice reminded me of how she spoke to Janie—steady, never flying too high or sinking too low. “Children of trauma are experts at triangulation.”

“Triangulation?” I asked.

“The child will act a certain way with one parent and a different way with the other parent. They try all kinds of things to drive a wedge in the parents’ relationship.”

“Janie doesn’t do that.”

Hannah smacked the pillow she always kept cradled in her lap during our sessions. “Are you serious? She absolutely does too.”

“When?”

“When?” Her face contorted in anger. “All the time. Ever since I met her. Remember, she wouldn’t even talk to me that day?”

“She was upset. She would’ve refused to talk to anyone.”

Hannah vehemently shook her head. “I used to think that way, but I don’t anymore. She’s always been threatened by me.”

I snorted. “Threatened by you? You act like she’s some jealous girlfriend. She’s a little girl, Hannah.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped.

Dr. Chandler raised her hand. “Okay, I can see I’ve touched a nerve. This is good.”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “How is this good?”

“It illustrates perfectly how she’s worked to pit the two of you against each other,” she said.

Both Hannah and I looked at her in confusion.