Joyful Recollections of Trauma: A Hilariously Cathartic Memoir-in-Essays of Childhood Turmoil, Self Healing, and Finding Happiness

by Paul Scheer

We tried to convince Hunter to go to family counseling for a long time, and when we finally succeeded, the therapist asked me to detail every violent physical interaction I’d had with him. Hunter wasn’t allowed to interrupt; he just had to listen. As I told her every story of abuse I could remember, from washing my hands with scalding water until my fingers lost sensation to him routinely slapping my face and giving me wedgies that made my eyes tear, the therapist’s shock was apparent. She eventually had to cut me off because the list was so long and she had more than enough to prove her point. She challenged Hunter: “Let’s make an agreement: if you ever lay a hand on your stepson or wife again, I’m going to call the police.” I believed her. Finally, we had someone who would hold him accountable. He did hit me again. We all went back to the counselor. I told her exactly what had happened, and she took a long breath and said, “Okay, Hunter, this is your last chance. If it happens one more time, I’ll call the police.” She let him off the hook! She treated him like she had caught a kid stealing an Oreo from the pantry. I had never felt more helpless. I knew she was never going to call the police, and I knew we were never going to family counseling again, because Hunter had gotten lucky, and he wasn’t going to double down on his good luck. We left that office and never returned, and the therapist never followed up with us.