Lookin’ for Love

Eighty-One Counseling

eighty-one f

Counseling

I f I called Tommy to ask about his wedding, he’d know Lee had called. I decided to wait for a call from him. None came.

Finally, in November, I called Tommy to wish him a happy birthday.

“What’s new?” I asked.

“Not much. I’m getting married.”

I feigned surprise. “That’s wonderful, honey! Tell me all about it.”

“There’s not much to tell. It’s gonna be a small ceremony. We don’t have much money.”

I wanted to be part of my son’s wedding, to watch him take his vows, to share his excitement. I waited for an invitation, but none came.

We chatted a few minutes more before saying goodbye.

I thought my heart had broken when Nick left me. It was now completely shattered.

Our divorce was simple, quick, and painful. At my attorney’s office, I put pen to paper and signed Ava Ravelli .

Who am I? Ava Ravelli had a nice ring to it, but it was not who I was or who I wanted to be.

I began life as Ava Stanton, a name taken from me when my mother married my stepfather. Tom gave me his last name, which I kept until I married Jack. Although our marriage was short-lived, Jack’s name stayed with me through Florida, Kenya, and the end of my dancing career. I’d eagerly taken Nick’s name, hoping to erase my past. His name now felt like a curse.

Suzi took me out to dinner to celebrate, or mourn, my divorce.

“You can celebrate your freedom or live in the past,” she said.

Neither extreme felt right.

“I need a new start. I’m thinking about changing my name.”

“And go back to Ava Novak?”

“The only name that feels right to me is Stanton, my birth father’s name.”

“Ava Stanton. I like it!”

The name flowed from her tongue. “I like it, too. It’s a name no one can take from me.”

“Own it, Ava.”

“I will.” I promised myself for the rest of my life I would remain Ava Stanton.

Although I had much to be grateful for, I couldn’t shake my depression or the dream of Arizona I’d shared with Nick. I plowed through my days and cried myself to sleep at night.

At an AA meeting in November 1995, a woman shared how counseling helped keep her sober. I approached her after the meeting and asked for more information.

“Her name is Dr. Brenner, and she specializes in counseling alcoholics.”

“I’m secure in my sobriety,” I said. “I have other issues I need to work on.”

“Dr. Brenner will be perfect for you. She understands our dynamic.” She handed me a business card. “No need to mention my name. Just say you heard about her at a meeting. She’ll get it.”

“Thanks.” For the first time in months, I felt a glimmer of hope.

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Dr. Brenner was supportive and understanding. She coaxed information from me slowly, as I learned to trust her. I shared my earliest memories, the trauma of my first marriage, and my life as an addict.

“You know God created you as a perfect human being,” Dr. Brenner began, “but even the most perfect person breaks down. Think about a new car. You drive it out of the showroom and across the country. You fill it with gas but never maintain it. Eventually, that car will break down. You can wax it, but it still won’t run properly. You open the hood and look inside. You know something’s wrong but without the proper tools, the car will never run properly.”

“I’m the car, correct? And AA is the wax?”

“You can look at it that way. Ava, you’ve been fighting for your life with no tools. You’ve experienced trauma, which has affected your body and soul. I’m sure you’ve heard the old saying about insanity—”

“I don’t think so.”

“The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over, expecting different results. You’re a bright, capable, beautiful woman. But without proper nurturing, you’ll continue to be stuck in the past.”

Dr. Brenner’s words hit home.

“So, because I received no love from my parents, I continue to look for love from people who are incapable of returning that love.”

“Exactly.”

I thought for a moment. “You could say my people-picker is broken.”

She laughed. “Your people-picker may be broken, but you are finding your tools.”

Each week Dr. Brenner and I dug deeper. I learned I’d been codependent upon each of the men in my life, putting their needs in front of mine.

“Think about what the flight attendant teaches you about your oxygen mask. Put your mask on first. If you can’t breathe, you can’t help anyone else.”

I nodded in agreement, then leaned back into my chair without another word.

“What’s going on for you, Ava?”

We’d covered so much ground, yet a giant boulder sat between us.

“I’ve gotten a lot from our sessions, and I’ve learned about myself.”

“You’re always welcome to discontinue our meetings, but in my professional opinion, we still have lots to work on.”

“I know. It’s just—”

“You can trust me.”

It was now or never. “When Nick and I were married, we fell in love with the Southwest. We took a trip to Arizona and promised ourselves we’d move. It was the perfect dream until we came home and realized we’d take a financial hit on our condo. We decided to wait a year or two, but by that time Nick fell in love with someone else and destroyed our dream. So now, I’m living in a condo I can’t afford, full of southwestern decor. Every time I come home, I’m reminded of what I’ve lost.”

Dr. Brenner stared at me and said simply, “Why can’t it be your dream?”

I stared at her in silence.

“Why do you need a man to fulfill your dream?”

I’d never imagined moving or doing anything so huge by myself. “But it would be like I was running away from New Jersey and my problems.”

“Or you could be running toward Arizona and your dream.”

My head exploded with possibilities.