My Shrink's Husband is My Husband's Shrink

One of our most favorite pastimes has become Mike and I trying to piece together our shrinks’ life by what they reveal regarding themselves and each other.
Publish date:
January 27, 2012
marriage, love, therapy, living the dream, shrinks, Sex,

The most amazing thing has happened to my life. Megalomaniacal dream-stuff.

I wrote not long ago about my entrée into shrinkpatientdom, something so long in the making…OK, I can’t equate my finding psychotherapy to the Pete & Pete reunion. But please know I want to.

My shrink is a badass addictions specialist because, not unlike Emily, I’m soaking in it (except it doesn’t make my hands soft and my husband does the dishes and I clearly don’t understand my own analogies).

Lady doc has blown my mind already by narrowing down the cycle that is my lifestyle in about four sessions, and she asks questions that are utterly stammer-inducing. I once answered a doozy with, “NO. (long pause) Maybe. (panic) I KNOW IT SHOULD BE YES!”

That lady gets in there.

As I alluded to in my first therapy post, my doctor is the BFF of my husband’s long-time therapist, who is also a woman. They are both top notch at what they do and the educated recommendation was sincerely a mitzvah.

So at this point in Mike’s head-shrinking, it had been decided that the time had come to switch to a male therapist, someone to really guide him into manhoodliness of the upstanding and good-husbandly variety.

Sure, cool, why not? I support this. I’ve always been sexually (and intellectually) attracted to his pro-active pursuit of solutions.

And as fate would have it, his trusted lady doc kicked down a perfect candidate. Who happens to be married to my shrink.


How giddy do you think I get pondering the possibility of our collective mental health-care professionals kvelling and kvetching over how brilliantly insane we are in the comfort of their own marital home?

Individually, they each suit us so well it’s freaky. Mike’s guy is heady and assigns tough written homework, kind of socks it to him in a healthy ego-deflating way that inspires one to grow and change. While my woman tells me how lovely my complexion is (OK, it happened once, but how good is that??), and encouraged me to finish setting up my closet before our next appointment. (If that sounds shallow or frivolous, I haven’t fully “unpacked” my clothes for four years because I like to live like a street urchin that can’t trust anyone and must be prepared to bolt at any moment).

Aaaaah, marriage. And therapy from married people married to each other.

One of our most favorite pastimes has become Mike and I trying to piece together our shrinks’ life by what they reveal regarding themselves, each other, their son, other family members.

We’ve deduced that they drink the same Arizona Diet Green Tea as us, and I come home saying things like, “She says they make a list and run errands together on weekends. We run errands on weekends, we should start making lists for our errands.”

What if they have side-bets on how long our marriage will last? That would be amazing. Or if they started acting out their own insanity using us as pawns?? I think that may already be in action.

Legit example:

MIKE: He thinks you may have issues with the imbalance of power in our relationship.

ME: She says you project things onto me because of your guilt and shame.

Is this making anyone else horny? I mean, I’m just a Midwestern girl. This is like the height of cerebral sophistication to me. Who wouldn’t want to be Frasier and Lillith’s personal psychotherapeutic sock puppets?

And I get a new f%&king closet out of it.

Email me at or follow me on Twitter @RachelMcPadden.