Chapter 5 – Sophie
5
SOPHIE
I wake up this morning with a tightness in my chest that gives me the sensation of suffocating. I feel like I’m paralyzed in bed. I wiggle my fingers; they’re tingling. My heart is thumping so hard I’m sure Ellie can hear it all the way in her house. I’m scared, like I’m trapped and can’t get out.
Thoughts of James and my future swirl in my mind. What will I do now that I’m all alone? Where will I go? I can’t keep staying at my dad’s house. I sit up and put a hand over my pounding heart that is threatening to shatter my ribs, but I am immediately dizzy and have to lay back down. What would people think if they knew what James did to me? I can’t get pregnant, and my husband found someone else who could.
I am drowning, gasping for air. I’ve never had one before, but I recognize these symptoms to be the result of a panic attack. It was only a matter of time. My chest aches, like there is an elephant sitting on it. I was awake through the night, tossing and turning, all the while my anxiety increasing. Dreaming about James and then dreaming about Liam— WTF? — and sweating profusely. I sit up and try again to get a good breath. My heart is still racing. I pick up my phone and call Claire. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger!” She sounds chipper.
“I’m having a panic attack and I’m alone,” I blurt out, huffing and puffing in her ear. My eyes well with tears. I have never felt this out of control of my mind and body.
Claire’s voice instantly softens. “Okay, honey, take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Do it with me. We’re going to do this three times.”
“Okay, okay.” I try to breathe but my breaths are shallow. I know what to do but I cannot make my own brain do it.
“Are you breathing? We’re going to count to five and breathe in, and then we’re going to let it out for another count of five. In…one, two, three, four, five…and out…one, two, three, four, five. Good girl. I hear you breathing.” Claire is my best friend in the world, and she has the benefit of knowing me and knowing the cause of this panic attack—fucking James—and how to help me through it the way she would a patient. “Remember, this feeling will pass.”
My pulse hammers in my ears and the lump in my throat feels as if it grew three sizes. There is nothing for me to do except listen to Claire’s directions and wait for my breathing to even out.
“Tell me five things you see,” Claire says soothingly.
“I see the teal sofa across the room,” I murmur. Sucking in a breath, I continue. “The window looking into the backyard, the bottle of wine I drank last night, my suitcase, and the TV.”
“Good. Now what about four things you can touch?” Claire urges.
My fingers tremble as I try to sit upright, the weight in my chest still pinning me down. Hot streaks of tears carve a path down my cheeks. A flood of emotions—fear, sadness, and rage—that I’ve been harboring for the past six weeks crushes me all at once.
“The blanket on the bed, my pajamas, my hair, and the glass of water next to me,” I breathe.
“What do you hear?” Claire asks patiently.
“The birds outside, you, my erratic breathing,” I grumble, closing my eyes.
“Is there anything you can smell?”
“Wine and my deodorant.” I start to feel myself relax when Claire giggles.
“At least you smell good,” she murmurs. “What do you taste?”
“Morning breath,” I scoff, disgusted with myself.
Claire continues, “Take a few more soothing breaths for me, Sophie. In and out.”
Finally, after a few moments of deep breathing, my heart rate begins to slow and my lungs remember how to pull air. I still feel hollow, but I wiggle my toes, stretch my arms overhead, and breathe deeply. “Okay. It’s slowing down. Thank you. I wasn’t going to be able to talk myself through that one.”
“Happy to help you, babe. What was your trigger?” Claire, always cutting to the chase and bringing me back down to earth.
“I don’t know where to start. I think my trigger was my mixed-up dreams. It happened right as I was waking up. I was having terrible dreams about Liam?—”
“Liam!” she gasps. “The cute neighbor? Sophie Lynn, why are you dreaming about Liam ?”
“Relax. You cut me off. I was dreaming about James and Liam. I went to Liam’s last night—in my only clean loungewear, mind you—because I am babysitting for him tonight. I am pretty sure it was see-through. While I was there, James called me. I didn’t answer but he has been texting me about calling a realtor to sell the house. I know Liam saw his name come up on my phone because he asked if I needed to take the call. That’s what triggered the dreams, I’m sure of it.”
“Not the fact that he’s an attractive guy with a cute baby on his hip?” Claire laughs at her own joke, then her voice turns serious. “Girl, put on your shoes, go for a walk. Go shopping. And make yourself a plan.”
I know she’s right. I don’t have a plan, and I am just floating around waiting for answers to come to me. I know that I am done with my marriage. I’ve signed the divorce papers for goodness’ sake. But as soon as we sell the house we made a home, then it’s really over. I’m not ready to admit that this part of my life is over—that I’m really all alone.
“Ellie introduced me to her psychiatrist friend recently. I think I am going to give him a call today,” I tell Claire, knowing it will reassure her.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she deadpans. I can always count on Claire not to sugarcoat anything. She tells it like it is. I appreciate that most of the time, but right now I am feeling delicate. She must sense it because her voice softens. “Hey, I’m always here for you, you know,” she says gently.
I let out a deep breath. “I know. I’ll call you later.”
* * *
I called Dr. Stevens, who still insists that I call him Robert and that any friend of Ellie’s is a friend of his, and he told me his morning was slow. I guess he could hear the trembling in my voice because he asked if I wanted to come down and chat with him. The idea of being the one on the couch feels foreign to me, but I know it’s something I have to do. I walk slowly up Perry Street, my feet still sore, until I hit Lafayette Street where Dr. Stevens’s office is.
As I walk, I take in the sights, sounds, and smells of downtown. There is minimal traffic for 8:30 a.m. Shops are getting ready to open, little cafés are bustling, and a few people are getting their early morning jogs in. The salt air is everything I need to calm my nervous system.
Dr. Stevens’s office is in a strip of stores, the second from the corner. The building is white stucco with a black awning and bold black lettering on a large window that says The Psychiatry Office of Dr. Robert M. Stevens . I open the door and a little bell chimes. The office is bright, airy, and welcoming. Instead of the standard doctors’ office chairs, several plush gray armchairs line the walls and the open space. Raw-edge teakwood tables bookend the row of chairs and a bigger teakwood coffee table sits in the middle. They are gorgeous and exactly what my style would be if I were decorating a beach house.
While I wait for someone to appear at the front desk, I walk around and check out his various diplomas and accolades hanging on the wall. He was voted best psychiatrist of Cape May County for several years in a row. I let out a breath through my mouth. At least he knows what he’s doing.
I mosey over to one of the plush armchairs and sit down. I nervously pick up a copy of Psychology Today, and I am thumbing through it when Dr. Stevens comes out. I have only been waiting about five minutes, but the anxiety in my chest has me feeling like it’s been five hours.
“Sophie, how wonderful to see you.” He smiles warmly, walking across the room to embrace me.
“Hi, Dr. Stevens,” I squeeze him back and then pull away. “Your office is lovely. I was looking at all your accolades. And I just love these end tables.” The nervous energy is real.
He chuckles. “Thank you. I’m not sure if you know him, but they were made by Ellie’s neighbor, Liam. You know, the one with the baby she watches.” He starts walking and gestures for me to follow. “Please, this way.”
I feel my cheeks warm and my neck tingle at the mention of Liam. I’m surprised at the level of craftsmanship he is capable of. “Oh, yes, I know Liam. I am actually watching Lucy for him tonight. I didn’t know he could build such beautiful things.” I always did love a man who works with his hands. The realization makes me even more curious about this beautiful, broody man.
“He’s one of the more popular artisans in town. You can find his work down in some of the stores at the mall.” Dr. Stevens says. He leads me into his office, gestures toward a very comfortable looking tufted couch, and takes a seat in the chair opposite me. “So, Sophie, how are you feeling today?”
I take a moment to appreciate that he isn’t behind some big desk and making this feel all clinical. He’s simply sitting in an armchair opposite me, like I’m talking to a friend. I take a deep breath before I unload on him.
“I had a panic attack this morning, and I can’t help but feel that I am avoiding all of the important things in my life by being here in Cape May. I haven’t answered any of my ex-husband’s calls or texts. He has reached out multiple times about selling our house and I have done nothing but avoid the situation. It’s easier to just put on a front and immerse myself in the present moment so I don’t have to think about it. I’m not ready to think about it.”
I plop backward on the couch. Dr. Stevens makes it feel very casual here. I feel like I am complaining to Claire over margs and that makes me feel like I can speak freely.
“I see,” he says. “Why do you suppose you feel like you’re avoiding important things? You came here seeking solace, right?” He jots something down in his notebook.
I shrug. I feel the tears well up, threatening to fall. I haven’t spent a lot of time talking about my own feelings. Generally, I am talking with others about their feelings. This part feels unfamiliar and scary.
I let out an unsteady breath. “This morning while I was having the panic attack, I called my best friend Claire. Usually, I know what to do to bring other people out of their own panic attacks, but I have never had one of my own before. I couldn’t find a rational thought. She helped me breathe through it. Then she encouraged me to get outside for a walk and to make a plan. But I’m paralyzed. It’s been six days that I’ve been here, and I haven’t put one thought into what happens next.”
“Can you tell me a bit about how you got to this place?” Dr. Stevens’ voice is gentle, making me want to open up to him.
I give him the recap of the past six weeks and it all tumbles out of me like word vomit. I tell him how James not only carried on an affair, but that his mistress is pregnant. I tell him how this is a particularly hard pill to swallow because James and I struggled with infertility for seven years, eventually finding out that the reason we couldn’t have a family had nothing to do with him and everything to do with my inhospitable uterus. I tell him that I drove to Cape May the day I signed my divorce papers. In the state of Pennsylvania, there is no separation period if it’s a mutual divorce. James didn’t even try to convince me to work it out. We both knew it was over as soon as he told me she was pregnant.
“Now I’m in a ninety-day waiting period until the divorce is final in court. Coming here for the first few weeks seemed like a good way to heal and figure out what comes next.” I sniffle and shudder a deep breath. When I’m finished, I wipe my mascara-streaked cheeks, blotting under my eyes for any excess with a tissue Dr. Stevens held out for me while I cried.
Dr. Stevens appears thoughtful and then he speaks. “Sophie, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Not many people would know what to do with this turn of events,” he says gently. “I know you feel you should be doing more right now, but there is nothing wrong with taking your time. This is your life and your well-being.” He is so sincere when he says this that I instantly feel relief.
“You’re right. But I haven’t even thought about where to go from here. We were married for thirteen years. I never thought he would do this to me.” I sniffle as my eyes fill with fresh tears. “I never imagined I wouldn’t be the person he became a parent with. It’s gut-wrenching.”
Dr. Stevens listens intently. Periodically, he makes a note in his notebook, but mostly, he just lets me talk and cry—and I didn’t realize how much I needed this.
I swallow and reach for another tissue from the box Dr. Stevens is holding out to me before continuing. “I think maybe if she wasn’t pregnant, I would have wanted to try to work it out. I believe in love. I help other families and couples work through these issues. We said for better or for worse.” I pause, hiccupping, and use the tissue to wipe under my eyes. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the worse part included infidelity.”
Dr. Stevens makes a note in his book and then looks up at me with a reassuring smile. “It's natural to feel a sense of loss and grief after a divorce. Mourning this change is an important step in healing.”
I nod, letting out a post-cry shudder. “My therapist brain knows this. I just never thought I would be the person in this position,” I admit, looking down at my hands.
“It’s important to give yourself time to adjust. Coming here for a change of scenery is good but it’s also okay if it’s overwhelming.” He pauses. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you pick Cape May?”
“I came here all the time as a child. My grandparents were locals, and my parents brought us down on the weekends every summer until I was sixteen and my mom died…” I trail off. “I have wonderful memories here and it just felt like the right place to come to clear my mind for a fresh start.”
Dr. Stevens nods and jots down something else I can’t read. “Have you thought about journaling? Writing down your big emotions as they come can help you process them.”
I bite my lip and stifle a self-deprecating laugh. “I am really bad at journaling,” I admit with a weak smile.
Dr. Stevens chuckles, putting me at ease. “It was just a suggestion. I’d like you to try to set yourself a routine. You’re in a new physical place and you’re in a new emotional place, too. It may help you to feel as though you’re in control of something. But a new place can also be a fresh start—a chance to build something new and meaningful for yourself.”
“I agree,” I say emphatically. “A routine for the next couple of weeks feels manageable.”
Dr. Stevens startles when the sound of the front door jingles, indicating someone else arriving. He looks at his watch and then back at me. “Sophie, this is great, great stuff. You have kept all of this bottled up inside you for a few weeks too long. I’m so glad you talked to me.”
“It was pretty cathartic,” I admit, attempting a small smile. I stand up and collect my things, sensing my time for today is up.
“I think you should come back next week, for a real appointment. In the meantime, I’d like you to make time for activities you enjoy or that help you feel calm, like exercise, reading, or spending time in nature. You’re at the beach! Go get yourself a nice coffee from Coffee Tyme, put your feet in the sand, and decompress. The salt air cures everything.” He touches my shoulder as he guides me out of his office. Gesturing to the receptionist who is getting settled behind the desk, he says, “If you talk to Angie here, she’ll get you set up for next week.”
“I will come back, thank you. I needed this.” I blow my nose into the crumbled tissue I’m still holding.
After making my appointment, I decide to do exactly what he suggested. I walk up to Beach Road, get myself a piping hot vanilla latte, and plop my butt in the sand. There really isn’t much that the beach can’t cure.