The first place my husband and I attempted for grief counseling after we lost the baby was not a great experience. The woman, the first time we’d ever met her, ever been to therapy, tells us about twenty minutes in that she had her own miscarriage, but went on to say she kind of saw it as a blessing because she was much older than I was (thanks?) and apparently the relationship wasn’t rock solid, and she already had a much older wonderful daughter.
Don’t get me wrong here, because your experience is your experience, and your grief is your grief, and your process is your process. I also am not a therapist/counselor/mental health professional–BUT. I am fairly certain it was not professional at that point in our non-relationship for her to relay that. And I’m definitely sure that given my sobbing and the stunned looks we undoubtedly still carried on our faces two weeks later, that it should have been pretty damn easy to spot that for us this wasn’t anywhere NEAR a “blessing”.
As we stared at her in the brief pause that came after her sharing, we were both wondering if we were supposed to start acting as her counselor…? (Hubs and I confirmed this mind meld later when we were rehashing said session.) Personally, after that, and as the session went on in a very awkward way, I kept thinking, “Get on my level, lady! This is NOT a blessing, we ARE in shock, we have no idea what to do with all this grief, and I can’t figure out how the rest of the world is still spinning when my just stopped. So, get on my fucking level!”
Now, she is probably a very nice person and may be a very good counselor in other situations, but it was clearly not going to work out for us. On the upside, this led to finding a counselor who IS on my (our) level, which I am grateful for, and whom we had a session with today (which prompted the entire thought process for this post…and the next one).