St Helena's HELPING HAND
St Helena's  HELPING HAND
She was an expert in other people’s relationships, so why didn’t she take her own advice?

My name’s Helena. Helena, like the patron saint of difficult marriages. So it’s not surprising to anyone that I’ve ended up working as a counsellor.

If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that good marriage are about honesty, trust and, above all else, communication.

So it was a shock one afternoon when I walked into my office to find my husband sitting there.

‘I need counseling,’ he said.

‘Haha, very funny. Have you lost your key?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m expecting a client,’

I said, glancing at the clock. ‘Yep, that’s me. I could hardly use my own name.’

‘Why on earth would you do that, Robert? We can talk any time.’

He looked at me closely, a sad look in his eyes. ‘But we only talk about other people’s problems,’ he said. ‘I thought if I booked an appointment, we could talk about us for a change.’

I had 53 minutes before my next appointment. If Robert left now, I could shrink my paperwork mountain. ‘We can talk tonight, after dinner.’ I opened the door, but he didn’t move.

‘I’m not going, Helena. It’s now or never. I mean it.’

‘OK, fine,’ I said. I mean, there couldn’t be much of a problem or I’d have known about it. ‘What’s wrong?’

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March 24, 2020