Going to couples therapy wasn't something my boyfriend or I had to wrangle the other into. Our rough patch was more like a slick of black ice, and we were careening towards a precipitous ending. We had moved in together almost a year earlier, and couples therapy seemed easier than breaking up. It would at least buy us time to figure out how to split our belongings while I looked for my own place in New York City.

I went into counseling thinking Ryan had to change. If he didn't fix at least eight of the things that were wrong with him, I was out. What were my issues? Everything. An aspiring actor, Ryan had no job security, no savings account or 401(k), and a penchant for buying every new electronic gadget on the market. He lives and breathes sports, while I swore I'd never date a jock. He can stew for an entire day if the Red Sox lose a game—an act I deem ridiculous and infantile. Why don't you try dealing with your real life for a change? I'd think. I accused him of being a man-child who slept all day and didn't know what responsibility meant.

Meanwhile, I had a great-paying job that I despised, and managed to sock away 30 percent of my income into savings and retirement. Ryan said my planning for the future got in the way of enjoying the present. His proof: I would buy a purse for $150, let it sit in my closet for 29 days, and then, overcome with spender's guilt, return it for a refund the next day. But, I reasoned, the world is far too consumed with materialism and I didn't want to be sucked into it. 3 Reasons To Seek Couples Therapy

When we called to make the appointment Dr. Schaffer said her schedule was full, but she would have an opening in a month. I wondered what led to her calendar freeing up. Did couples leave happy and cured, with a better understanding of each other? Or did they exit just as disgruntled as when they walked in? Maybe sitting together in a room for an hour week after week was all the confirmation husbands and wives needed to finalize their divorce. I toyed with asking what her success rate was but instead accepted the appointment and hung up.

An hour before our first session, I left work at and walked the two miles to Dr. Schaffer's office. I wanted time to clear my head and expel my nervous energy. I was scared and didn't know what to expect. Would she pit us against each other? Would she take my side or his? What if she liked Ryan better than me? We'd been seething for weeks. Who knew what was going to come up? By the time I got there, I was shaking and sweating.

The waiting room was beige—beige walls, beige carpet. If there were pictures on the walls, I didn't register them. Ryan was sitting in one of the chairs (beige), playing with his iPhone. He looked up when I walked in, and we gave each other a tight-lipped half-smile half-grimace. I wanted to be mad at him, but instead I felt surprising relief.

Before we entered therapy, it never occurred to me that maybe I needed to do some work on myself as well. The first thing I said as we sat down in her office should have clued me in.