Couples Therapy with a Screenwriter and His Neurodiverse Attorney Wife: A Drama in Three Acts

Thursday, October 24, 2024. This is for EH, and J.

Therapists don't typically look for drama, but sometimes it finds us.

Especially when the couple in front of you is David, a successful screenwriter who tries to live life in beats and scenes, and Sophie, a brilliant autistic attorney whose mind is a courtroom, always looking for evidence.

It’s not your usual story—more of a character study than a blockbuster, with dialogue that could only come from two people who see the world in starkly different shades.

Scene One: The Gary Stu Argument

David’s sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward like he’s pitching a new screenplay. He glances at Sophie, then me. His voice drops, as if he’s building to a dramatic reveal.

David: “I just don’t understand why you don’t see that I’m trying. I mean, I cook, I clean, I even remembered your sister’s birthday—”
Sophie: (coolly, arms crossed) “Congratulations, David. You’ve mastered the basics of adulting. That doesn’t make you a Gary Stu. It makes you... functional.”
David: “But that’s what I’m saying! It’s like, no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”
Sophie: (leaning in, every word a scalpel) “You think saying ‘I’m trying’ absolves you, like some hero monologue before the credits roll. In the real world, effort doesn’t always equal results.”
David: (defensive, now) “I feel like you’ve cast me as the antagonist, and you’re the perfect victim—no flaws, no mistakes. It’s like a Mary Sue routine.”
Sophie: (raising an eyebrow) “Objection, speculative. I’m not faultless. I just have different standards for what counts as trying.”

Sophie’s words hit with the precision of a cross-examination, but David’s scriptwriter instincts kick in. He turns to me, looking for a cue, a line, something to sway the jury in this courtroom drama. He thinks this is the part where the therapist jumps in with a tidy resolution. But life isn’t a Hollywood screenplay, and that’s a lesson he’s slowly learning.

Scene Two: Special Snowflake Showdown

They’re in my office again, a week later. David’s leaning back, arms folded, while Sophie stares at him with the intensity of a closing argument.

Sophie: “David, you don’t understand. My mind doesn’t work like yours. I need structure, predictability—”
David: (interrupting, frustrated) “Sophie, I know! You remind me all the time. But it’s like you see yourself as some Special Snowflake, like your way of thinking is this mystical, untouchable thing that I can never get.”
Sophie: (straightening, her tone icy) “Not mystical. Just different. But sure, keep making me the Special Snowflake. It’s easier than trying to actually understand, isn’t it?”
David: (sighing, softer now) “You make me feel like I’m always falling short, like I’m just some non-playable character in this... courtroom drama of yours. And I don’t even get a chance to plead my case.”
Sophie: (pauses, then quietly) “You could if you’d stop trying to play the hero and just... be yourself.”

It’s the closest they’ve come to touching on the real issue. Sophie wants authenticity; David wants a story. And maybe, just maybe, they’re both trying to write a scene that feels right, even if they’re using different scripts.

Scene Three: Therapy as a Rewrite

This time, I let them talk without jumping in—Sophie’s logic is a laser beam, David’s a little more meandering, like he’s feeling out the plot. He’s desperate for a satisfying ending; she’s not sure there is one. I abide by the therapeutic maxim “ if it ain’t broke…don’t fix it.”

David: “Look, I’m trying to make sense of this, okay? I want us to work, but I don’t know how to fit into your... framework. Like, what does a good husband look like in your story?”
Sophie: (thoughtful, her hands folding into her lap) “One who listens. Not just to words, but to patterns, to... the gaps between the sentences. Someone who doesn’t need everything to be a grand gesture or a final act. Just... consistency. Someone who shows up.”
David: “Yeah, but showing up doesn’t make a great scene. Where’s the tension? The resolution?”
Sophie: (with a small, rare smile) “Maybe it’s not about resolution. Maybe it’s about building character, over time.”

And in that moment, it feels like something shifts—like a scene that’s been rehearsed a thousand times has finally found a grace note. They’re still far from the closing credits, but it’s a start.

Screenwriting Tropes

When I’m working with a neurodiverse couple, it’s often useful to help them co-create what I call a Private Parlance. In other words, a co-created shared language of concepts. What we do for a living is often a fertile source of these concepts and paradigms.

Mary Sue: In screenwriting, a Mary Sue is a character who is exceptionally idealized, often to the point of being unrealistic. This character typically faces minimal challenges, possesses extraordinary skills, and is universally admired. The trope can detract from a story because it minimizes conflict, making the plot feel less engaging and characters less relatable.

Gary Stu/Marty Stu: The male counterpart to a Mary Sue, a Gary Stu/Marty Stu character is similarly perfect and often succeeds without struggle. This trope is criticized for making male characters overly powerful, overshadowing others in the story, and preventing meaningful character growth.

As a manifestation of Cultural Narcissism, this trope typically involves a character that represents the writer's idealized version of themselves.

Often, these characters serve as a conduit for the writer’s opinions, desires, or fantasies, skewing the story’s balance by centering on the author’s personal perspective. This can lead to a narrative that lacks depth and genuine conflict. These tropes are emblems of defensiveness and inauthenticity for Sophie and David.

Special Snowflake: In the language of screenwriting, a Special Snowflake is a character who is highlighted as exceptionally unique or different, often without much justification. This trope can be problematic when a character’s uniqueness is used to make them feel superior or outshine others without adding real complexity or conflict to the story.

Chosen One: In this trope, a character is selected by fate or prophecy to fulfill a significant role, such as saving the world. While this can be engaging when used well, it often risks making the story predictable if the character’s journey lacks challenges that feel earned. It can also echo the Mary Sue trope if the character is unrealistically capable or beloved.

Too Good to Be True: Characters in this trope exhibit almost no flaws, making them difficult to relate to. They might always make the right choices, possess endless virtues, and face little internal conflict. While such characters can serve as ideals or mentors, they risk feeling one-dimensional and diminishing the story’s dramatic tension.

Fade Out: Life Beyond the Script

Couples therapy with David and Sophie is like working through rewrites—cutting the clichés, finding the authentic dialogue beneath. They’ve taught me that relationships, like stories, aren’t perfect. But a Private Parlance is often good enough.

Sometimes the plot drags, sometimes the dialogue feels stilted. But it’s the process of editing, of being willing to adjust the script, that makes a story worth telling.

David still comes into sessions with that twinkle in his eye, like he’s found the next big plot twist.

Sophie still sizes up every word, gauging its logic and gravitas. But maybe they’ve started to see that they’re writing this story together, one imperfect, messy, and deeply real scene at a time.

And if therapy were a screenplay? I think we might finally be in the second act, with just enough unresolved tension to keep everyone coming back for more.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.