My husband became quiet ever since he started his new “hobby.” Every time I asked him about it, he’d only say it was “liberating.” I started noticing red stains on his underwear whenever he returned from the workshop. One day, I followed him.

I entered and froze when I saw him being by surrounded 12 others standing in a circle around him. At the count of three, he started running while they hurled tiny bags of paint at him. He sprinted as fast as he could, trying to avoid being hit. Chills ran all over my body—I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.

Then, another “player” took his turn, running as the group chased after him, throwing paint. It was chaotic and surreal. When the session ended, I confronted my husband. He explained that it was a new group therapy his therapist had recommended—a mix of physical activity and stress relief.
He admitted it was working for him. He felt lighter and freer after every session, but he was being too embarrassed to tell me, afraid I’d think he was crazy. I smiled and reassured him that I loved him no matter what, even if I did find it a bit bizarre. But, honestly, as strange as it seemed, if it helped him, that was all that mattered.