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Key points
- Sometimes a right choice in one direction leads to problems in other ways.
- The best you can do is to make good choices under the circumstances.
- Whatever your choices, it’s important to make the most of them.
- Taking some time for yourself and finding a better balance helps in the long run.
Abby is 46, with two teenagers at home and a mother in a wheelchair who is 80. Her husband, who left her six years ago, now lives on the West Coast and visits only when he travels on business.
When Abby walked into my office, she looked tired and disheveled. “I’m not doing drugs yet,” she sighed, “but sometimes I just want oblivion. The pressure wears me down and I feel old.” She wanted help on how to cope with her anger at living for others while aging more quickly than her peers.
It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. When Abby married in her late 20s, her husband was a systems analyst with a solid future. She was also a techie and found a programming job that she could do from home. It was a nice life. She could work but still do the laundry. When the children arrived a few years later, Abby was still able to work because they hired a nanny. Abby’s mother lived nearby and came over to help. Abby was busy but content—until her husband, Max, left around her fortieth birthday.
Things had been rocky between Abby and Max since Max thought that they should move to California where he could double his salary overnight. He had big plans. But Abby didn’t want to move. . . until, after one heated argument, Max packed up his car and drove until he arrived in Alameda County, CA. He called Abby from Berkeley, and said “Come if you want to.”
Abby told me that he sounded so uncompromising that she didn’t see how they could have a reasonable discussion. Over the ensuing weeks, as Max found his so-called dream job, he became harder to reach—rarely at home, emotionally distant. Still, Abby considered joining him, although she couldn’t pull the kids out of school mid-semester and her mother would need special transportation. But after about six months, the idea petered out, in part because Abby thought Max didn’t want them anymore. “He was working eighty hours a week, and it seemed like he didn’t have any room in his life.”
They’re still married (if you can call it that), but now they barely speak at all. She speculates that he’s too busy to ask for a divorce; she knows that she is. Max does send money. “But it’s not the same,” Abby said. “It’s all on me.”
I asked Abby what would make her feel happy or, at least to start, less unhappy. She said, “More time.” She hated rushing around to the kids’ games and dentist appointments and music lessons and then coming home and having to take everyone out to dinner because she’d had no time to shop and there was no food in the refrigerator. “My days are twenty hours long,” she said, “and I always feel I’ve neglected something. I’d just like a little peace, maybe half an hour to take a bath.”
Abby said she tried not to take it out on the kids but, with no one to talk to all day, it was hard. Abby dreaded next year, when one child would begin staying after school for coaching on the college entrance exams. “He won’t finish until after the bus run, and I’ll have to pick him up—one more trip,” she said.
Sometimes, we feel as though we’re getting old because we’re tired. We feel perpetually run down. There’s very little compensating joy in our lives. Abby loved her children and her mother but felt that taking care of them left no time for anything. She barely spoke with her friends. She felt isolated, more like a machine—expected to perform in very high gear—than a human being with personal needs that might justifiably be met.
We talked about how she might find more time, if not to do anything then at least to sit down. I suggested that she ask Max for more money, maybe to pay a housekeeper. “Oh, he’s under no obligation to give me anything unless I divorce him. Should I?” she asked. I suggested first asking for the money and, if he didn’t provide it, then consider other options. “He’s practically abandoned you. It’s his responsibility to provide reasonable support.”
What I wanted her to understand is that when someone or something is making us feel old, we can reclaim control of our lives. It’s our prerogative. “Look,” I said, “you’re never going to be happy if you don’t get a life. It’s time to start making your own decisions.”
Abby was angry at the hand life had dealt her but was taking it out on herself rather than risk her kids or her mother. She was self-pitying and tired of living the way she was. I thought she needed to step outside her routine, if just briefly, and figure out how to lighten it up. If that meant doing battle with Max, then that’s what lawyers were for.
I asked whether she’d consider divorcing Max. She said she had fantasies, sometimes, that once the kids were in college (Max said he’d help pay), they might get together again. She missed having a man around, not just to help with the kids but because she missed a man. “When is the last time you talked to him about getting together again?” I asked. “And can you ever forgive him for decamping on you?” But, of course, the heart is incommensurable. Abby acknowledged that maybe she was crazy but that deep down, while she was angry at life, she still loved Max. She was willing to sue him, but she loved him. If she still wanted Max, then maybe she should make inquiries.
Abby said that if she asked Max for more money, she might also ask about the state of their marriage.
Part of pursuing happiness is timing. When Abby came to see me, she finally acknowledged that she had hit a wall. She wanted to bounce back. In talking about reigniting her relationship with Max (however far-fetched that was), she sensed that things couldn’t go on as they were; maybe she would even have to compromise. The implication was that if things didn’t work out between them, then maybe, finally, she’d request a divorce. She was pushing towards some inflection point, and that seemed like progress.
