5th October, 2008
Question
I am a married woman in my early fifties with three teenage children. I do not love my husband but I get on with him. We have nothing in common.
During my marriage I have been attracted to two other men, but did not encourage them - out of fear of rejection. I work part-time but am bored with my job yet don't want to give it up. I can't afford to. I have no idea what I really want to do anyway.
I have had stress in my married life, worries over the children, whom I dearly love, because of illness, bullying and disagreement with my husband about parenting style. I am not close to my siblings and have no real friends.
I had a bad relationship with my mother during my childhood which may have caused the anxiety I felt during my teenage years and early adult life. It may also have affected my ability to get close to people. I have never really been happy, except when I was in love, and have drifted aimlessly through the years, never knowing what would make me feel any better. Is this normal life?
Answer
This seems to be our day for philosophical thoughts on human existence doesn't it? I mean, is there any such thing as a normal life?
When asked about the myriad problems I must confront daily in my therapist's chair, I invariably used to answer that there was really only one: How can I be loved? I think the real question, though, is much humbler than that. We'd all settle for knowing how to get by.
That's not defeatist. It implies you feel reasonably convinced that you're powerful enough to meet life's challenges, entails believing that the life you lead has meaning, and encompasses the notion of patient acceptance of the consequences of your choices. I think it's called peace. I know it's a far cry from the shrill and despairing howl of those who are addicted to self-indulgence, instant gratification, and victim status.
To get back to basics. You could write your list differently. You are a courageous woman who has faced life's vicissitudes. You have the tenacity to stick with something like a boring job because you can see it brings the benefit of financial security. You are a responsible human being who did what was right by her children, even in adverse circumstances. Despite serious frustration, you didn't have affaires. And no, I won't let you get away with saying that you resisted temptation simply out of fear. Doing the right thing isn't just fuelled by good intent, or saintly forbearance. Fear is central to conscience, whatever form such fear takes.
I'm not saying all this to cement the status quo and simply leave you stuck. On the contrary, I think it's high time you engineered some serious change in your life. The point is, you won't see your way to change if you define yourself as a dud. Which is why I'm at pains to point out, contrary to your current self-image, that you are a courageous, competent and enterprising woman. You are also, by the way, at the age when change is easier because the children are effectively launched.
Indifferent mothering certainly haunts us, and not just during our teens or early adult life. Listen to your lack of self-confidence and you're fifty-something. Psychologist Tony Humphreys is such a joy to read because he doesn't see the legacy of such mothering shortcomings as an absolute deficit. He argues that we handle the lack of proper parenting creatively. Put bluntly, your early anxiety was indeed more than likely the result of your bad relationship with your mother. That doesn't mean you were condemned to be less of a person. It means anxiety was an intelligent choice, given the circumstances. So, you can now choose differently, if you so wish.
No, I'm not downgrading your sadness, or doubting the fact that you suffered. I am saying that, unconsciously, we make wise choices, based on the circumstances of our existence. Your circumstances have changed. You are no longer a child, or a troubled teen, or a fearful twenty-something. You are a mature woman, with a rake of success stories under your belt, and you can consciously choose to ditch anxiety, social discomfort, and woolly unknowingness about what you really want, if you so choose. I wish you well.
