Question
I met a girl through my sister at the end of 2005. Six months later I met her again and really fell for her. She's a couple of years older than I am and at that time had just come out of a long-term relationship. I tried asking her out, but made a mess of it. I met her at the wrong time and was a bit full on. Later I tried to make amends by saying sorry for my brashness in a nice letter, but never got a reply.
I fell in love with this woman. Yet two years later I met her again, but we barely said hello to each other. It was at a party. In spite of all that, I still think about her every day. I know I need to move on but can't get her out of my head. I feel I blew my chance with her and regret that terribly. She's going out with someone else now, and may well announce her engagement this Christmas. I don't even know if she was ever interested in me. It could be all in my head. Yet I felt I clicked with her in a way that's never happened me before, or since.
To be honest, I'd love to get another chance with her. Everybody gets a second chance. I feel I sold myself seriously short first time around. The odds, of course, are against me. Yet I think she's the one for me and I think it's worth another go. But I don't even know if she likes me. I have this gut feeling that she's going to break up with the guy she's now with and that that will be my chance. I don't want to make a fool of myself. This is doing my head in for the past five years. I wish life was simple and straight-forward.
Answer
The problem is not about making a fool of yourself. If something is worth it, then of course we take the chance of looking foolish. The problem is whether you're prepared to face reality, if it's put to you plainly. You haven't done so this far. You see I think you're right. I think this is all in your head. Deep down you know that. You just don't want to accept it.
You are a lonely man. Instead of tackling that loneliness you are day-dreaming. I'm not knocking the notion of day-dreaming as such - it is a gentle way of putting ourselves onto a higher plain when the going is tough. In your case, however, you're over-doing it. Dreams by definition transcend reality. But they can only be a break. Reality remains. With you, that reality has become wobbly. So let me spell it out. You don't actually know this woman at all. She doesn't know you. She's getting on with her life. You didn't make a mess of things some years ago. Whatever passed between you was so uneventful that it effectively didn't happen. It's just that you've created a whole story around a tiny incident.
In the process, by the way, you're putting yourself down. You're saying you got it wrong. You didn't. What you're getting wrong is to fantasise about some passing ship in the night, rather than tackling your shyness and isolation by looking around and seeing the people who could alleviate your loneliness. They are there. Get to know them, men and women. Get busy tackling life. And keep the day-dreams for the odd occasion.
Showing posts with label Loneliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loneliness. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
I Allow Men To Use Me For Sex
9th November, 2008
Question
I generally allow men to use me for sex. And any man I get close to ALWAYS says that he doesn't want to be in a relationship, but only wants casual sex. I realise that there must be something I do to make them say this. And I've recently recognised that I have a rather poor opinion of myself. I've also become very negative towards men. Some days I really hate them.
My father was mildly abusive to my mother, most of which were 'platonic', although one was sexual. They divorced twelve years ago. My mother always told me a great deal about what went on with dad, and I think this has made me very untrusting and sensitive.
I would like to have a loving relationship, but am scared and just don't know how. How do you suddenly start loving yourself after 30 years of not doing so? I know I've been looking to men for validation, and that such validation needs to come from me. I just don't know where to begin.
Answer
No-one learns to love herself overnight. It's a slow and hard emotional slog. It's also infinitely rewarding. Most importantly, it's possible. What you really learned from your mother was low self-esteem. She allowed herself to be ill-treated. You've followed suit. Your task is to change that.
Shrugging off the self-fulfilling prophecy is the first step. Yours goes like this: You distrust men, you choose no-hopers, you go along with their sexual exploitation of you, which brings you back to more mistrust. To break that vicious circle you need to recognise that anger is what keeps it going.
It's not that you're learning to hate men. You already do. You hated what your father did to your mother. Harder to face is the fact that you also hated your mother for letting it happen. All that anger could have moulded you into a woman who wouldn't let it happen to her. Instead, you continued the emotional abuse you witnessed in your parents' marriage by actively seeking out men who would be nasty to you too. That's not a criticism. Don't knock yourself for it. Your unconscious mind had good reason to make that choice.
You can now choose differently. Stop having sex. Get professional help with your low self-esteem. Decide you're worth it. And work on harnessing that anger as a force for good, rather than the instrument of your downfall.
Question
I generally allow men to use me for sex. And any man I get close to ALWAYS says that he doesn't want to be in a relationship, but only wants casual sex. I realise that there must be something I do to make them say this. And I've recently recognised that I have a rather poor opinion of myself. I've also become very negative towards men. Some days I really hate them.
My father was mildly abusive to my mother, most of which were 'platonic', although one was sexual. They divorced twelve years ago. My mother always told me a great deal about what went on with dad, and I think this has made me very untrusting and sensitive.
I would like to have a loving relationship, but am scared and just don't know how. How do you suddenly start loving yourself after 30 years of not doing so? I know I've been looking to men for validation, and that such validation needs to come from me. I just don't know where to begin.
Answer
No-one learns to love herself overnight. It's a slow and hard emotional slog. It's also infinitely rewarding. Most importantly, it's possible. What you really learned from your mother was low self-esteem. She allowed herself to be ill-treated. You've followed suit. Your task is to change that.
Shrugging off the self-fulfilling prophecy is the first step. Yours goes like this: You distrust men, you choose no-hopers, you go along with their sexual exploitation of you, which brings you back to more mistrust. To break that vicious circle you need to recognise that anger is what keeps it going.
It's not that you're learning to hate men. You already do. You hated what your father did to your mother. Harder to face is the fact that you also hated your mother for letting it happen. All that anger could have moulded you into a woman who wouldn't let it happen to her. Instead, you continued the emotional abuse you witnessed in your parents' marriage by actively seeking out men who would be nasty to you too. That's not a criticism. Don't knock yourself for it. Your unconscious mind had good reason to make that choice.
You can now choose differently. Stop having sex. Get professional help with your low self-esteem. Decide you're worth it. And work on harnessing that anger as a force for good, rather than the instrument of your downfall.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Am I On My Own?
26th October, 2008
Question
I'm a male in my late thirties and have recently become single again after a long-term relationship. I have a nice house, nice car and plenty of money. I am not bad looking and have been out with some quite attractive girls. Yet I am so unhappy it makes me cry.
I have had several long-term relationships and each time I ended it because I lost interest, no longer found the girl attractive, could not see a future for us. It's not from lack of trying, as I have genuinely made a huge effort to get it to work.
When I was younger I never really bothered with relationships and spent my twenties out and about enjoying myself. It was not until I was thirty that I had my first real girl-friend. She was a really nice girl, with no baggage, as were the ones who followed, but I could not find it within myself to commit. I have been in counselling to examine the reasons why. I also recognise that there are plenty of reasons for staying with someone. But fear of being alone is not a valid reason. You have to be fair to both your partner and yourself and if the relationship is not right, then it's not right.
I am now facing my forties alone, with no-one to care for or love. I am jealous of all my married friends who have what appear to be perfect lives, although I know that every couple has their ups and downs. I am so scared of growing old with no-one to care for. I am sick of the rat race in town - the pubs, the clubs, the whole scene. I know I should be grateful for my health and financial security and satisfying career. But I am so sad and alone and feel I've wasted years when I could have been happy. Am I on my own?
Answer
I've always been a bit bothered by this charge of commitment phobia, the tale of the man who chronically fails to 'commit'. It sounds perilously close to a put-down. It certainly implies lack of character. In most cases, it most decidedly misses the point. You're not shallow, or selfish. You're suffering.
Failure to stick the course in a committed relationship is not a lack of discipline. And it's certainly not a lack of trying. It's about emotional shut-down. You can't build and sustain togetherness because you're buttoned up, or rather battened down, in terms of your deep feelings. What's missing is not character. It's passion. And in my experience, passion is suppressed by anger.
Let's clear something else up while we're at it. There is nothing wrong with being needy. On the contrary, needing others is not only normal, it's an integral and necessary part of all human bonding. Man is not an island, he's a somewhat messy mass of needs. Fear is fine too, up to a point anyway. It flags up our innermost feelings. It stops us losing sight of who we really are. You're afraid of growing old with no-one to care for. That's normal. Don't know knock it. It's wonderful to want to love someone.
The anger I'm talking about is born of frustrated need. In fact it is born of despair. I don't know what happened you in any specific sense. But somewhere along the line, as the psychologist Tony Humphries in his self-help books would put it, you creatively chose to shut down sustained emotional enthusiasm in order to save yourself from some huge hurt. You learned not to get in too deep. Maybe this is only with women. Maybe it's more general. It definitely came from a profound sense of powerlessness. And you can definitely decide to choose differently now. Isn't that worth exploring?
Question
I'm a male in my late thirties and have recently become single again after a long-term relationship. I have a nice house, nice car and plenty of money. I am not bad looking and have been out with some quite attractive girls. Yet I am so unhappy it makes me cry.
I have had several long-term relationships and each time I ended it because I lost interest, no longer found the girl attractive, could not see a future for us. It's not from lack of trying, as I have genuinely made a huge effort to get it to work.
When I was younger I never really bothered with relationships and spent my twenties out and about enjoying myself. It was not until I was thirty that I had my first real girl-friend. She was a really nice girl, with no baggage, as were the ones who followed, but I could not find it within myself to commit. I have been in counselling to examine the reasons why. I also recognise that there are plenty of reasons for staying with someone. But fear of being alone is not a valid reason. You have to be fair to both your partner and yourself and if the relationship is not right, then it's not right.
I am now facing my forties alone, with no-one to care for or love. I am jealous of all my married friends who have what appear to be perfect lives, although I know that every couple has their ups and downs. I am so scared of growing old with no-one to care for. I am sick of the rat race in town - the pubs, the clubs, the whole scene. I know I should be grateful for my health and financial security and satisfying career. But I am so sad and alone and feel I've wasted years when I could have been happy. Am I on my own?
Answer
I've always been a bit bothered by this charge of commitment phobia, the tale of the man who chronically fails to 'commit'. It sounds perilously close to a put-down. It certainly implies lack of character. In most cases, it most decidedly misses the point. You're not shallow, or selfish. You're suffering.
Failure to stick the course in a committed relationship is not a lack of discipline. And it's certainly not a lack of trying. It's about emotional shut-down. You can't build and sustain togetherness because you're buttoned up, or rather battened down, in terms of your deep feelings. What's missing is not character. It's passion. And in my experience, passion is suppressed by anger.
Let's clear something else up while we're at it. There is nothing wrong with being needy. On the contrary, needing others is not only normal, it's an integral and necessary part of all human bonding. Man is not an island, he's a somewhat messy mass of needs. Fear is fine too, up to a point anyway. It flags up our innermost feelings. It stops us losing sight of who we really are. You're afraid of growing old with no-one to care for. That's normal. Don't know knock it. It's wonderful to want to love someone.
The anger I'm talking about is born of frustrated need. In fact it is born of despair. I don't know what happened you in any specific sense. But somewhere along the line, as the psychologist Tony Humphries in his self-help books would put it, you creatively chose to shut down sustained emotional enthusiasm in order to save yourself from some huge hurt. You learned not to get in too deep. Maybe this is only with women. Maybe it's more general. It definitely came from a profound sense of powerlessness. And you can definitely decide to choose differently now. Isn't that worth exploring?
Am I Living A Normal Life?
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.
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.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
I'm Gay And Lonely
13th January 2008
Question
It's the day after Christmas, the time of the year when there's real pressure on family to come together. As a gay man I don't know what I'm celebrating anymore and I'd rather not be here, with my parents, brothers and sisters. I find the whole thing stifling and I just don't fit in. The trouble is that I'd be on my own if I tried to do something different. I consider myself to be independent, but come Christmas all that seems to change.
It's a time when other people take stock of their lives, and talk about the future. But I have no significant other in my life, so I'm very alone, and this shows at this time of year. My family are thoughtful and invite me around, but I have no real affinity with them. They seem to speak another language, one that revolves around their neighbours and their values. I feel like one of those poor old single uncles, an identity which is forced on me because I am gay.
It all seems so soulless, and because I'm now 40 years old I feel all washed up in terms of ever having anyone in my life. The cycles of loneliness I feel around Christmas are just getting worse as the years go by. I do see a counsellor. But at the end of the day, if you are alone on Christmas Day, even in a house full of people, what progress is that, when what you're really doing is crying out for a partner who truly knows you.
Answer
Yes, Christmas can be a time of reckoning. We are away from work, but are not away on holidays. We're with family, who love us but are not soul-mates. Since often all we have in common are family ties, we talk superficially, attempting to communicate across everyday banalities like bin collections. In the absence of articulating our innermost thoughts, we're lonely. And end up making false comparisons between our lives and those of the others. That's Christmas en famille - well very often anyway. The glue which holds families together is powerful, but not necessarily a question of emotionally intimacy - at least not until the chips are seriously down.
You do understand, don't you, that what you felt this Christmas had really nothing to do with you being gay. Your letter would have made just as much emotional sense if you'd been married with three children but unhappy about your job prospects, or your lack of an adequate sex life with your wife, or your eldest son who was beginning to be wayward. The point is, you had time on your hands, and your essential loneliness surfaced, compounded, of course, by the fact you had nobody you felt you could truly talk to.
We keep ourselves busy not just because we need to earn a living, look after our health, or conquer the daily chores of self-sufficiency. We do so to fill the gap in our sense of ourselves. We're busy in order to keep loneliness at bay.
Personally I've always hated that neatly packaged distinction between loneliness and being alone so beloved of psychologists, philosophers and poets. Yes I know that in an ideal world we'd all be mature enough to comfortably withstand the absence of others. We should also be able to confidently move through a crowd, be it family gathering, a friend's house party, or charity event - doing nothing more than some social nattering and with nobody special to smile at across the room. It's just hard to be that complete. People don't go seeking partners just for fun. Like you said, we need to be seen. And a significant other is most likely to do just that.
What I do believe strongly, however, is that we can engineer being seen, or truly known. And it starts within. You've to learn to be comfortable in your own skin. Or as one analyst once put it to me, you've to learn to truly occupy your couple of square meters of space. You need to be there, not solidly obstructive, but strongly present. In order to deal with emotional damage, we devise strategies of survival, which are immensely creative and should not be knocked. Unfortunately, such strategies are invariably about hiding our true selves in some shape or form. That's what fear does to a person.
Thus we live shadow lives, to a greater or lesser extent. And when in hiding, we cannot be known, or properly seen, by anyone. That's what makes us so lonely. The task therefore, is to shake off that shadow self, or to soften it at least. The funny man may then become serious, the straight-laced more daring, the shy more outgoing, the entertaining one more left of centre stage. It's not about going out to grab the limelight, but rather about having the courage to show yourself, in the process daring to make mistakes.
Yes, it's hard. Because first and foremost we have to look at ourselves with true compassion, heal the emotional hurt with that compassion, and slowly trust ourselves to emerge. And if all that sounds far too heavy for a cold January morning, you could start by saying what you think or feel - even just once a day. Just fail to pretend in one simple communication. If someone asks you how you are, for example, don't do your usual 'I'm fine'. Say you feel lousy, if that's the truth. You don't then have to elaborate, if they probe, just shrug. No, I'm not being flippant, just trying to lighten things as a way of letting you know it's possible to break the isolating silence. Take care.
Question
It's the day after Christmas, the time of the year when there's real pressure on family to come together. As a gay man I don't know what I'm celebrating anymore and I'd rather not be here, with my parents, brothers and sisters. I find the whole thing stifling and I just don't fit in. The trouble is that I'd be on my own if I tried to do something different. I consider myself to be independent, but come Christmas all that seems to change.
It's a time when other people take stock of their lives, and talk about the future. But I have no significant other in my life, so I'm very alone, and this shows at this time of year. My family are thoughtful and invite me around, but I have no real affinity with them. They seem to speak another language, one that revolves around their neighbours and their values. I feel like one of those poor old single uncles, an identity which is forced on me because I am gay.
It all seems so soulless, and because I'm now 40 years old I feel all washed up in terms of ever having anyone in my life. The cycles of loneliness I feel around Christmas are just getting worse as the years go by. I do see a counsellor. But at the end of the day, if you are alone on Christmas Day, even in a house full of people, what progress is that, when what you're really doing is crying out for a partner who truly knows you.
Answer
Yes, Christmas can be a time of reckoning. We are away from work, but are not away on holidays. We're with family, who love us but are not soul-mates. Since often all we have in common are family ties, we talk superficially, attempting to communicate across everyday banalities like bin collections. In the absence of articulating our innermost thoughts, we're lonely. And end up making false comparisons between our lives and those of the others. That's Christmas en famille - well very often anyway. The glue which holds families together is powerful, but not necessarily a question of emotionally intimacy - at least not until the chips are seriously down.
You do understand, don't you, that what you felt this Christmas had really nothing to do with you being gay. Your letter would have made just as much emotional sense if you'd been married with three children but unhappy about your job prospects, or your lack of an adequate sex life with your wife, or your eldest son who was beginning to be wayward. The point is, you had time on your hands, and your essential loneliness surfaced, compounded, of course, by the fact you had nobody you felt you could truly talk to.
We keep ourselves busy not just because we need to earn a living, look after our health, or conquer the daily chores of self-sufficiency. We do so to fill the gap in our sense of ourselves. We're busy in order to keep loneliness at bay.
Personally I've always hated that neatly packaged distinction between loneliness and being alone so beloved of psychologists, philosophers and poets. Yes I know that in an ideal world we'd all be mature enough to comfortably withstand the absence of others. We should also be able to confidently move through a crowd, be it family gathering, a friend's house party, or charity event - doing nothing more than some social nattering and with nobody special to smile at across the room. It's just hard to be that complete. People don't go seeking partners just for fun. Like you said, we need to be seen. And a significant other is most likely to do just that.
What I do believe strongly, however, is that we can engineer being seen, or truly known. And it starts within. You've to learn to be comfortable in your own skin. Or as one analyst once put it to me, you've to learn to truly occupy your couple of square meters of space. You need to be there, not solidly obstructive, but strongly present. In order to deal with emotional damage, we devise strategies of survival, which are immensely creative and should not be knocked. Unfortunately, such strategies are invariably about hiding our true selves in some shape or form. That's what fear does to a person.
Thus we live shadow lives, to a greater or lesser extent. And when in hiding, we cannot be known, or properly seen, by anyone. That's what makes us so lonely. The task therefore, is to shake off that shadow self, or to soften it at least. The funny man may then become serious, the straight-laced more daring, the shy more outgoing, the entertaining one more left of centre stage. It's not about going out to grab the limelight, but rather about having the courage to show yourself, in the process daring to make mistakes.
Yes, it's hard. Because first and foremost we have to look at ourselves with true compassion, heal the emotional hurt with that compassion, and slowly trust ourselves to emerge. And if all that sounds far too heavy for a cold January morning, you could start by saying what you think or feel - even just once a day. Just fail to pretend in one simple communication. If someone asks you how you are, for example, don't do your usual 'I'm fine'. Say you feel lousy, if that's the truth. You don't then have to elaborate, if they probe, just shrug. No, I'm not being flippant, just trying to lighten things as a way of letting you know it's possible to break the isolating silence. Take care.
Career Tunnel Vision Has Ruined My Life
3rd May 2009
Question
I'm a 30 year old man and can't cope. I have spent 10 years in college, including a difficult post-graduate course, studying to get where I am. But I have suddenly realised that I am terribly lonely and unhappy. I have focussed on the destination, to the exclusion of all else. The unhappiness stems from doing a highly stressful job that I feel I'm not able for, and not interested in. However, I am powerless to leave, or change jobs, as I am saddled with a lot of debt from college.
All of these factors are leaving me extremely anxious, and overwhelmed. I have been talking to a counsellor, and my GP has prescribed anti-anxiety medication. However, I still feel that this is all too much to take. I am terrified that my poor concentration, lack of confidence and lack of proper participation in work will all ultimately cause me to lose my job. I want to focus on solutions, but am running out of ideas. I badly need help.
Answer
What you're describing is a classic case of stress, which is really indistinguishable from sustained panic. That basically means that you're emotionally off-balance. If it was your body, rather than your psyche, you'd be stumbling, falling, misjudging distances, experiencing vertigo, desperately grabbing for things to hold onto, and regularly missing the mark.
No job is the right job when we're highly stressed. No task is the right task. No social interaction feels appropriate, with friend, lover or foe. In that state, we're literally fit for nothing. All our judgments are deeply suspect. The good news, however, is that you can still feel your loneliness, and recognise where you may have gone wrong. Seriously stressed people often lose touch with all feelings, racing only to keep up until they collapse, physically or psychologically.
You've hit the nail on the head. You focussed on the destination and forgot to enjoy the journey. You've starved yourself of ordinary everyday experiences, joys, pleasures, contentment. Now you're running on empty and need to tank up. The challenge is how. At the moment two things are happening: You're absolutely exhausted. And you're still obsessing about the job. Obviously these two are feeding into each other.
We can sometimes be too much in the head. In that situation, counselling can help keep us afloat, but can also add to the drain on rapidly decreasing energy. In such cases it makes sense to turn to some physical support or therapy. I'm talking here acupuncture, or proper massage, or an appropriate fitness training programme, whatever suits your personality. This is on the basis that stress is a mind/body matter, a balanced body thus helping to ease a troubled mind. After that, practice pleasure - nice meals, chats with others, going for a swim, watching a football match, whatever. It takes practice, so be patient with yourself.
At the end of the day, all of us have to believe that we are bigger than any set of circumstances we find ourselves in. You've got the job. Ease your foot off the gas-pedal, and focus instead on becoming a whole human being again.
Question
I'm a 30 year old man and can't cope. I have spent 10 years in college, including a difficult post-graduate course, studying to get where I am. But I have suddenly realised that I am terribly lonely and unhappy. I have focussed on the destination, to the exclusion of all else. The unhappiness stems from doing a highly stressful job that I feel I'm not able for, and not interested in. However, I am powerless to leave, or change jobs, as I am saddled with a lot of debt from college.
All of these factors are leaving me extremely anxious, and overwhelmed. I have been talking to a counsellor, and my GP has prescribed anti-anxiety medication. However, I still feel that this is all too much to take. I am terrified that my poor concentration, lack of confidence and lack of proper participation in work will all ultimately cause me to lose my job. I want to focus on solutions, but am running out of ideas. I badly need help.
Answer
What you're describing is a classic case of stress, which is really indistinguishable from sustained panic. That basically means that you're emotionally off-balance. If it was your body, rather than your psyche, you'd be stumbling, falling, misjudging distances, experiencing vertigo, desperately grabbing for things to hold onto, and regularly missing the mark.
No job is the right job when we're highly stressed. No task is the right task. No social interaction feels appropriate, with friend, lover or foe. In that state, we're literally fit for nothing. All our judgments are deeply suspect. The good news, however, is that you can still feel your loneliness, and recognise where you may have gone wrong. Seriously stressed people often lose touch with all feelings, racing only to keep up until they collapse, physically or psychologically.
You've hit the nail on the head. You focussed on the destination and forgot to enjoy the journey. You've starved yourself of ordinary everyday experiences, joys, pleasures, contentment. Now you're running on empty and need to tank up. The challenge is how. At the moment two things are happening: You're absolutely exhausted. And you're still obsessing about the job. Obviously these two are feeding into each other.
We can sometimes be too much in the head. In that situation, counselling can help keep us afloat, but can also add to the drain on rapidly decreasing energy. In such cases it makes sense to turn to some physical support or therapy. I'm talking here acupuncture, or proper massage, or an appropriate fitness training programme, whatever suits your personality. This is on the basis that stress is a mind/body matter, a balanced body thus helping to ease a troubled mind. After that, practice pleasure - nice meals, chats with others, going for a swim, watching a football match, whatever. It takes practice, so be patient with yourself.
At the end of the day, all of us have to believe that we are bigger than any set of circumstances we find ourselves in. You've got the job. Ease your foot off the gas-pedal, and focus instead on becoming a whole human being again.
Friday, January 22, 2010
I Am Left Home Alone With Baby
Question
I'm a 33 year old married woman and feel lonely and fed up. I gave birth to the most fantastic baby 11 months ago and wouldn't change her for the world. But I feel so lonely since she was born. Myself and my husband both work long hours but made sure before the baby arrived to spend lots of time together. Now we have to work opposite hours to ensure our baby is looked after by one or other of us, and this leaves little or no time for ourselves. We do have a crèche for some of the time, but because of our long working day and long commute, this offers little in terms of time off together.
I live at least a four hour drive away from my parents and see them, at most, once a month. I find this difficult as I think every girl needs her mother. I have few friends close by as we moved to this area only recently. I would like to reduce my working hours, but because of a big mortgage I feel this is difficult to do.
For ten years I lived in Dublin when the celtic tiger was roaring. I thrived during this time, wild parties, late nights, eating out with pals, more money to spend foolishly than I knew what to do with. Now I feel I'm stuck in the other end of the celtic tiger, high mortgage, long working hours, long commute, expensive crèche fees, regretting not having more time to spend with my family, and lonely at home, living in an estate where nobody wants to know their neighbour.
My husband doesn't seem to take any notice of my feelings and says that this is now the way things are. He is obsessed with money and his priority is to have us both working and bringing in the money - even though we don't get a chance to spend it. I no longer even enjoy sex and feel constantly bored. I know I should be grateful for all I have, including our health, but I feel I surrendered a lot of my independence to my husband and am now stuck in a rut.
Answer
As long as you understand that surrendering your independence was a voluntary decision. The point is, you could decide differently. Anyway, I don't think formulating your problem in this manner helps, so let's tell your story differently.
You got married, bought a house and had a baby. They were joint decisions, and happy ones. Yes, I am sure the decision as to where to buy your house was dictated also by circumstance - or what you call the celtic tiger. A long commute means a cheaper house. But they were joint decisions, made in good faith, by both of you.
You also both decided that you should go back to work. And jointly agreed that you'd share the baby-minding, and not just for hard economic reasons. As you've said, you're earning the money but have no time to spend it. You wanted your child minded largely by his parents. That, too, was a joint and well-intentioned decision, and much to be admired.
All decisions, however, have a down-side. There is always a price to pay. Your dilemma is that you're feeling the pinch much more than your husband. Put another way, you're not as happy with all your decisions as he is. That situation has to be seriously addressed. It is neither fair nor wise, however, to talk in terms of your husband bullying you into anything. And yes, that is effectively what you're saying. You talk of surrendering your independence, say that he's obsessed with money, and that he fails to take any notice of your feelings.
What's happening is that you're failing to assert yourself. That, in turn, has you angry and down and sexually switched off. You don't want the life you're currently living, but instead of making that clear and changing things, you've dampened down all your energy and enthusiasm and capacity for joy. You're acting like a victim. But you are not a victim at all - or at least you don't have to be.
You can do the sums. How many days work can you cut out and still survive financially? Time rich, you could do more baby- minding, have space for your relationship with your husband, visit your mother more often, and put energy into your community to make friends and feel at home.
It really is as simple as that you know. It's a question of setting life-enhancing priorities. In fact you could consider yourself lucky that you're feeling so unhappy at the moment. It's a wake-up call. Many couples don't get one, and lose each other. Which is the way you have to put it to your husband.
Men tend to focus on financial security. This comes from a sense of responsibility, so we should be careful about charging your husband with being obsessed with money. Maybe he is, but isn't that just an over-emphasis on one issue, or maybe even real fear for his family? And wouldn't it be great if you saw your task as one of balancing your husband's behaviour with the wisdom you have, namely that your relationship and quality of life are just as important?
Don't turn your husband into the enemy. He's not. You just need to have the courage of your convictions and change your priorities. Do it for yourself, for your husband, for your baby, for your marriage. You see you are the wise one. You are tuned in. There is no need to be angry and resentful. Just run with the wisdom. And bring your husband, who is your friend, on-side, by being strong and clear and compassionate about his understandable anxiety.
I'm a 33 year old married woman and feel lonely and fed up. I gave birth to the most fantastic baby 11 months ago and wouldn't change her for the world. But I feel so lonely since she was born. Myself and my husband both work long hours but made sure before the baby arrived to spend lots of time together. Now we have to work opposite hours to ensure our baby is looked after by one or other of us, and this leaves little or no time for ourselves. We do have a crèche for some of the time, but because of our long working day and long commute, this offers little in terms of time off together.
I live at least a four hour drive away from my parents and see them, at most, once a month. I find this difficult as I think every girl needs her mother. I have few friends close by as we moved to this area only recently. I would like to reduce my working hours, but because of a big mortgage I feel this is difficult to do.
For ten years I lived in Dublin when the celtic tiger was roaring. I thrived during this time, wild parties, late nights, eating out with pals, more money to spend foolishly than I knew what to do with. Now I feel I'm stuck in the other end of the celtic tiger, high mortgage, long working hours, long commute, expensive crèche fees, regretting not having more time to spend with my family, and lonely at home, living in an estate where nobody wants to know their neighbour.
My husband doesn't seem to take any notice of my feelings and says that this is now the way things are. He is obsessed with money and his priority is to have us both working and bringing in the money - even though we don't get a chance to spend it. I no longer even enjoy sex and feel constantly bored. I know I should be grateful for all I have, including our health, but I feel I surrendered a lot of my independence to my husband and am now stuck in a rut.
Answer
As long as you understand that surrendering your independence was a voluntary decision. The point is, you could decide differently. Anyway, I don't think formulating your problem in this manner helps, so let's tell your story differently.
You got married, bought a house and had a baby. They were joint decisions, and happy ones. Yes, I am sure the decision as to where to buy your house was dictated also by circumstance - or what you call the celtic tiger. A long commute means a cheaper house. But they were joint decisions, made in good faith, by both of you.
You also both decided that you should go back to work. And jointly agreed that you'd share the baby-minding, and not just for hard economic reasons. As you've said, you're earning the money but have no time to spend it. You wanted your child minded largely by his parents. That, too, was a joint and well-intentioned decision, and much to be admired.
All decisions, however, have a down-side. There is always a price to pay. Your dilemma is that you're feeling the pinch much more than your husband. Put another way, you're not as happy with all your decisions as he is. That situation has to be seriously addressed. It is neither fair nor wise, however, to talk in terms of your husband bullying you into anything. And yes, that is effectively what you're saying. You talk of surrendering your independence, say that he's obsessed with money, and that he fails to take any notice of your feelings.
What's happening is that you're failing to assert yourself. That, in turn, has you angry and down and sexually switched off. You don't want the life you're currently living, but instead of making that clear and changing things, you've dampened down all your energy and enthusiasm and capacity for joy. You're acting like a victim. But you are not a victim at all - or at least you don't have to be.
You can do the sums. How many days work can you cut out and still survive financially? Time rich, you could do more baby- minding, have space for your relationship with your husband, visit your mother more often, and put energy into your community to make friends and feel at home.
It really is as simple as that you know. It's a question of setting life-enhancing priorities. In fact you could consider yourself lucky that you're feeling so unhappy at the moment. It's a wake-up call. Many couples don't get one, and lose each other. Which is the way you have to put it to your husband.
Men tend to focus on financial security. This comes from a sense of responsibility, so we should be careful about charging your husband with being obsessed with money. Maybe he is, but isn't that just an over-emphasis on one issue, or maybe even real fear for his family? And wouldn't it be great if you saw your task as one of balancing your husband's behaviour with the wisdom you have, namely that your relationship and quality of life are just as important?
Don't turn your husband into the enemy. He's not. You just need to have the courage of your convictions and change your priorities. Do it for yourself, for your husband, for your baby, for your marriage. You see you are the wise one. You are tuned in. There is no need to be angry and resentful. Just run with the wisdom. And bring your husband, who is your friend, on-side, by being strong and clear and compassionate about his understandable anxiety.
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