I like to plan. I like to see my life ahead of me and have a pretty good idea of the direction in which I’m headed. Given the new year, I’ve been doing a lot of planning. Not just for myself and my family but also for my clients. And, I think I may have overdone it. In the middle of the night the other night, I woke up to my own existential crisis. My kids are just 3, 5 and 7 and there I was in the wee theta hours, catapulted to the year 2038, waving my baby goodbye as she re-locates to New York or some such place. And I found myself looking at my husband, feeling sorrow for the destruction, the trauma, the abuse, that our once so pure relationship had been victim to. There it lay shrivelled before us, exhausted, having barely survived the raising of three spirited, energetic, independent humans. Having endured so much, I really wondered whether it had anything left. Would it be best to just put it down like an injured dog? Both so drained, so damaged by the deluge, would we have the energy to nurse it back to health, to vitality even? (I must mention here, especially for his sake, that we have a great relationship, not without it challenges but we manage them well. I think in my semi-dreamlike state I just imagined how it might be for so many couples without the resources I’m so privileged to have).
When their children leave home, many parents find the transition quite challenging. They’re negotiating a loss of purpose, feelings of rejection, anxiety about the welfare of their children, possibly some grief and loneliness, and they may also struggle with identity issues – “Who am I, now that the kids aren’t here?” And as for their relationship, couples may struggle to connect with each other in their new reality. Who are we in relation to one another now? And with so much more time and energy for each other, grudges are more easily held on to, emotional hurts aren’t as well supressed, nor disagreements ignored.
So, in the hours before dawn I decided to look at the alternative. A new, fresh relationship perhaps, unmarked by the mess of parenthood. A relationship that could be given all the time, the care, the attention that the other one wasn’t. A relationship without the hardship of young children, money troubles and constant upheaval. A relationship whose passion sat, exposed, tangible, fresh and alive.
Or perhaps the alternate, a life of solitude and independence. The freedom to be one’s own. To not have to accommodate the needs of others, no negotiation, no compromise. A free spirit, finally able to follow my own path, completely.
When people are having a hard time, they tend to look at the cause of that pain and blame it, seeing it only for its attributes that caused the damaged. And then they look at the future through rose coloured glasses, seeing only the hope, only the good bits, and fail to explore the possible drawbacks.
As I explored my options further, what I found was unexpected. In a re-coupling, soon enough, there will be disagreements, poor communication, let downs, moments of disconnection. It’s inevitable in humans who have lived a lifetime of accumulated experiences. No amount of time or money can prevent that. And a life of solitude, despite the ability to do with one’s time what one pleases, can bring such gut-wrenching loneliness, unexpectantly at 9pm on a Thursday night when you had planned to immerse yourself in watercolour practise.
So, I began looking instead at reasons to heal what has been broken. When I look past the exhaustion, the defenses I’ve installed simply in order to cope, past all the petty, inconsequential arguments that we’re still holding onto, and through the distance I’ve kept between us, I find something that can only be found in enduring relationships. It has a certain language about it, and whether efficient or not, it’s understood. There’s a natural rhythm in the way things are done, a comfort and familiarity, known by no one else. It’s unique. It’s precious. There are all those arguments that have been resolved at some point in time that don’t have to be untangled again. The boundaries are known. As, ultimately, we are known, by each other better than anyone else in the world. At the end of the day we have each other’s back. And the love is deep and true. I have already put so much of myself into this. What would happen to that part of me if this relationship were no longer there?
The squeaky wheel gets the oil. We as humans tend to focus on what’s wrong. But if couples choose to focus on what’s right, they can take advantage of the good created by their long-term relationships and then address the mess, together. Couples are given the opportunity to be alchemists, using their challenges to create something so much greater, if they choose to.
Maybe the fact that we’re still here now, that we still haven’t given up, that we have, like stubborn mules, plodded on, is evidence enough that there’s gold here, hidden perhaps by rubble, but there nonetheless, ready to be revealed, polished. And perhaps this is worth more than a hundred so called ‘pure’ relationships. And as the sun rises, I resolve to clear the rubble as it’s laid down, no matter how messy the process, because rather than digging our way through mountains in 2038 and beyond, I’d rather just enjoy all that we have created.
In order to avoid suffering empty nest syndrome with your partner when the time comes, how about you make a commitment to understanding each other even more deeply, trusting each other more, resolving conflicts as they arise, improving your communication skills and letting go of any past traumas you’re bringing to your relationship that may be keeping you apart. The time is now to prioritise this. Once the kids are gone, they are all you have. Open yourself to possibility, to love. Why settle for anything less than extraordinary?