After raising five children, Patricia came to a crossroads that took her completely by surprise.
My husband always ruled the roost, made all the decisions—what groceries to buy, which children helped with which chores, what color to paint my kitchen—and over the years I learned to deal with it by clamming up and withdrawing into the world I’d created with my kids. When our youngest left home, it hit me like a ton of bricks: it was just me and him. I’d frankly never even thought about that before. We got along okay, but mainly because he did his thing and I did mine. Whenever our purposes crossed, I was submissive and compliant—it had become my habit, and it was easier. Now that the kids were all out of the house, I suddenly realized that this could be my time for me. But my husband had never allowed it before; I knew he wouldn’t allow it now.
Marriage counseling and divorce were taboo subjects in her husband’s family, and Patricia realized that she was unwilling to make further concessions in order to “color within the lines” of the way he’d sketched their lives. Instead she decided to avoid the unacceptable future by trying to re-create the past. At the age of forty-seven, she talked him into adopting a baby girl.
I didn’t realize it consciously at the time, but looking back, I guess I knew the baby would spare me from having to put our marriage under lights. I wanted to set the clock back. Going forward was too scary. In some ways it did the trick—it kept me occupied. But even though raising children was my joy in my younger years, I realized—too late—that I’d changed. Devoting my life to children was my past life. Now, in my mid-fifties, I know it’s not at all what I want to do at this stage in my life. I’m so tired all the time that I feel sedated, and it’s not that it’s such hard work physically—it’s that my heart isn’t in it. I feel tugged, like some force is trying to pull me away from here. I feel like I age ten years for every two. But I’m committed to this little girl now, who deserves all I can give her. I hope I can last until she’s grown.
BOOMERANG BABIES
Variations on Patricia’s theme are becoming more and more common, thanks to the higher-than-ever numbers of adult children who, for one reason or another, boomerang back home—often with kids of their own for Grandma to raise while they try to get their feet under them. If a woman is to claim the second half of her life for herself, to explore her own creative potential and choose the endeavors onto which she focuses her life energy, then she must find a way to stand firm against forces that could induce her to shoulder someone else’s long-term responsibilities—forces such as guilt and the compulsion to shield her children from the consequences of their own choices. When decisions and outside circumstances conspire to keep the nest full, there is the strong potential for a woman’s new life to become a tired rerun of the old one—with chronic degenerative disease as an accompaniment.
ANITA: Finally Cutting the Cord
When Anita and Ralph’s newlywed (and pregnant) daughter and her husband rented an apartment in their complex, Anita was thrilled. But over the ensuing months something began to feel wrong.
At first I thought I was in heaven. Jenny was over here all the time, sometimes to do laundry (claiming she was perpetually having trouble with her machine and Jim didn’t have time to fix it), sometimes to bum a cup of sugar, sometimes just to “hang.” I thought it was great—it was as if I’d never lost my daughter. Instead of an empty nest, I had the promise of keeping her and having a new little baby around, too. But then, gradually, I started peeling back the layers of what was bothering me. I thought back to when I was a newlywed, and although I adored my folks, I didn’t spend nearly as much time with them as Jenny was spending with me. I began to watch for signs of trouble in her marriage, not realizing that I already had recognized a big one—Jenny hadn’t really left home yet.
A month later Jim got a promotion, which meant a transfer to the West Coast. I felt as though I’d been kicked in the stomach. Jenny is our only child, and she had been my whole life. It was to be a quick move—they had six weeks to tie up loose ends and get settled in California—but I noticed that in the midst of all the preparations for moving, Jenny started spending even more time with me.
Two weeks later there was a big fight, and the next thing I knew there she was on our doorstep, ready to move “back home,” with a look on her face that was both anguished and maybe a little triumphant at the same time. She told me later that she thought I’d be pleased—she knew how much I was going to miss her. That’s partly why my response really surprised her.
It was heart-wrenching for me. I hated to see my daughter hurting, her face blotched from crying and her belly beginning to show evidence of her pregnancy. But somehow, fortunately, I woke up, and none too soon. I told her that moving back was not an option. I told her it was time to move forward, not back. I realized that I needed to cut the cord and start exploring my own life, and she needed to do the same—otherwise we’d both be stuck in a phase of life that we’d outgrown.
As a woman faces the prospect of an empty nest, daunting though it may be, the bottom line is this: separation is a necessary and, ultimately, blessed thing, clearing the way for her next developmental phase. To block that process can be akin to leaving a pot-bound plant, restricted and stunted, in a too-small container. A woman can choose to facilitate her growth, which may be initially painful, or she can choose to block that growth, a path that results in accelerated aging and loss of vitality—just as it would for that potbound plant. Staying in place, in other words, is not a viable option. Grow—or die.
POWERFUL FEELINGS, POWERFUL HEALING
In order to take a new path, you must leave the old path behind. This can be one of the most terrifying aspects of the midlife transformation—leaving behind what is familiar and embracing what is unknown. During the first summer after my divorce, for example, I watched my daughter and former husband pull out of the driveway one perfect summer day to go sailing together, a family activity that we had enjoyed for years. I felt left behind, wondering what had happened to my life. In fact, I felt as though, other than my work, I no longer had a real life. When we are standing at a crossroads in our lives, doubts inevitably arise. “Am I capable of pulling this off? Do I have the talent? The strength? Can I make it out there?” Or, as in my case, “What’s the use of having made it out there if I have no one to come home to?” Plucked from the milieu in which she has already proven herself and cast adrift in unfamiliar surroundings, a woman would have to be extraordinary not to be afraid. Her self-doubt may be magnified by the fact that as she faces loss, very often the path that will lead to her new life is not clear.
It is vital to a woman’s comfort level to understand that the direction of her new path, and her willingness to try it, will come … in time. Those directions are, after all, already inside her. The steps that separate her old life from the new one were not meant to be easy, any more than the birth process is meant to be easy. As difficult as it is to accept, especially in our quick-fix culture, the struggle that accompanies a woman’s midlife transformation appears to be an integral part of the learning process, without which she would not have the incentive to set one foot in front of the other. Your empty nest, your altered living space, your disrupted life focus, that directionless feeling—all must first be acknowledged and experienced, with the attendant emotions, in order for the healing process to begin. In the interim, while we experience the upheaval and wait for the new path to become clear, we have to hang out in the “underworld” for a while, allowing our fears and grief and confusion to be fully experienced. Then, and only then, will the fog begin to lift, revealing hints of new doors, new directions, and a new focus for that shining new life.
Well and good, you might say. But how does one go about fully experiencing powerful emotions without dwelling on them excessively or becoming engulfed in self-pity?
Identifying Your Emotions in Your Writing
There is a writing technique that has been proven effective in helping a woman acknowledge, identify, a
nd express those feelings with focused attention, then release them proactively, on a moment-to-moment basis as they come up, unbidden. It is a skill that requires practice, but the rewards are immediate—and they only get better as your skill level grows. Here’s what’s involved.
Make a commitment to honor and respect your body by being willing to learn from the emotions that affect it, even if that simply means bringing your loving awareness to it. In other words, be willing to be there for your body and your emotions, just as you would for a child or anyone else you love. If you feel suddenly overwhelmed with sadness or anger, for example, choose to stop and identify that feeling, rather than simply react to it. Acknowledge it. Say to yourself, “I feel sad” or “I feel angry.”
Gaze upon your sadness without trying to fix it. The essence of being a good listener—to yourself or to a dear friend—is simply allowing emotion to be expressed freely and honestly. Over time, your caring focus can change pain to compassion. Make the effort to notice your emotions and be with them rather than try to change them, shrug them off, or stuff them into a private corner. Then, once you’ve focused on them, take the time to write them down.
When I feel strong emotions that stop me in my tracks, I’m al-most always helped by writing about the experience as soon as I can find a moment.1 I sit down, light a candle, put on a tape of some adagio baroque music, take three breaths, and come up writing, recording my thoughts like a good secretary. When a particular thought has a certain buzz or energy associated with it, I urge myself to go deeper, asking what I mean by “sad,” “angry,” “irritated,” or whatever. Within ten to fifteen minutes, I’ve generally figured out exactly what the emotion was trying to teach me as well as what old, outmoded beliefs and thoughts the emotion was based on. And, more than that, I find that the writing moves my energy to a whole new place. Then I’m in a position to shift my focus to something more pleasurable.
Tell Your Story: Listen for Your Needs
As you write about what’s going on in your life, listen for your needs. As mentioned in chapter 2, Marshall Rosenberg, Ph.D., includes on his website (www.cnvc.org) an extensive list of needs—such as rest, recognition, and support—that will help you identify yours. Almost no one I know had her needs validated as a child or as an adult. In fact, we’ve been shamed and blamed for even having them, let alone expecting to get them met. I personally found it life-changing to list my needs and then learn how to skillfully ask for them to be met by the appropriate person. For example, with a co-worker, I had a need for timely completion of agreed-upon tasks. So I said to her, “I have a need for promptness and meeting completion dates on time. Would you be willing to help me meet my need by arriving at our meetings on time?” The most important part of asking others to help us meet our needs is the understanding that they may or may not be able to do that. And if they can’t, understand that the very act of asking is the first and most crucial step toward fulfilling the need. After that, the universe itself will often conspire to create circumstances in which you get your needs met.
Identifying Your Emotions in Your Body
A related form of awareness involves tuning in to bodily sensations. When you feel the muscles in your temple tighten, for example, simply observe them, and notice how they relax because of your focused attention. Step back and try to recognize the many ways in which each emotion manifests in your body—the slump of your shoulders, the lump in your throat, the tension in your jaw muscles, the trembling weakness in your legs, the hollowness in the pit of your stomach, the congestion in your nasal passages as tears flow. Apply the healing power of your awareness to all of these sensations, the emotional and the physical. Your mindfulness first validates the emotions and the messages behind them, then eventually clears away any blockage to your ability to be healthy and fully present in your life. Eckhart Tolle teaches that each of us has a “pain body,” an accumulation of hurts and pain from our past. It is our egos that keep us identified with our pain bodies. Judging ourselves or getting tense about our pain merely strengthens it. The only way to dissolve a pain body is to soften around it with consciousness and mindfulness. The grace and beauty of this approach is that it allows your suffering to have its time, so it can then flow through and out of you, which it will do. In so doing, you are setting the stage for your own healing … and for your own ability to move on. You can also move difficult emotions through more efficiently by crying, moving, and breathing fully. Holding our breath or breathing shallowly always stops us from feeling. And to heal anything, we have to feel it. So breathe mindfully whenever possible. I have the word breathe posted in strategic places throughout my home and office.
CARING FOR OURSELVES, CARING FOR OTHERS:
FINDING THE BALANCE
We are all knit together by continuity of care, which is one of the feminine values that the world needs more of, not less. Yet it is also true that women’s lives are sometimes unnecessarily sacrificed to this virtue.
Baby boom women are often referred to as the “sandwich” generation because so many are caught between caring for their still-dependent children while increasingly being called upon to take care of elderly parents or other relatives. This is a time when a woman’s programming and her desire to be a good daughter, a good mother, and a good wife—roles that bring her the love and approval of others—run headlong into the increasingly urgent need to care for herself and the needs of her soul. The resulting competition between those two strong but apparently conflicting desires can wreak havoc with our health if we don’t examine them carefully and set priorities. Marshall Rosenberg, Ph.D., warns us of the dangers of emotional slavery—a condition that results when we feel responsible for the emotional well-being of others at the expense of ourselves. A psychic once told me that I was here to serve but that I was not supposed to be the main course—a hard-won lesson!
I’ve watched hundreds of women run themselves ragged at midlife trying to care for a parent with Alzheimer’s, hold down a fulltime job, and also run a home and family. This three-ring-circus approach to life too often contributes to health problems such as increased blood pressure and cholesterol, anxiety attacks, heart palpitations, severe hot flashes, and insomnia. In fact, research has documented that people who care for parents with chronic disease have more medical conditions requiring treatment than those who don’t have this responsibility.2
SHARON: Too Good for Her Own Good
Sharon first came to see me when she was fifty-one years old, complaining of hot flashes and an inability to fall asleep. When I asked her what her exercise and eating habits were like, she shrugged and said, “Who has time to exercise or eat well?” Though Sharon was about thirty pounds overweight and said she wanted to lose weight, she simply couldn’t see how she was going to make the time to improve her lifestyle in any way. As I discovered, Sharon was the eldest of five siblings and the only daughter. When her mother died, she was left to care for her father, a man who, at age seventy-two, had been somewhat abusive and distant to his children for most of Sharon’s life. His health had mildly deteriorated after Sharon’s mother died. Though Sharon’s father didn’t require skilled nursing care, he did need someone to come in and cook his meals, do the laundry, and keep the house clean—tasks that had always been done by his wife.
Sharon automatically added these tasks to her own day even though her father lived about thirty minutes away from her and even though she was holding down a full-time job as a nurse, was married, and had two teenage sons still living at home. The first thing I asked Sharon was, “Where are your brothers?” She told me that two were living out of state, but two lived in the same town as their father. The obvious next question was, “Are your brothers pitching in with your father’s care?” Sharon said that she couldn’t really rely on them to help out. After all, they had jobs, wives, and children of their own. “Besides,” she added, “they aren’t very good at cooking and cleaning. Also, my father really wants me to be the one to come into his house to help out.”
I pointed out to Sharon that if she didn’t get some help with her caregiving and also add some pleasure to her life, chances were she was going to end up with a health problem herself. Then she wouldn’t be able to help her dad at all! I’ve seen this self-sacrifice many times in my practice and in my life. I also validated her fear that her brothers might be quite resistant to her need for their help and that they would be likely to resent her for a while. Her willingness to take on the whole job herself had made it quite comfortable for her brothers, a perk they weren’t likely to give up easily. And her willingness to sacrifice herself for their approval brought her love, gratitude, and a sense of purpose.
Though Sharon felt victimized by her situation, it had never occurred to her to ask her brothers for help. Nor did she like hearing that suggestion from me. But when I raised the possibility that her weight problem and increased blood pressure were related to her current workload, she could see that something had to give. The first thing I advised was that Sharon take a long, hard look at her beliefs about caregiving.
Sharon, like her mother before her, truly believed that “if I don’t do it, it won’t get done.” She had grown up in a household full of boys, none of whom cooked, cleaned, or washed dishes. She and her mother, a woman whom the family described as “a saint,” did all the household work. Not surprisingly, Sharon married a man who didn’t share in the household tasks, either. And her brothers all married women who were happy to stay home, like their mother, and care for their homes and children.
The Wisdom of Menopause Page 11