The dilemma I dropped my son off at university a few weeks ago. I’m not worried about him – he’s going to have a great time. If he does struggle, he’s got good support from many quarters, as well as me. But I am distraught and feel isolated. My husband isn’t his dad, and none of my stepchildren went to uni. My husband sees them regularly, so he can’t relate. I love my husband, but we started with few common interests and over the years we’ve become more different. This new situation has highlighted the fact we are not the functioning couple we were. My job pays well and is fulfilling, but I work long hours and I’m often exhausted. I feel as though everything anchoring me has gone with my son moving out and I’m floating around, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I’ve decided to make no major decisions just now, but I’m dreaming of selling everything I own, buying a motorhome and travelling the country. Where do I go from here? How do I cope with the massive, empty hole that was occupied by my child?
Mariella replies That’s a toughie. I know that being part of a crowd doesn’t dissipate pain, but you are certainly not alone. Among my friends and in my mail bag there’s a steady stream of, mainly, women expressing similar sentiments. I often wonder if the reason is because there are still plenty of us whose lives have been largely centred on parenting. That’s bound to make the chasm when kids leave feel bottomless. We’re also less likely to have hobbies to fill our downtime: shouting at our favourite teams from the sofa, or chasing a small ball around a fairway, for example.
The heavier domestic burden most women bear during child-rearing years may feel frustrating at the time, but I’m beginning to think that it’s the selfless eschewing of extracurricular activities that does women most harm. The other day, as I walked my dogs, I had a moment of panic about my future, realising I had no proper hobbies – unless you count lying horizontal with a book until the dogs need a poo.
A small step for womankind would definitely be to stop dividing life between work and home, and to nurture pursuits that will occupy us when the other two are no longer so time-consuming. With your demanding job and long hours I daresay you’re not sitting in your kitchen gazing at your boy’s favourite mug with tears running down your cheeks. But keeping busy just means that, like so many women, you’ve left yourself at the bottom of your priority list for so long it’s become a habit.
Our increasingly prolonged lives would be a lot easier to navigate if we could divide them into sub-sections: childhood, adolescence, career, coupling, marriage, parenting, career reboot, parenting your parents and Dignitas. That’s pretty much the way mine would be carved up. It may not represent your categories, but each of us has the opportunity to customise our own waypoints. Have you read The Salt Path? It’s the story of a middle-aged couple, experiencing their own extreme version of a mid-life crisis – homeless and with a chronic illness prognosis – who walk the 630-mile South West Coast Path. The book has struck a chord with many mid-lifers, harbouring dreams of escape – and it certainly celebrates taking the less-trodden path.
The wisest thing you’ve said is that you are not making any dramatic decisions immediately. Many couples at this juncture look at the person they’ve shared school runs and domestic duties with for a couple of decades, not to mention a bed, and wonder where that person went. Having, as you describe, “few shared interests” at the start can easily metamorphose into even fewer, but that doesn’t mean all is lost. Finding yourselves home alone could also be the perfect incentive to kickstart your relationship and discover new passions.
Your husband may yet surprise you with his appetite for adventures. If you can still bear being in each other’s presence you’re already doing better than many. Working out if you have potential for a different sort of relationship, rather than abandoning it without further consideration, seems a good place to start. Have a planning session with paper and a pen – so analogue, I know – and create a bucket list of all the things you’d both still like to do. There’s bound to be some crossover and that’s where you begin the process of reinvention. The onward momentum and change needed to keep our spirits alive and adrenalin levels up consistently catches us off guard.
Whether your future includes your partner or is inviting you to shake off your fetters, this is a moment for celebration rather than trepidation. You’ve raised a great kid, who’s doing what he should be doing. Make it easier on all of you by greeting what lies ahead with relish. There’s no more appealing parent to spend time with than the one who’s busy and fulfilled rather than dripping over you like a leaky shower the minute you walk through the door. Absence is an opportunity, a space to be filled, a life to reinvent. Get to it without further ado.
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow her on Twitter @mariellaf1
