You’ve got me, and baby, I’ve got you
-Sonny and Cher, I Got You, Babe
The move was supposed to be a new beginning for her family. One of many new beginnings they had been offered over the years. That’s what life had turned into for them, a series of fresh starts, of bouncing back from hardship, of being the example of how to land on your feet. Everything from where they came from was gone; their home, their money, most of their dignity. The only choice that really worked for them was going somewhere new and starting completely over, out of sight of the people who had watched this happen to them over and over again. After a few years of coping with unemployment, illness, death - even among their inner circle they were beginning to feel like the boy who cried wolf. Always yelling out for help, then having some eleventh hour miracle save them from near disaster.
She began to believe that the relationship she had with her husband was charmed. Lots of couples don’t make it through all they experienced together. Or, if they stay together, they do it if only to punish each other for their own misery. But not them. They were old school. Kept their problems to themselves, prayed them out in church, defined the roles they’d fill in their marriage and family, and carried them out to the best of their ability. Together. Solidly together. Because that was the only way.
From the start of their relationship, they were The Fun Couple. If somebody was having a party, they were top on the guest list because they were lively and funny and low maintenance. If somebody needed a favor, they were the ones to call because they were always able to help a friend in need. If somebody had a problem or needed an opinion, their honest and direct counsel was sought. Their group was tight knit, often described as being a tough nut to crack, and she and her husband were kind of the leaders. The idea people. The ones who made sure the right guests were invited, that everyone felt included, that all of the details were handled. The ones who remembered the birthdays and anniversaries. The ones who made sure everyone had a fresh cocktail. The ones who made sure everyone had a good time.
Later, when they were in need, their friends did not let them down. As they went from loaded to broke, from expecting to grieving, from employed with disposable income to jobless with few prospects, their friends had their back. Holding their hands, pulling them out of bed, making them stay connected, picking up tabs, surprising them with gifts or even occasionally slipping grocery store gift cards in their wallets. There was always somebody who loved them enough to make sure they put one foot in front of the other.
Their life together changed over the years. It changed dramatically.
And it changed a little ahead of the curve. Now you turn on the television and even the Real Housewives are talking about the tough financial times they face, but for S and her husband, it happened before it was chic. It was for all the same reasons: struggling economy, crumbling industry, dead-end town. They were trendsetters. It is happening everywhere now, but it happened to them first.
They agreed that they would not be that couple destroyed because of money. They even got a bit arrogant about it. We’ve weathered storms about things so much more important than money, they’d say. Money is not going to be the thing that breaks us.
And it wasn’t. They still managed. They laughed and spent time together and worked hard to focus on the simple things. They leaned on their faith to help keep their priorities in what they thought was a proper order. They were in church every Sunday, hands folded, hearts open, recognizing that even though things were hard, there were others suffering even more. They worked to remember that even though they were struggling, they were still blessed.
Even sitting in the office applying for public assistance, they managed to laugh at the absurdity of it all. At just how crazy it was that two capable and educated young people who once held the whole world in the palm of their hands, who once had financial security and fit bodies and sparkly jewelry and all kinds of potential for greatness were sitting in a dank and musty basement office, watching a very old woman with wrinkly fingers hunt and peck her way through typing up their application for food stamps. It was funny. It was fucking hilarious.
She swallowed a lot of anger and resentment, but she didn’t mind because she assumed her husband was doing it too. Together, they were both choosing to focus on moving forward. It couldn’t have been easy for him to not be able to provide for his family, especially when his in-laws lived three blocks away and kept a close eye on their only daughter. So, she remained his cheerleader and his problem solver and his lover and his biggest fan. And she didn’t stay down long. Even when she wanted to.
They kept surviving. One thing after another, it seemed, but they did it. And they remained committed. They remained loving and friendly. They chose to be that couple that defied the odds.
And her girls would ask her every now and then how they were doing. How the marriage was doing. Because they, too, recognized how she was living a life with her husband that other people might choose to leave. But she would never be anything but positive. Anything she could possibly have said about the potential cracks in their foundation he was already beating himself up over, she was certain. Already disappointed and humiliated and angry and embarrassed and worried. His confidence was already shaken. His pride was already disappearing. So why did she need to go talk to her friends, to their friends, about anything other than his most admirable and honorable traits? Why did anyone need to know about her fears or worries? He didn’t need anything other than the support of a wife who loved him, even if he occasionally deserved her anger, or disappointment, or doubt.
She simply decided that sharing all that would only make it harder for him to dig them out of the hole. He needed her to believe in him because he’d stopped believing in himself.
The days and months stretched on, their need grew, and her anxiety deepened, and she spent a lot of time fighting off panic in all of these subtle, secret ways. Lots of long walks and hot baths and cheap liquor, constantly praying that it wouldn’t eventually overtake her. He never knew how to handle it when she panicked. He took it personally and always assumed it was something she could control. So she tried to control it for him.
Finally the day came that he was given an opportunity for their family. An opportunity that was not really in his career path or his pay range; an opportunity that was miles and miles and miles away from everyone they knew and loved.
He was thrilled to have it.
And all of those friends who had lifted them up and helped them out and supported them when others wanted to gossip, those friends who have been part of their lives for so long that they could no longer be divided between his and hers, they rallied. When he left to get started, leaving her on her own to take care of their baby and their preschooler, to pack the house and tie up all of the humiliating loose ends in order to go stake a claim on their new life, those friends were there helping and hugging, rocking the baby and bringing them dinner. Fixing and tuning up and entertaining and sucking every drop of fun from their last few days together. Loving her so fiercely that she spent every moment of those last two months on the verge of tears, swallowing such a huge lump in her throat that at times it choked her. And they were there to load their life onto a truck. And they cried and waved when the truck pulled out and drove away.
They had her back.
And when those closest to her questioned whether this was the right choice, to follow along, she knew that concern came from a place of love. She knew they only wanted the best for her. That they didn’t want her to be hundreds of miles away from her people, find herself in need once again, and be alone. So she assured them that their marriage was rock solid. That she was happy being at home, running the house and caring for the kids. That she invested in the right guy. That their luck was changing. That they would be okay.
She was pretty sure that they would. Be okay. She was.
So that day when she pulled up to her new house, sight unseen, she had hope in her heart. It was her birthday, and her present was her new life, and she planned to see everything that was good about it. Instead of comparing its size or its lawn or its neighbors to where they were coming from, she decided to be happy to finally be living in a house made of brick. To be relieved that they didn’t have lots of stairs to keep the baby away from. To love the fact that it wasn’t full of big old trees that would drop a ton of leaves she’d have to rake. To enjoy the fact that the kid’s rooms were on the opposite side of the house from her own. To be happy that her washer and dryer were on the main floor and she no longer had to run from the upstairs to the basement with baskets full of clothes.
She decided, again, pulling in that afternoon, that she would make this work.
And over the course of their first year, she did. Starting with unpacking and arranging and making things pretty, to planning a few activities for them to do as a family and finding the best beach for them to visit the minute it got warm enough, she dedicated herself to making this new place their home.
She did a decent job, too. She made the teeny little house comfortable and pretty. She learned her way around town. She investigated the best doctors. She took banana bread and apple butter to their new neighbors. She joined the PTA.
She helped make them a new life.
And as her birthday again approached, marking the first anniversary of their arrival in this new place, she felt the old anxiety rising again. Because she wanted that day to be the day that they could lean back, reflect on the year, and see improvement. To see that, in one short year, they were landing on their feet. Hitting the ground running. Rebuilding their finances and their egos and their lives.
But instead of being able to see how far they’d come, she spent that day thinking that they hadn’t come far enough. She felt sorry for herself. Quietly complaining that she wasn’t getting enough attention or praise for all she’d accomplished for them that year. Sad that there was no big birthday present to open. Whining because they were still pretty broke. That her friends were far away.
She just didn’t feel special. Actually, she felt kind of replaceable. Like life was something that was happening all around her, and she didn’t have any impact on it.
Every time she tried to explain her disappointment and annoyance and boredom that this anniversary was stirring up, she was met with some kind of effort to make her feel better, but nobody was getting it right. She didn’t need pep talks and greeting cards, she just needed someone to relate.
She swallowed it all and chose, again, to try to see all that was wonderful about her life instead of all the things she wished she could change, because she didn’t want to become that person who complained. She wanted to be grateful. And because it seemed that everyone around her just wanted her ‘fixed’, she pretended. It would at least make everyone else feel good.
Her birthday arrived without all the fanfare that normally accompanied the day. Most women wouldn’t have allowed the day to go on without it, but she felt powerless and stuck. She felt invisible.
When she sat down at her computer that morning to do the day’s blog post, she heard the chime that signaled that P wanted to chat.
P: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
S: Wow! Thanks. First wish of the day.
She ended up spending most of that day with him. He was the only person who could see through her act, and when he asked her about her sadness, her dissatisfaction with this new life was the first secret she shared. The first real one. He became the only one who knew exactly what was going on inside her heart and head that day. He didn’t try to fix it, he only tried to understand. And he was the person who made her feel special on her birthday.
P: I'm sorry your feelings got hurt.
S: don't worry about it.
No biggie.P: Tell me what happened
Tell me your feelings
S: Are you being smartassy?
P: No serious I want to talk it out
S: No you don't. I'll ask you this one more time, are
you really a girl?
P: Guys like to hear how you are feeling too
And it's ok to want my attention
Especially after your confession
So I get it
S: Thanks.
P: No need to thank me
I want you to feel safe sharing
S: I never feel safe sharing.
But, my feelings are no longer hurt.
P: Good girl
That evening as she got ready for bed, she stopped in front of the bathroom mirror because something caught her eye. She was smiling. Without even knowing it, she was smiling. And as she looked at that smile she wondered if P was smiling, too.
