‘It’s time for some relationship maintenance,’ I said.
My husband barely looked up from his laptop. ‘I’m too busy, Han.’
So, I booked a therapist behind his back. Through his secretary. In his calendar. With “Surprise!” written next to it.
It might sound sneaky, but honestly? I was desperate. I’d had warnings – from a tarot card, a medium and even a friend whose idea of hell was another holiday with her husband. Oof. I could relate. Even walking the dog ended in a fight.
I used to be the one who always wanted to talk things through, but lately, I’d stopped trying. When I stop talking, we’ve got a problem. So, at our first session, I read him a letter, twelve pages long.
I reminded him (and myself) why I fell in love with him: his humour, his kindness, his ability to put things into perspective. I love how we support each other, how we parent, how we’ve always been a team. But I also told him what hurts: broken promises, not being truly listened to, feeling like the garden and pool party for our son’s birthday were left to me… again. (The pool was still swamp green, by the way.)
I talked about how I’ve felt unseen, unheard and tired of buying my own Mother’s Day gifts. (That jar of face cream? I fake-gasped with joy.) And then I asked: Can we just try?
The therapist had simple advice:
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To him: ‘Listen more carefully.’
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To me: ‘Speak more from your heart.’
I left feeling lighter. We didn’t know it then, but tougher times were coming. Still, that session was a start. And maybe that’s what love in midlife really is—finding the courage to say this matters before it’s too late.
Just as a flower needs the sun to become a flower,
a person needs love to become human.
– Phil Bosmans
This blog is a short summary of Chapter 6 of Hot Flushes Diary. Things are about to get tougher – head to the next blog for Chapter 7’s emotional turn.
