Author: Marilyn Barnicke Belleghem M.Ed., is a Registered Marriage and Family Therapist.
See more at www.mbcinc.ca


Chapter Two: The Present - Built On the Past

I sit quietly in my silent kitchen, snuggled in a cosy housecoat, sipping a glass of cold orange juice. I will wait to put the coffee on so it is fresh when Jack gets up. I awakened long before any of us usually get up. Pickles wouldn't even leave the warm covers of our bed. Dawn is turning the horizon pink and the chorus of birdsong is pleasant to my ears.

I am experiencing feelings of despair which I absorb from my therapy work, and they wear me down. The times of fun and relaxation are somehow not sufficient to offset this burden. I haven't been laughing enough. My responsibilities feel as if they will overwhelm me. I feel quite alone, lost and troubled. I feel emotionally separated from my husband in a way I cannot describe. Sadness sits in my chest like a rock.

I go through my days, one after the other, keeping to a busy schedule. The television show last night talked about a hero and a Quest.

What am I searching for in my life?

Is there any meaning to my existence?

I want more!

Who is my hero?

I used to believe my husband was my hero. However, his behaviour of late isn't very heroic. Actually, he is being inconsiderate, demanding and insensitive to my load of responsibilities. He shifts more of the duties my way every chance he gets by not completing the jobs that he had previously accepted. I feel he is testing me in some way. He seems vague and absent. The lights were out last night when I came home. I know it is an outward manifestation of his smouldering feelings.

What is he upset about now? What is going on?

As I sit in the slowly brightening room, mulling over the state of my life, I return repeatedly to the idea of the legend, the hero, and the Quest. I no longer want to focus my life on what is wrong in my husband's life. I no longer want to continue to ignore my own needs and wants in favour of his. I really do not care what his next demands will be. I firmly declare in the silent space of my head, I want to be the hero in my own life story!

Stunned by the thought that I can put myself in the role of hero and start on a Quest in search of the singing in my breast that last night moved me to tears, I sit dumbfounded. I am as surprised by the thought itself as I am by the realization that I have never actually considered that my life could be about ME!

How can a grown woman, mother of three children, have a sense that so little of her life is her own? How did this happen? When did I start to lose myself? Was I ever here? My thoughts slide back in time to my upbringing.

As one baby sister, then another, entered my world, I evolved into "Mommy's Little Helper." I learned to make the care of others my priority. I became a traditional, overly responsible eldest daughter. I could get praise and attention by being "lady like" and passive. My job was to help others. I was not expected to achieve in areas of my own interest. I played with dolls, a doll carriage, and a tiny tea set at a little wooden table with a flower decal in the middle. My mother put me in ironed dresses and told me not to get dirty. I longed to wear trousers, climb the woodpile, and chase through the fields like my older brother. It was normal for him. He was a boy.

As I grew older, Mom let me wear play clothes during the day, but I had to be washed and dressed up by the time Daddy was expected home. I lived two roles and loved the wild one best.

Over the years, I built resentment for the independence, achievements, and adventures my brother, Bill, experienced. He was expected to achieve at school, while my homework received little attention. My school experience was unhappy. I soon stopped caring and barely passed from one grade to the next.

I felt I was a misfit to the roles my parents and teachers wanted me to play. Adults often called me a lazy daydreamer or "Little Miss Question" because I was always asking "Why" and "How." I was abandoned and teased when I tried to tag along with Bill and his friends. I retreated into a world of fantasies that I spun while sitting at the window watching the raindrops slither down the glass or snowflakes gently riding the breeze, intrigued by the beauty of both their simplicity and their complexity. Sometimes, I would sit under a tree watching the clouds slide across the sky. Absorbed in my seemingly mindless world, I would forget my confusion. I truly lived in my imaginative adventures.

I liked my time alone. As I grew older and had more independence, I sought opportunities to escape chores so that I could wander farther and farther into the fields and forests. I could just follow my whims and experience perfect happiness. I played in the snow, making angels, and then asked Mom to come and see. I made houses with lines of leaves for walls and created lives there with my dolls. I played in the stream in my boots or bare feet, searched for watercress and minnows. I floated stick boats between the rocks. I could sit in a tree, unseen, and observe squirrels and birds, the boys at play, or occasionally adults working or chatting in neighbourly companionship. I thought I was invisible. I was happy with what I believed to be the most that happiness had to offer. Happiness to me was the freedom to think my own thoughts and direct my own Self wherever I chose to go.

From my wanderings, I brought home the first spring wild flower, summer ditch daisies, or wild raspberries warmed on the prickly canes by the summer sun, as a gift for my busy mother. These pleased her even more than my being good. I loved the moments when her face would light up with delight seeing the special gift I had discovered for her. Sometimes she would stop her work, wipe her brow, smile, and listen intently to my stories about what I had seen and done. These moments never came often enough or lasted long enough for me.

My father was away a lot on business. As I grew into a young woman I realized my mother's deep unhappiness. While I delighted in life in the country, she longed for the activity of the city where she was raised. Every one of her family members was a long-distance call away and money was tight. She missed her mother, her six siblings, and their families. She missed being constantly in touch with what was going on in each of their lives. As the eldest, she watched out for them after her father had deserted the family and her mother had gone to work in a florist shop. She went to work in the A&P grocery store to help put food on the table. I remember when her mother died, she cried inconsolably. To her, this place which I thought of as heaven, was hell. She coped with her loneliness and isolation by drinking. At first, it was a beer while she ironed or with a neighbour on the step as we played on the lawn. Later it was much more.

As my mother's drinking progressed it affected her abilities to manage the home. I stepped into the roles she had taught me. As a teenager I increasingly became the mother figure to my younger sisters as they entered adolescence and struggled through the normal stages of development. I shopped for their clothes and supported them in their challenges that are normal in teenagers' lives.

Mom did a lot of community work to have personal recognition and social interaction. When she was dressed up and going to one of her meetings she was happy. She loved the people, the intellectual stimulation and conversations at the luncheons. She was a natural leader with great innovative ideas and the drive to get a job done. She would rise to be on the executive of one organization and then switch to work her way up in another. She also gained some financial advantages along the way.

The small stipends she earned went for new clothes for her as money was always tight. As her confidence grew so did her independence. During some of this time she was happy and proud. Her achievements compensated for being taken for granted by her family.

My father was rigid in the traditional male role as the breadwinner. He was the wage earner and the one responsible for the outside maintenance of the home. Mom could have her flowers and vegetable garden, while he cared for the grass, snow removal, and repairs. He did not cook, clean, or do laundry. These were jobs women did and he had no intention of getting involved as long as there were females in the house. This was never discussed. It was just understood.

Dad did not understand the work Mom did and often seemed angry with her when she was intently and enthusiastically involved in activities where he had little knowledge or experience. He had difficulty with her accomplishments and felt jealous of the time and attention she spent with activities that did not include him. He resisted her desire to travel. He thwarted her in many ways and then supported her in others. It was hard to follow his reasoning and to know when he would be happy for her and when he would appear resentful of her success.

Mom developed leadership skills through adult education with the Home and School Association and was elected to the Board of Education. When she was offered a responsible and well-paying, full-time job she was ecstatic until Dad forbade her, as his wife, to have a real job. He said it was an insult to him as the breadwinner. I remember his loud, angry words and her tears as one of the worst conflicts between them. He was so insensitive to how his reaction killed my mother's spirit.

I was sad for her and angry with him, but my attempts to make him understand only made it worse, so I soon learned to keep my feelings to myself.

Mom's many activities, and a bout with cancer and chemotherapy left even more of the demands of household responsibilities to me. I accepted the chores willingly to get affirmation, mostly from my father.

I experienced few academic successes. I believed that my brother Bill had inherited all the brains. My poor grounding in the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic haunted me and had me constantly battling with my school work. It became apparent that I wouldn't be able to achieve high enough marks in the required courses for acceptance at a university. I was told by my high school guidance counsellor that I was not properly prepared academically for university. I chose to attend the two-year program at Lakeshore Teachers' College. Teaching was a joy to me. I made new friends and flew through the courses and practical work with successes I had never before experienced. I was active and challenged. My attitude of being overly responsible worked well in this field. I was eager to start my career.

At twenty, I moved to London, about a two-hour drive from home to teach grade four. I struggled with leaving home but I knew I had to get away to survive. My sisters shared a close relationship and were old enough to fend pretty much for themselves. Bill was back at home after four years at Western University in London and I passed on the responsibility for the family to him. He was doing a Master's Degree at the University of Toronto and was very much involved in his own life. He did not pick up the chores I left. I believe my youngest sister, Joan, did. Judy was the academic. Funny how when one person in a family moves on their role often gets passed down to another family member.

Bill helped me find an apartment. With my savings and summer earnings I bought some used furniture, dishes, and linens. I set myself up frugally, but quite comfortably. Within a few weeks I found a roommate. I had freedom from parental authority, a little money to spend, and I loved teaching. When I was growing up, my mother made many of my clothes or altered clothing handed down from several aunts. Sewing and buying new clothes with my own money was a luxury. I felt very grown up and independent.

I met Jack at high school when I was fifteen; he was seventeen. Jack was my one true love. I was a romantic Catholic girl, shy and isolated. Our relationship was a rollercoaster emotional ride for me that had gone on for over five years. He would break up with me, date others and then return months later to seduce me emotionally and rekindle the relationship.

Jack and I had not been actively dating for nearly a year when I went to London. He was in his second year of law school after his three year B.A. I had had a few dates, no one special. Yet my very first weekend away from home, he came knocking at my door wanting a reconciliation. He said he was fearful that I would find someone else in London.

Jack pursued me more actively than he ever had previously. He was a flirt, had friends and lots of female attention at university and through a variety of summer jobs. I was naive. He was worldly. He romanced me. I loved him. I accepted his offer of marriage and that Christmas we became engaged.

In the summer of 1964 we married in my home parish church. My mother and I planned a simple garden reception. My parents were delighted to see me married before I became either an old maid or worse, pregnant. I lived independently in London for only ten months before moving to the outskirts of Toronto and creating a matrimonial home.

Jack was going into his final year of law school when we married. Over the summer, he earned enough to pay his own tuition and school costs. I obtained a teaching job and we began to build our financial foundation on my modest salary.

By the time spring arrived, Jack was doing his student placement in a law firm and bringing in a regular pay cheque. He found another apartment closer to his job downtown and without consulting me put down a deposit. We moved.

In those early years Jack enjoyed all the freedoms and pleasures of being both a student and a married man. I filled the traditional sexist role of wife well. His studies and his law duties, kept him challenged and busy.

His hobby of being a ham radio operator filled much of his spare time. I felt isolated and alone. I took teaching courses and worked extra hours at my job to fill my time. I received raises and recognition at work. In my professional life I was happy. In my marriage I was often lonely.

I accepted the lion's share of responsibility for our apartment. It kept me busy and fit with my expectations of what married life was all about. I was duplicating the role I had learned from the women in my family.

When Jack was called to the bar he started to bring home a substantial and regular pay cheque. His income was almost double mine. We enjoyed having more funds and did some travelling and entertaining, not previously possible. I was torn between the fun of travelling, buying clothes and household treats and meeting the expectations of family members who repeatedly asked; "When are you going to start a family?"

By choice, I became pregnant with our first child and soon retired from teaching. There was no maternity leave. Julia was born on a beautiful May morning and was the delight of my life. Motherhood was a whole new experience that challenged me and filled me with joy.

By late fall, we decided to accept a job opportunity for Jack and leave our city apartment to move to Georgetown, a small Ontario town where in time, Jack became a partner in a quickly growing law firm. I withdrew my entire teacher's pension for a down payment on a little house. I fully committed myself to being a full-time homemaker. We were strapped for cash. I was trapped. I couldn't see any other choices. I did what I felt was expected.

Katherine joined our family two months early and was in neonatal care at Sick Children's Hospital in Toronto. It was a frightening and difficult time until we were sure she would live and be well. Caring for a two year-old and a premature infant was a challenge. Jack worked long demanding hours. My mother was not functioning well. My in-laws were a good distance away. I didn't have a car and there was no local bus service.

Over the next few years I cooked, cleaned, sewed, knitted, gardened, and planned the social calendar, vacations, and activities. In spite of the difficulties I loved being a mother. I took great delight in my daughters' achievements. We had many wonderful happy family times.

I continued to be a maternal figure in my sisters' lives. I listened to their troubles. I supported their successes. I sewed my bridesmaid's outfits for each of their weddings. I did things with attention to the smallest detail. I was proud of my abilities. Whether it was creating a special real for a business dinner party, planning a child's birthday celebration or sewing

Judy's wedding dress, I was careful and particular. I pleased others and received my affirmations through care giving. Inside I was restless but couldn't say why. As the years passed, doing volunteer work for the Children's Aid Society and the YMCA gave me a chance to meet other mothers and have some supportive connections. In many ways I was following in my mother's footsteps.

I didn't have life goals for myself. I was living out the expectations that had been socially conditioned into me. I was married with two small daughters and living "happily ever after" in a subdivision as a housewife. Something deep inside of me was sad and vacant. I denied it when it surfaced and took on a new task to keep the pain from overwhelming me. I kept very busy.

Jack's legal practice was challenging and flourishing. He worked demanding hours and often brought work home and spread files all over the dining room table. He would work long into the night. I found that he was changing. His criminal court work was hardening him and his desire to achieve was a driving force in his life. There were always meetings and conventions that spilled into the weekends and evenings. To consume the long hours alone, I read voraciously. He started skiing in the winter and playing golf in the summer and would occasionally disappear for weekends with his men friends. I felt alone with the bulk of the family responsibility and felt I was misunderstood when I tried to get his attention. I couldn't put into words what was wrong with my life it all looked perfectly normal from outside. People commented that they thought I was lucky.

Throughout these years, my mother's drinking was totally out of control. We had tried to get help for her but she refused. We were powerless. I finally broke through my denial and recognized she would never be the mother I wanted or a real traditional grandmother to my children. She was seriously ill and dying. I had supported her as best I could but I could not save her. I was very sad for the loss of the great woman she could be, angry that she would never meet my expectations of her, and very lonely knowing she would never be there again.

After Mom died, Dad stayed on in their home and grieved for her in ways I could not understand. I tried to keep the family ties together and often planned events at his home with my sisters, just like Mom would have done. Bill had moved to Ottawa, been married, and was busy establishing himself in his own career and life.

Once my daughters started school and we were able to afford a second car, I became aware that I had some choices. I started a volunteer job with Travellers' Aid at the Toronto airport. Duties included general information and assistance to travellers within the airport as well as helping the elderly, children travelling alone or those who were recovering from surgery in one of Toronto's hospitals, make it from a cab to their flight to return home. I was trained by a staff social worker. I began to learn people skills that I had never known before. Clients were often distraught, sick, or confused. It was rewarding work that got me out of the small-town milieu. I worked one shift a week for several years until the funding was cut and the organization was restructured. My confidence increased. I wasn't so lonely and didn't feel so isolated.

I thought that someday I might return to teaching. Whenever the idea came up for discussion Jack would say he wasn't prepared to commit to the extra support with the home and the children that he would have to give. The responsibility dissuaded him from encouraging my return. He liked things as they were. It was one of those vague plans for someday.

I had high energy and looked for a new outlet. I joined the Toronto Symphony's Junior Women's Committee. I loved the trips to Toronto, the work of visiting libraries with the musicians for children's concerts, and the wonderful women I met. There were fund raising fashion shows, a yearly bazaar directed by the senior women's committee and planning meetings at beautiful Toronto homes and clubs. I was often asked why I came so far. It was worth the hour on the road each way. I loved the intellectual stimulation. I felt useful and part of a group filled with energy I had a routine that was interesting and challenging. Sometimes the lack of long-term direction left me uneasy. I felt as though I was treading water. Life was just flowing along.

I worried about the emerging pattern of drinking with weekly ladies lunches. I feared falling into my mother's footsteps. At other times, the years ahead seemed to stretch into repetitive boredom and I felt frightened by their potential emptiness. My sister, Judy, encouraged me to start on an undergraduate degree to keep from going brain-dead. She had been to university for her first year, then trained as a teacher and was finishing her course requirements part time. With her encouragement, I decided to take just one university course on a Saturday morning through the same extension program.

Jack had commented regularly that he wanted a son. I decided to get pregnant at the same time that I registered for my first university course. I now know that I was giving myself a reason to fail or quit if I wasn't in fact, university material.

I obtained a B+ in the philosophy course and delivered a healthy son, Matthew. I felt as if I had taken some major step to control my life. This part was not in the script or part of the expectations I felt I "should" meet. I was pleased and proud. Over the next years my time was full of home and volunteer work and more courses. I felt my life finally had some direction that was just for me. I had defined a personal goal. I was getting a degree. As much as this thrilled me I was laden with responsibility.

Jack's career continued to flourish. I felt pressured to please him and was determined to do all I could to support his increasing involvement in politics and professional associations. My upbringing dictated that supporting his career must be my priority.

But who is supporting me?

Jack was ambivalent about my success and frequently became demanding, then withdrawn. I was reminded of my father's attitudes toward my mother's achievements and I was disappointed that he was not more evolved as a man.

Feeling my courses might be pointless, I went for the vocational testing and counselling at Jewish Vocational Services. I found out that I am in the gifted intellectual range. I was shocked. So much for the guidance counsellor's ability to predict! There is a big difference between ability to achieve and actual achievement. Just because I hadn't achieved didn't mean I couldn't. My emotions flew from delight, to anger, to fear. If I really was capable, then I really could have a job that was interesting and stimulating. The counsellor told me that I could achieve a Master's or even a Doctoral degree if I wanted. Wow!

The career fields suggested to me included teaching at a higher level than the elementary grades. I thought of being a college master or university professor and my fantasies whirled. The counsellor suggested law school, or possibly a career in psychology. The options seemed endless and I was overwhelmed with the dreams I spun in my mind. No one seemed as happy for me as I did. Jack was kind and cool. I didn't imagine then that he might possibly feel threatened that I might be smarter than him.

Following a year-and-a-half illness with pancreatic cancer, my father died. He had not been supportive of my educational achievements. He felt a woman's place was in the home. I couldn't convince him that the classes and assignments were an elixir for me.

After Dad died, I was the executor of his estate. Added to my already full load of responsibilities, were the tasks of coordinating the selling of his home and finalizing his affairs. Fortunately, my sisters were right beside me all the way and the three of us worked long and hard over the next few months. Our respective husbands pitched in too. What could have been just hard, sad work turned out to be fun as well.

With part of my inheritance, I bought an antique house that we easily converted to two apartments and an office for Jack. He had decided to leave the partnership he had come to town to join and go into private practice. I incorporated my own management company, set up his office and learned how to do his legal bookkeeping. I also acquired two other commercial buildings to manage. I was running faster and faster and feeling less and less satisfied.

There were many highlights during this time. I no longer had to check every purchase through Jack since I had my inheritance and income. I had more self-esteem seeping into my personality. I was gaining a sense of my abilities, and being supported from new directions. I had not felt this way since I had been teaching school.

This was also a time of more planned activities with my family. The snippets of shared time with my children that happened naturally when I was home full time became more structured. We did homework around the kitchen table or went on research expeditions to libraries where they discovered all kinds of treasures. Meals in a university cafeteria or meeting my classmates were adventures to my children. I know they saw me differently than they had when I was a full-time homemaker. I dressed and acted differently. I taught them more independence and had lots of stories and ideas to share with them.

I still found my life as a homemaker laborious. I was often weary with the mundane chores of planning meals, doing laundry, mending, and coping with the demands of keeping up the care of properties. Even though I had a cleaning woman to do the general housework, I was spending long hours shopping, cooking, driving, and managing a home, office buildings, and then a family cottage I shared with my sister Judy. As I had been taught, I hid my emptiness and loneliness and just kept doing, doing, doing. At times I missed my parents and thought I might not feel so empty if they were around. I had been present for them in their illnesses. They abandoned me by their deaths.

After seven years, I obtained my B.A. I moved directly into a full-time year of graduate school. I would be travelling to the city four days a week. The hour each way on the commuter train and the challenge of my classes would take me away from home for too many hours to be able to cope there too. I hired full-time household help.

Ingrid, a young Swedish woman, became our live-in nanny, allowing me to on my degree. Thinking and making decisions for and about myself without making my family always my primary focus was like flying over the land without tethers and ties. What a wonderful experience those months of growth and learning turned out to be. It opened my eyes to a world I had missed. I realized that I could have a part of my life that was all my own. I started to think new thoughts and have my own opinion.

Although I was often very tired, at a very deep level I was happier than I ever remembered being.

There were problems with my children and arguments with my husband. They wanted more of me. Ingrid wanted to cut her contract short. She was anxious to be off on her planned tour of the United States. Jack supported her and said he thought it was a good idea to let her go because he was finding having her in our home invasive.

I felt I had three options. First, I could try to suppress my desires and stop my university work, attempting to have my husband, family, and home the primary focus of my life as Jack suggested. He didn't or wouldn't understand my enthusiasm. Second, I could abandon the marriage and strike out on my own with all the pain and upset that would cause. How could I go through that and also complete my degree? Thirdly I thought of just moving out for the remaining months and letting Jack deal with the home front but that would be abandoning my children and marriage. Finally, I did none of these things.

I came face to face with the same decision my mother had faced when she lost her spirit and will to live. I wished that she had fought for what she really wanted to do. I could have used a role model.

It is hard now to believe I actually thought of dropping out of graduate school. It was such an important time in my life. I did a lot of soul searching and talked with supportive friends who saw my potential and the joy I felt in my studies. They also saw the power struggle with my husband. They all told me not to quit.

I was more determined each time a conflict erupted that I would finish my Master's Degree. I also put extra effort into family time and refused Ingrid her request. I was the one who hired her and signed the papers. She depended on me for her reference. I had the power and I mustered the courage to use it. As I did this I grew stronger. I was changing.

I confronted each objection Jack presented, dealt with the specific complaint, and accepted the resulting conflict. As a skilled courtroom lawyer he made a very difficult opponent in a verbal battle. I used all the skills I had been learning in my courses to try to resolve our issues. Fortunately, I had good support from other women in my life who were familiar with this type of struggle. They helped me see the issues rather than just feel the hurt. I was learning not to let my emotions rule, but to build a case for my point of view. Men, who are fearful of the successes their wives' achieve and who try to sabotage them are not hard to find. I was living with one.

Ingrid left at the end of her contract. My responsibilities returned and increased. I started a part-time private practice as a therapist and some specialized post-graduate course work in Marriage and Family Therapy at the University of Guelph. I needed these courses, along with supervision of my client work, to gain my specialist accreditation and become a Clinical Member of the Ontario Association for Marriage and Family Therapy.

I had renovated the upper apartment in my antique house for my office. I loved overseeing the results of the structural changes. The freedom to decide on the carpet or the colour of paint that I wanted and the beautiful effect of the varnished pine doors and deep baseboards gave me a great deal of satisfaction. I was active, involved, and I loved the sense of personal power. I also welcomed the end of my daily two-hour commute. I was home for breakfast, lunch, and most dinners.

I was also building a professional support network. I did some agency work to get experience, supervision, and peer interaction. I was thriving and growing. I was earning money and feeling increasingly confident. To me, my life kept getting better. Recognition and praise followed my Superwoman image. I was proud of my achievements. I was sorry my parents were not there to celebrate with me. I was also pleased that they had not been there to hold me back. Jack vacillated between enjoying the convenience of having me at home more often, having our home to ourselves again and the annoyance that I was away some evenings.

I was well aware that our life was lived at a comfortable social and economic level. We had wonderful family trips in the winter and lots of cottage time all year. We skied as a family at a private club every weekend in the winter. There were lessons and camps, friendships and always lots of extended family visits. I filled photo albums and boxes with slides.

Yet somehow my life still had an empty spot at its core. I knew something was missing. No amount of buying "stuff" filled the aloneness I felt. I often tried to talk to Jack about the rift I felt between us, that our time together felt increasingly superficial, and that I hated his flirting with other women. He told me it was my imagination. He told me I think too much. I asked him why he could not coast awhile with his career, cut some hours, put more time into parenting so he had more balance in his life. I was aware he was pulling away from me. His accomplishments were many. He was not eager to slow down. But I knew there was more to it.

Those who know me, think I have it all. In many ways I do. My dreams have come true several times over.

"With a life like yours, how could anything possibly be missing?" they remark.

What is wrong with me, not to be eternally grateful and satisfied with what I have?

Pickles gives me a wagging welcome then scratches at the door to go into the back yard. It seems as if it took only moments to recollect so many years and so many changes. The sun is fully up. I hear the flush of a toilet as my family starts to prepare for their day. I release the dog into the yard and turn to put on a pot of coffee. I love the smell of it when it just starts to brew.

To be accredited in my field, I was required to examine my own family and my life. This is an ongoing process of looking inward that I have learned to use whenever I am feeling stressed. I have not taken the time recently for self-examination. I know it helps me understand my clients' experience and supports my own growth as a person. The experience last night tells me it is time to be present with my Self again.

Gradually over the years, I have had a pattern of building responsibilities then letting them go, rebuilding in a different direction then letting some of that go. I have refocused and redirected. Each time of change I recognized that my stress level was too high. I wasn't having fun anymore. Nothing new and challenging was happening. I would realize that I would have to let go of the amount of responsibility I carried to make a space for the next discovery. Sometimes I unloaded some of the tasks onto my children, paid helpers, and my bewildered husband. He couldn't understand why I yearned for more, or was it a yearning for change?

I haven't known how to explain that I need time, energy and support, to repeatedly re-find my spirit. I need to be different than I've ever been before. I constantly want to learn something new, see a new place, or meet a new person. I have been taken for a complainer when I expressed such desires. I feel stuck if I am not evolving. I desperately need to find some missing link or piece to my life's puzzle. I have struggled to explain this to some people and just ended up sounding silly, even to my own ears.

Something in the television show last night touched the core of me, and I know it is somehow connected to what I feel is missing. My thoughts return to the past as I pour myself coffee and await my family's descent.

In 1984 I became aware that I must get my family out of the small town, away from the fish bowl mentality in which we were living. An unfortunate event shocked me into realizing my children needed my protection from my husband's and my clients. The town was too small and everyone seemed to know each other's business. We needed greater family privacy. I instigated a search for a new home.

Jack was reluctant to leave the town where he had achieved such success. I pressured for the sake of our family and pointed out the advantages of the much larger market for his services, where he could pick and choose his cases and do the work he liked best. My experience in standing up for my desire to complete my master's degree gave me the courage to insist we move. We found a home in Oakville. It was in the same county as Jack's associations and it was the closest town to my childhood home. I was delighted. Our children were excited about the new house and new schools. It was a chance for all of us to grow and expand. All the pieces fell into place quite quickly.

I arranged for the house sale, purchase, packing, and move, as well as the construction of shared office space in a large commercial building for both Jack and me. Getting the children settled in new schools and decorating at home and at work were all pressures that pushed me, often to a point of exhaustion. Although I loved the activity and I was accustomed to the responsibility, somewhere inside me a voice screamed, Is this really what life is all about? I hushed this voice with work, my family, and sometimes too much wine.

There were many rewards to this decision. I began to feel a part of my new community and I had an expanded network of business and professional contacts and some new very caring friends. The networks of women who supported women in business overjoyed and energized me. I tried to keep my life in balance. It was a challenge.

As a marriage and family therapist, I am eager to learn from the professional opportunities that are available to me. I also like to put into practice new skills that I learn at conferences, workshops, and through my reading. This means involving my husband and children. Sometimes these experiences result in positive changes for us as a family. Other times I meet resistance and frustration. There are times when we will all be in tune with each other and then my life seems perfect. At other times, there will be the power struggles that are normal in family relationships. There are times, however, often without my understanding why, that an argument erupts between my husband and me over something very trivial and his coldness returns. He swings from loving partner to a distant, critical man.

Now, as I hear him descend the stairs, urging our son to hurry, I wonder about his mood. I hope he will be open to a few moments of real communication. His life is comfortable and his work challenging and rewarding. Yet I know there is something not really right. What is this wedge that develops between us?

He gives me a cheery greeting and softly kisses my cheek. He opens the door to let Pickles in. As he pours himself a cup of coffee I ask him why he turned off the lights last night. I have purposefully kept my tone light and not confrontational. He looks at me absently and acts as if he were unaware that he had turned the lights out. There was no word of apology or concern. I let the matter drop. I do not want to provoke a fight about the lights. I know from experience that he is in a mood to use any excuse to start an argument and then say I was the one who started it. I do not want to start my day in confrontation, and I do not want to inflict a disagreement on our children.

It will be a long while before I know why he sets the stage for the arguments that I have learned how to carefully avoid. If I do know now, I do not want to acknowledge it. The suspicions that wiggle at the edges of my consciousness are too upsetting to confront. I look forward to my day, and backward to my past to avoid the terror of my present suspicions. I must focus on what is happening to me. I know a significant change is coming. All my control and my belief in my abilities to direct my life are being confronted.

I must find those things I can control, accept those things I cannot, and God, please give me the wisdom to know the difference.

I work through the morning routine of getting my family off on their separate ways. I shower, dress, and head off to meet with my first client at ten. The rituals of making the bed, loading the dishwasher, and doing the mundane tasks of tidying before leaving are a comfort to me as I put the house in order. I know that people depend on me, and as I live up to their expectations, I feel satisfaction. Locking the door behind me, knowing my dog has already started his nap, I shift into business mode.

	ISBN-10: 0973412909 ISBN-13: 978-0973412901 364 pages - soft cover $24.95
		Also available at         Buy the eBook

Author: Marilyn Barnicke Belleghem M.Ed., is a Registered Marriage and Family Therapist.
See more at www.mbcinc.ca