Dear Esther,
I’m curious to hear what you have to say to a woman like myself. I’m 72 years old and thank G‑d in good health, and I do not feel anywhere near my age. I have three married children whom I believe turned out well and are all married with families of their own. Two live out of town and one lives locally. My husband would be considered by anyone to be a nice, responsible, caring man. Anyone looking at me or even people who know me well would probably think that I am a very fortunate and happy woman. I do feel fortunate, but I don’t feel happy. And here’s why.
I’m not sure exactly when or why this way of thinking began, but several years ago I started feeling as though I really didn’t matter very much. That even though I think most people like me, if I were to somehow fall off the planet tomorrow, people would be temporarily surprised and saddened by the news but would, in no time flat, get on with their lives.
Let’s begin with my husband. Nice guy. Never made waves. Tries to be accommodating. But I’ve come to realize that he really doesn’t know who I am or what my deepest fears or dreams are. There was once a TV show called The Newlywed Game, and I used to watch it and think that if my husband and I went on that show, he would get every question wrong about me. And these were silly questions. I’m concerned about the really important stuff. I just don’t think he has ever been able to fully know me. He depends on me to run our home, our family, and our social life. He knows dinner will always be on the table, his clothing will be clean, and I will call the plumber when our sink backs up. But lately, I’m wondering if I’m more of a convenience to him rather than someone he passionately loves.
Then there are my children. They call. They visit. They do all the right things. But they are all so busy with their own children and grandchildren that I don’t think I’m really very high on their list of major concerns. I’m grateful that I’m independent and don’t need them to look after me, but I also feel as though they really don’t care about me on a very deep level—the way they care about their children and grandchildren.
I have friends. We get together here and there. We laugh. We talk about what’s going on in the community and the world. We have a nice time. But more and more, lately I have to wonder if they really know the true me. What keeps me up at night. What I feel sad about. What I feel happiest about.
I can go on. I’ve worked in a doctors’ office for many years. Patients come and go. With some I have developed some sort of relationship, but nothing meaningful. The doctors know me to some degree and I think respect me and appreciate my work. But again, do I really matter to them? Could I be replaced within 24 hours if necessary?
So this is what’s been going on with me for some time now, leaving me feeling unsettled and unhappy. I have to wonder what value I’ve brought to the world. Yes, the generations that exist because of my husband and me cannot be minimized. But I need to know about myself, separate and distinct from others. Do I really matter?
Lost
Dear Lost,
I recently saw a celebrity, who is about your age, being interviewed about a book she had written in which she talks about her “three acts of life.” She elaborated how she is presently in her third act and what that act signifies for her. Though the specifics of her journey didn’t exactly resonate for me, the overall concept did—the idea that, upon review, most of us can break down our lives into three parts. With more than a little tweaking, this is my take.
During our first 30 years on Earth—a.k.a. “Act I”—many of us can share certain generalized experiences that were necessary steps in our journey toward adulthood. For some of us, it involved growing up with challenging parents, or dealing with other difficult circumstances. Some struggled with simply getting through school while others excelled beautifully. Friendships were made—some would prove to be lifelong while some were not meant to be so. The first act was filled with monumental decisions that needed to be made—dating, careers, lifestyle choices, etc. Even not making those decisions was a decision of sorts.
From ages 30–60, or “Act II,” much of our experience and quality of life turn out to be the direct result of wonderful or regrettable choices made during Act I. But no doubt, during this phase, we are clearly adults with busy, busy lives. Raising children, striving to succeed in careers, getting involved in volunteer work, challenges, and disappointments—wondering if we are making the right decisions. There’s a lot going on. It is a time that often doesn’t even allow us to catch our breath. Staying on the treadmill of life requires great energy and attention to details. Keeping up, showing up, trying not to fall too far behind the myriad of daily responsibilities can totally fill our dance cards.
Beginning at age 60 (we should all be so lucky), we embark on Act III, certainly our final act in the story of our lives. Hopefully, our responsibilities begin to slow down, we have much more time alone with our thoughts, and it is the perfect opportunity to begin some self-reflection on our lives, our choices, our regrets, and our triumphs. But it could also be a dangerous time. As we go down that road of assessing how we are doing, how we’ve done, who we are, and whether we can enjoy our third act with a feeling of satisfaction, it’s easy to get bogged down with feelings of regret and disappointment.
So here you are. Certainly in your third act of life. Sounds like you’ve accomplished a great deal and have much to be proud of and grateful for. And yet something is missing. Some satisfying feeling of self-worth, a sense of feeling truly known and fully appreciated within the world at large. Wondering if you really matter.
Without trying to sound as if I am pandering, let me first off say that we all matter. We are all connected to a greater whole and any breakdown within this system is experienced by all. Unfortunately, short of funerals or houses of shivah, people often withhold from emoting at length about the specialness they feel toward others.
Therefore, it’s often impossible for any of us to truly know the impact we’ve had on others. For all you know, there are patients who truly look forward to your greeting and smile, and receiving that attention from you affects their entire day. You may have grandchildren who view you as the matriarch of the family and look to you for guidance and love and feel safe knowing you are around. Though you believe your husband views you as only the cook and bottle washer, he may in fact believe you are the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him in his life.
But you are somehow running on empty, unable to fill your emotional tank. Why is that? Have you been the one holding back from connecting with others in a heartfelt way? Have you been so careful protecting your ego and thereby covering up important pieces of yourself that others cannot truly see the real you more honestly? Are you reaching out enough to others—through acts of generosity, acts of random kindness, acts of sharing?
My guess is that the more you focus on making others feel as though they matter—the more you give to others, the more you allow yourself to trust others and relax into feeling safe with them—the more you will get back. We get what we give. Love, kindness, and a sincere belief that we all have value will bounce right back to you, if you figure out how to openly and sincerely give it to the people around you.
My wish for you is that your third act is extremely long, never boring, and filled with continued growth and greater insights—and that it be your best act yet!
Esther
Esther Mann, LCSW, is a psychotherapist in Lawrence. Esther works with individuals and couples. She can be reached at mindbiz44@aol.com or 516-314-2295.