Mindful Girl Blog

Most women I know would go above and beyond for their children, less so for their spouses, and even less so for themselves. I see this where I live in New Jersey: In the toys people buy for their kids, in the designer clothes they dress them in, and in the energy they expend making sure their children are ahead of the game in every measureable area of their existence. Whether it takes the form of piano lessons, soccer clubs, private school, cooking classes, tutors, summer camp, or the over-the-top pageantry at bar mitzvahs.

Books and articles have been written on the pressure cooker that is modern society, particularly as it pertains to how we raise our children. But what about the loss of couplehood or the loss of self that is a common side effect of this type of lifestyle?

As a woman, I can only speak from the space of being a mother and a wife. For years after I gave birth to my first child, I struggled with the concept of “time for me.” Worse still, I completely abandoned “time for us.” And the consequences made themselves known very quickly.  Stress, anger, resentment, loss. This is the start of what many psychotherapists refer to as “suburban angst.”  The stuff of films like “Little Children,” “American Beauty” and “The Ice Storm.” I’d like to know of a married person who has watched those films that hasn’t felt a deep sense of empathy, remorse, or at the very least, paralyzing fear.

At the time I saw American Beauty, my parents were on the verge of divorce. It pained me to watch the demise of the on-screen marriage as I simultaneously considered the end of my parents’ marriage — a 25-year plus journey that started out with high hopes and dreams. I sobbed through the entire credits.

When I first read Little Children, I was astounded at the similarities, if a little exaggerated, between the people and places I knew in suburban North Jersey, and the characters represented in the book. My heart sank. Is this the future my married friends and I were headed towards?

It’s a conversation I keep having…whether it’s in intimate gatherings like book club or one-on-one with colleagues or during workshops like the ones Esther Perel (author of “Mating in Captivity“) leads on modern couplehood and the quest for eroticism.

I keep talking about it because I’m not convinced suburban marriage has to end badly, despite the more than 50% divorce rate we hear about all the time.

I’m also not convinced that happy endings come without really, really hard work. And then, of course, there’s the big question. Is the hard work all worth it?

The couples who don’t think so split. The couples who do keep banging their heads against the wall trying to figure out the magic formula for staying married and staying happy both at the same time.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but have you tried “make believe?” It’s something you probably do with your kids all the time. You come home from work exhausted, but you find the energy to play dinosaurs with the three-year-old. Your toddler is having a fit in the supermarket, but you look at her and say “Honey, I love you, but if you don’t stop screaming right now…”

Recently, playing make believe worked for my marriage.

I don’t know when it happened, but my husband and I stopped saying “I love you” before he left for work in the morning. It just slipped away through the rigamarole that is getting three kids out the door at 8 am. I wanted to get back to that place where I said “it” and I meant “it.” But I was having a hard time feeling the love at 8am in the friggin’ morning with two kids hitting each other, one kid screaming, two backpacks, one lunch, and four pairs of shoes to remember. But it was important to my husband, and I could see that, so I played a game.

I started saying it, but I didn’t mean it.

“I Looooooooooove you.”

“I love youuuuuuuuuuu.”

“Oh, how I loooove you!”

Oh, of course, I love my husband. But I didn’t mean “I love you” in the middle of morning madness. At least, not when I started.

For the first week of sarcastic “I love yous,” my husband rolled his eyes. By the second week, it started to get a little funny. By the third week, it was a little private joke he and I had with each other. And by week four, I meant it. I got back to loving him on weekday mornings.

I understand that some marriages are so far down the proverbial shitcan you can’t see your way to being playful with each other. But can you be playful for your kids?

Guess what? Being playful (if not loving and sweet) with your partner is a gift to your children. Moreso than anything you could buy from a store.

Try make believing and before you know it, it might become real. After all your word is your world.

And what started out as a gift to your kids will become a gift to yourself.

–Jen Maidenberg