LONELINESS TOGETHER
Thirty-eight years ago, I brought Robert, my future husband, home to meet my parents. To introduce him, to tell them we were planning to get married.
Mum and Dad understood straight away as soon as they saw the unfamiliar young man at the door. Before then, I had never introduced any of my boyfriends to them. I always said, Whats the point in showing them off? If I decide to get married, then Ill introduce him.
So, my parents scrutinised Robert quite carefully as he sat, a bit awkwardly, at our dining table.
For some reason, I left the room for a moment, and Dad followed me out.
Youre making a mistake, he told me quietly. You shouldnt marry him.
And why not? I bristled immediately, Is it because hes a lorry driver?
Its not just that, Dad replied, though it does matter, I suppose. He might be a good person, but youre from completely different worlds. What on earth will you talk to him about? You were raised in a military family, went to university. And him? Hes a village lad, hardworking, yes, but terribly simple. Its plain to see. If you marry him, therell always be a barrier between you: intellect.
Come on, Dad, thats old-fashioned thinking. I dont care what he does. The important thing is he loves me. Besides, its never too late to learn. Ill help him, I shot back, absolutely certain I was right.
Well, its up to you. But remember what they sayignore your parents advice and youll regret it. Just dont say I didnt warn you
We got married in the end. Once the whirlwind of romance had faded, normal married life began.
After much persuasion, Robert enrolled in a technical college, but he never really started studying. I ended up doing his coursework for him, wading through technical textbooks I had no interest in. He went to a couple of sessions, then gave it up entirely, announcing, Whats the point for me? If you like it, you carry on.
I tried convincing him, but it was hopeless. Robert believed he already knew enough and wasnt about to waste time on nonsense.
Fine, have it your way, I eventually told him, resigning myself to the fact that he wasnt going to study.
Still, I thought, hes not stupid. Hes read all the books from my shelves, keeps up with politics, and hes well thought of at work. True, he still has that unmistakable country way about him, but thats how he isand thats whom I fell in love with, after all.
As the years passed, my relationship with Robert grew more complicated. He never took my opinions seriously; he always tried to put me down, to make sure I knew who was in charge. Hed make blunt, insensitive remarks in front of otherstopics I thought no one in their right mind would raiseand with such confidence it was almost unbearable.
It turned out he couldnt make a single important decision on his own. Any family issue fell squarely on my shoulders, and Robert took that for granted:
You want the kitchen done up? Do it!
We need a new fridge? Buy one, then!
Want the balcony enclosed? Up to you! If you want it, you sort it.
The only thing he was really good at was the allotment. He adored working the soilthere, he came into his own.
Some might say thats enough. But the allotment is only three or four months out of the year. The rest of the time, I was both wife and husband.
When I was young, it hardly registered. Later, the weight of it became oppressive. But Robertso used to letting me run thingsnever wanted to change. Why should he? Life was just fine for him. Hes never once bought me even a daffodil on Mothers Day. As for gifts, he once saidutterly seriouslyIve already given you gifts. Twice. Look at our daughters running round.
I didnt argue. I told myself, Hes just not used to giving presents; thats how his family is. Ill get over it.
Right from the start, Robert was hard work socially. He never learnedand never wantedto engage with others. Early on, my friends would ask if he could actually hold a conversation, and I would just laugh it off.
Truth was, it always irritated Robert that I was so social and at ease with people. He never had a good word for any of my relatives or friends, while he never managed to keep friends of his own.
As well as managing the home, I always worked and earned decent money. Even through tough times, I found extra jobs because I knew Robert wouldnt lift a finger to do more than necessary. If you want more, you earn it! And as long as he went to work, he thought I should be satisfied.
Slowly, I began to realise: I had simply nothing to talk to Robert about. We saw the world in completely different ways. If I enjoyed a film, hed declare it nonsense. Anything he watched, I couldnt tolerate for more than ten minutes. Dont even get me started on music or books.
Our personalities, tooI’ve always put others first, tried to do everything for him, the children, the friends. He, on the other hand, is the absolute embodiment of selfishness, concerned only with himself. In the end: we eat different food, share no interests, have lost our feelings, and both daughters have grown up and moved away. Thirty-eight years together, lived apart, it seemsstrangers under one roof.
Robert thinks Ive grown arrogant, dont appreciate him, dont show respect. It doesnt matter to him that I carry all the loadhe thinks thats just my duty.
So he gets drunk now and then and lets loose with all his opinions: about my late parents, my family, everything. He judges every action, every word of mine, usually with a sneer. It gives him a certain pleasure. Like some lord putting his servant in her place.
Then when he sobers up, he wonders why I barely speak to him.
But I was only telling the truth!
And nothing I say can change his mindits his truth, and only his, and he simply isnt capable of hearing or accepting anyone elses.
So here I am, sitting at my friend Susans kitchen table, tears dripping onto my hands, pouring my heart out: Im so exhausted My whole life has been like sitting on a barrel of gunpowder, never knowing whats going to set him off next. Im tired of compromising, tired of adjusting, tired of putting up with it. But what can I do? Divorce? Whats the point? Hell never leave. Hell just stay and make my life miserable. Worst of all, hes utterly convinced hes right. After his drunken outbursts, I fall apart for weeks, piecing myself back together. Its still a familychildren, and now grandchildren. I find excuses to stay with him. Try to smooth things over, keep the peace. He takes it as victory, and starts all over again, even bolder than before.
Its wearing me down to nothing And I cant leave, can I? I mean, technically I could, but then what? When hes drunk he loses what little sense he has, and if I went, every lowlife from the local pub would move into my home, make a mess of everything. Ive seen it happen before.
So I have to stay I cant abandon my own house.
You know, when the kids were growing up, our differences didnt stand out so much. I was too busy, too distracted to take stock or listen to my own feelings.
But now that its just the two of us, its become unbearable. Two strangers, one roof Even after thirty-eight years
Yes Father was right. Intellect always stood between usSusan listened quietly, her hand resting gently over mine. Her kitchen clock ticked. For a moment, we said nothing, letting the weight of my words settle between us.
Finally, she leaned in and said, Anna, you are not alone.
Her words fluttered softly in the silence, and something cracked inside mesomething Id built up, stone by stone, through decades of stubborn endurance.
It struck me: I had banished myself into loneliness for so long, convinced that only I could understand my emptiness. But here was Susan, not shrinking away, not judging, just holding space for me. The smallest kindness felt like sunlight breaking through a window left shut for years.
I wiped my eyes and straightened. Maybe things could never be what they once might have been. Perhaps I could never unravel the years or change Robert. But I could choose, every day, the way I carried my loneliness. I could allow some light in, in the shape of a friend, a shared cup of tea, a walk in the park. I could let my daughters see me not just as their mother, but as a woman who still hoped for warmth and laughtereven now.
Susan squeezed my hand, her eyes shining. Come out to the garden. Lets just sit a while.
We sat together in the cool dusk, hands wrapped around mugs of strong tea. I listened to the distant shrieks of children chasing each other, the wind rustling the leaves. And I thoughtfor the first time in yearsmaybe together, even loneliness can feel different. Maybe it can soften, even if only by a little.
I breathed in the evening air, and let myself hopequietly, stubbornly, bravelyfor something gentler ahead.
