Enough already, Alice! begged her husband, his voice echoing as if from another room. Youre impossible to live with! Youve trapped yourself in this state. Whos keeping you from the street? Am I locking you up? Go out, whos stopping you?
Alice sat by the tall bay window in the sittingroom, watching the autumnal park drift past like a painted backdrop. From the outside, her life seemed a perfect setpiece: a loving husband, a baby on the way, a spacious detached house bought on a mortgage. She was twentyfive, and on the surface she fit the mould of a successful young woman, yet inside a thick, viscous melancholy had taken root long ago.
That apathy had blossomed after her only shot at professional fulfilment crumbled. Three years earlier, after moving to London, Alice had landed a twomonth stint at a consultancy. The promised bonus turned into a complete fiasco, and since then her hands had fallen to her sides. Interviews arranged through acquaintances brought no offers, and a lingering fear of people became her constant companion.
The paradox was cruel: despite holding a degree in psychology, Alice found herself the most hopeless case for herself. An education that should have unlocked the world now served only as a bitter reminder of how far shed drifted from competence.
The emptiness of the big house pressed heavily. Her husband, a few years her senior, worked long hours. When Alice finally tried to share her burden, he brushed her off with irritation.
Enough, love! Stop whining, youre giving me a sour mood, Alice, he said, dry as a winters night. She tried not to remind him of her presence, especially since he provided for them completely. Money was never a direct pressure, but occasional petty reproaches slipped through.
You never appreciate what I do, he might have said, though Alice spent almost nothing on herself. The family on his side brought its own storms. His mother had taken a dislike to Alice at their first meeting. Alice, not particularly sociable, stayed out of the gossip, which seemed only to aggravate the motherinlaw.
She thinks our families are swindlers, Alice recalled, a fleeting thought during the prewedding bustle. The motherinlaw demanded a prenuptial agreement, insisting on proof of serious intent. Relatives hauled over £1,000a substantial sum for their village rootsbut it changed nothing. Constant backhandedness and feigned courtesy at gatherings drained her to the limit.
Relations with her own father were a disaster that stretched back to childhood. Having to beg for money even for food had scarred her deeply. Recently he had drawn a line, declaring over the phone that she wasnt his daughter and that she only wanted his cash.
Stop begging! he shouted. Ask your husband! Youre married, I dont owe you anything!
Alice, embarrassed, never asked David for help. After that, she cut off all contact, yet the humiliation lingered.
Pregnancy offered a brief respite: the motherinlaw softened for a while. But David began disappearing even more, returning home only at dusk, almost nightly.
I need to walk more, Alice whispered to herself, though the terror of other people froze her. Stepping out the front door felt like a heroic actDavid refused to accompany her, always busy.
The situation worsened with Davids younger sister, whom Alice had helped gain a place at a top university. After receiving aid, the sister suddenly turned hostile, snapping at Alice, calling her inept, or simply ignoring her as if she didnt exist.
She talks to me like Im a dog, Alices mother complained, What have I done wrong? Ive always helped. One evening, when David arrived home, Alice gathered courage and sat opposite him in the living room.
I need to talk about whats happening between us, Alice began softly. David set his phone down.
What about, Alice? Ive had a rough day. If youre going to whine again, dont start! he snapped. Im tired!
I cant live like this any longer, David. I feel completely useless. His temper flared.
Youre talking nonsense. You have everything the house, me, a baby on the way. Whats wrong?
Outwardly, yes. But I dont feel part of any of it. Im terrified to leave the house, scared of people, cant work. Its not laziness. I have problems.
Youre a psychologist, David smirked, a grin that cut like cold metal. A cobbler without shoes, perhaps. Youve cornered yourself with fear. Push past it and live like a normal person.
You dont get it its not fear, its alienation. After my job fell through I lost my bearings. And your mother her attitude is unbearable.
Dont start on my mother. She can be harsh, I know. But shes an older woman and she worries about me.
Alice gave a sad smile.
She worries well deceive her? That were not what they seem? She still doubts our marriage, I feel it. David, she thinks Im some sort of swindler.
Youre dramatising. You just need a hobby. Meet a friend, take a walk in the park. Clean the flat! I get home to chaos every night!
I have no friends here. Im scared to go out alone! And you gave me nothing when you said I bring you negative vibes. You think that empowers me? I need support
Im fed up with your constant complaints! I work to provide for you, and you just whine
I never asked you to provide everything! I need you your attention, care, sympathy, at least. I feel like Im beneath the floorboards, and you make it worse.
Enough! David exploded. You act like an ungrateful wretch.
Tears welled up, threatening to spill, but she held them back.
I dont feel like your wife; I feel like a servant in this house, spoiling the picture of prosperity. Your sister is rude, your mother weaves intrigue, and you come and say I give you negative vibes.
Maybe you provoke them yourself?
The conversation faded into silence. David rose and slipped into the bedroom without another word. Alice remained in the living room, realizing that trying to pour out her soul only fortified the wall between them. The shame from her father, the motherinlaws contempt, the career collapseall merged into a single, suffocating knot.
The next morning, she made a decision. She could not change her motherinlaw or her father, but she could change her attitude. She could shut herself away, retreat into a shell, cut off all contact with the world. Yet she could not; a baby was on the way, and for that child she had to mend things.
Alice opened her laptop, and for the first time in ages logged into a social network. Among her contacts were people from her old life who might help.
Hi, Charlotte. I need help. Im completely lost, she typed to a former classmate who, Alice recalled, ran a private practice. A reply arrived quickly, suggesting a video call. When they began to talk, Alice felt, for the first time in a long while, truly heardwithout judgment, without the demand to be grateful.
Alice, you cant help yourself while you stay isolated. Your pregnancy is a stressor, and your husband he isnt a psychologist; he simply doesnt know how to support you.
How do I get out of this fear of the world? I cant work, I cant even dash to a shopjust the thought of stepping through the door makes me tremble
Well start small. Tell me how you feel each day, plain and simple. I wont leave you in trouble.
Alice began working with Charlotte online, unpacking not only the childhood wounds tied to her father but also her present state. The fear did not vanish overnight, but Alice persisted, learning to quiet it. She finally managed a conversation with David about the future, this time without blame.
Im starting to work remotely. Its my therapy and my profession. I wont ask for money; Ill earn from my sessions.
David looked surprised.
What sort of work?
A crisis centre is hiring operators. Ill talk to women in difficult situations. By listening, Ill help them and myself.
David shrugged.
Well, you are a psychologist after all. Give it a go. It cant get any worse.
Under Charlottes gentle guidance, Alice began to reshape her life. Progress was slow, but she felt purpose returning. The work gave her a place where she was truly needed. Over time, she hoped to reclaim the woman she once was, ensuring her condition never scarred her child. The main goal was to pull herself out of the depression that had settled like fog. She no longer doubted that it was depression; she simply resolved to rise above it.
