11/22/12

Bad Investment
By Stephanie Lynch


It started with so much promise. She had run into him after many years. They had been close when they were young; now they were middle-aged. Lives had been lived, marriages begun and ended, children raised. Behind the changed and older face, she could recognize the boy from so long ago and realized how much she had missed him.

They had so much to catch up on, one evening turned into five days, and then long weekends on a regular basis. She fell right into step with him without hesitating. He said all the things she had waited to hear for so long, through all the tough, lonely years in a bad marriage, the struggling and exhaustion of raising her kids alone, the alienation of her parents. She could let it all spill out, and as he held her and listened, she was able to cry for the first time.

She thought they were in love; he said he loved her often enough, and they felt happy in each others' presence. She wore pretty dresses for him and felt beautiful. They went into town to see his friends and the people he worked with. She loved being back in the city where things were happening. They laughed a lot, and held hands on the street.

She could see that he had accomplished much, but had endured many losses too and bore the scars. She was too dazzled by the joy of finding companionship to see how far downhill his life had gone. His place was a mess. There were piles of unpaid bills. He could not get organized and slowly revealed how miserable he was.

She couldn’t resist the urge to rescue. It was easy at first, and he gave her enough hints and half-promises that she started to build a dream castle in her mind. She tried, she gave, she organized, she helped and she left much of her own life neglected.

She did not notice that as she gave, he was taking and his neediness, never admitted to, was endless. He stopped listening and soon stopped contributing. He attended only to his internal dialogue. He thought he knew her mind better than she did, and would not listen to her protests when he accused her of mean or crazy thoughts. His advice turned into subtle control; the puppet strings were hard to see, but she could feel them pulling. She gave up things he didn’t approve of. She sank deeper and deeper into the web without realizing it.

Then the phantom game started. There was the old lady, the one he had raised children with but had never gotten along with. He said there was nothing romantic, and she believed this was true, but she began to realize that on a deeper level he had not let go. There were daily phone calls; always her calling him. Their dogs had to be shared back and forth. Weekends were broken up. He would leave for family gatherings. He told her that the old woman might do something awful if she found out, but soon he would tell her. He still left the room to take her calls. She had to leave if the woman came over, and he would call to tell her when she could come back.

When she realized that this was not going to be temporary, she tried to leave. He persuaded her to come back with tears and great sincerity, but things didn’t change. He was so swift in moving between them that he couldn’t be pinned down.

The work on his life began to bear fruit. Opportunities came, but he was soon overwhelmed and would sabotage or let them go. The bills stayed unpaid. He went into increasingly black moods. He wouldn’t greet her at the door anymore, and she had to go find him to see what mood he was in. He focused on the circle of his inner world, and stopped asking how she felt. He would distance himself and ignore her. She counted how many weekends in a row she had felt sad. She tried to leave again, but without a word he stopped her. As sad as she was, the idea of losing the dream and being alone was intolerable.

A final crisis tipped the balance.

He had worked all afternoon with his friend, and the three of them had a good day. He left the room for a phone call, and returned in a horrible mood. The old lady had played her trump card. Apparently, there was a plan for his children to visit her that day, and it was well known that if not reminded, he would forget. This time, there had been no reminder, but an angry call afterward that he had let everyone down.

He raged the rest of the afternoon. She sat with him until he fell asleep on the couch, but by the morning, the damage had been done. She arose alone, and went to find him. His touch was cold. He ignored her tears.

He told her that they could not work out, that they were too different. He had never promised anything more, and he expected her to stay and accept her place for as long as he wanted her.

She could see it all clearly now, and she was outraged and terrified of the mistake she had made.

She threw her stuff together and dragged it to the car. She didn’t feel safe until she reached the highway. Only later would she feel the longing and emptiness.

She forced herself to look into the darkness of that aching hole inside, and find the source. She breathed through the cramping pain, and saw a faint glimmer. Deeper she went, terrified past the feelings of abandonment, inadequacy, anger, guilt and confusion toward the light.

Soon, she could see a spotlight shining on woman, sitting in a chair.

The figure opened her eyes, and spoke clearly but ever so gently.

“Don’t lose who you are. You must learn to receive as well as give. Stand tall,

you will not fall down. You can have what you need, but not by giving it away. Trust; it will come to you."

The image and the darkness faded. The pain eased into a comforting warmth. The path was strange and unfamiliar, but she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.


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Stephanie is a psychologist with three grown children. She works with many women, exploring the issues of mid-life and opportunities for growth.