Burning Down The Empty Nest

My youngest child just started college and moved away from home.

“I have honored my part of the deal,” I tell my husband as I pack my suitcase.

“I bought the groceries, cooked the meals, cleaned up, balanced the checkbook, had the sprinklers blown out in the fall, took the dog to the vet, washed the windows, got the mail, separated the recycling, replaced the toilet paper, washed the inside of the fridge, changed the furnace filters, bought all of the Christmas and birthday presents, raised three children, dried tears, chauffeured kids to music lessons, play rehearsals, and sat up late helping with homework.” My husband stares at me, afraid to say a word.

“You talk about retiring, well I want to retire too.  I have just retired from the mothering part, the children have shifted me into a consultant role. But what about the rest of it? The invisible work that sucks up day after day, month after month. The things that “magically” get done around here? I am looking down the barrel of a life full of these jobs and it makes me angry.” I drag my suitcase downstairs.

“That stuff is no problem. It always gets done, what’s the issue here?” he asks.

Really?

I am never the one asking the question, '“What’s for dinner?”

That, my friend, is the problem.

I acknowledge that he did his part; he took over a business that was started by his father.  He focused on his passion and steered the ship out of the storm and into calm and prosperous waters.  He brought home a good salary, he came home every night. He never had to take a day off work to stay home with a sick child, and I never had to be involved with his business. 

For 15 years of our marriage I had a job outside of the home too, but if a child was ill it was me who had to take the day off of work. It was me who got up during the night, cleaned up the puke, and kept all of the parts of our home life working. I was exhausted all the time. 

When our dog got hit by a car, I took 2 weeks off of work to take care of him. My husband never even called home during the day to see how we were. We were never on his radar when he was at work. Evenings he would help clear the dishes and fall asleep on the couch while our little ecosystem of a family life spun around him.

He bought snowmobiles and four-wheelers and boats and he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t fun anymore.

I remember during the especially hard years when the kids were little, laying in bed at night and fantasizing about grabbing my purse, getting in the minivan and heading south on I-75 with no destination in mind.  

Just running away. 

Alone.

Of course, I would never have done that, but the thought of it was so thrilling.  That fantasy was a life raft of mental escape for many years.

Now, I am planning my real escape.

My husband wants to retire in the next few years and do more of the things he enjoys.  I want and deserve to do the same. 

Except I have one problem that he does not have… I do not have a wife. 

I’ve tried telling my husband how I feel before now. Mothering is the part of my life that I absolutely loved. It consumed me day and night. There were two versions of me. The mom and the housekeeper. The housekeeper is not a role that I ever enjoyed.

My husband doesn’t see what I am all riled up about. I try and explain it like this…

“Imagine suddenly being locked out of the building of the business you built and loved and told you are no longer needed to work there.  BUT you still have to clean the toilets and do all the shit work you never liked… forever until you die.”

Crickets.

I have tried to find a way to change the patterns of our old life, to step down from the million little daily jobs around the house.  It isn’t easy.  

I want to find a way forward with my husband and make a new life that is fulfilling for us both.  It requires a lot of change and, as I see it, a dramatic event that hits a reset button. 

I grab my purse and fill my suitcase with books and bathing suits.

I am leaving for a month.

I tell my husband that this time is a gift to us both and I hope that he will discover how self sufficient he is.

A few days later, a hired car picks me up to take me to the airport.

The driver asks where my trip is taking me. 

“Florida.  I’ve rented a condo on the beach, and I will be gone a month.”

“Oh, nice, is it a girl’s trip?”

“No.  I am going alone.  I am a new empty nester.  I am drawing a line in the sand in my life.  A new beginning.  I’m going to spend a month alone, eating what I want, doing what I want, being responsible for just myself for the first time in over 30 years. When I come back, my husband and I will figure out together what our new life looks like.  But for now, it is all about me.”

Doing this… this running away, feels like a promise fulfilled to myself.  A promise for my future.

Can a marriage survive if the empty nest is on fire?