Stop playing the martyr and take your life back
Advertisement
Read this article for free:
or
Already have an account? Log in here »
To continue reading, please subscribe:
Digital Subscription
One year of digital access for only $205*
- Enjoy unlimited reading on winnipegfreepress.com
- Read the E-Edition, our digital replica newspaper
- Access News Break, our award-winning app
- Play interactive puzzles
*First annual payment billed as $205.00 + GST for one year. This annual subscription will automatically renew at $233.00 + GST every 52 weeks (10% off the regular annual price of $259.35). Offer available to new and qualified returning subscribers only. Cancel any time.
To continue reading, please subscribe:
Add Free Press access to your Brandon Sun subscription for only an additional
$1 for the first 4 weeks*
- Enjoy unlimited reading on winnipegfreepress.com
- Read the E-Edition, our digital replica newspaper
- Access News Break, our award-winning app
- Play interactive puzzles
*Your next Brandon Sun subscription payment will increase by $1.00 and you will be charged $17.95 plus GST for four weeks. After four weeks, your payment will increase to $24.95 plus GST every four weeks.
Read unlimited articles for free today:
or
Already have an account? Log in here »
Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 30/08/2018 (2942 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.
DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: Fourteen years ago, I buried my husband. After that, I dug in, stayed single and raised my three lovely children. I was young, but I had a great career, enough money and the kids turned out fine — funky-looking with tattoos, but fine.
I didn’t turn out so well, though. My once-romantic heart shrivelled up and seemed to die. I had no love interests and no social life beyond our big extended family.
I was never so shocked when the kids — still living at home in their late 20s — sat me down for a talk. They said they’re tired of the guilt of being the martyr’s kids, and that they were afraid to leave me alone at home after all I had done for them.
They had a plan for me to join some singles groups and sports, and were willing to pay for everything, including golf lessons and sessions with a shrink. The nerve! I felt every emotion — shock, amazement, annoyance and finally anger — at them, for poking their noses into my private life and deciding what needed to be done.
At first, I told them to get lost but they sat there as if they were expecting that. Then, I broke down in tears. I said I’d “get back to them” and ran from the room. The oldest knocked on my door to say they wouldn’t be backing off. Later that evening, he said, “You’re going to thank me one day. We’re giving you back your life. You might even fall in love.”
I started bawling. The need for a man I had sealed off for so long was opening up and it hurt. Now I’m a total emotional mess and I don’t know what to do. — The Martyr, Fort Garry
Dear Martyr: Humour those wonderful “kids.” Your children sound like funky-looking angels to me. You looked after them for how long? Now, they want to look after you for a short while and give something precious to you, like a chance at meeting someone new. And they want their freedom now that they’re in their late 20s — freedom from guilt, to live where they choose and to make their own lives.
So, let them pay for whatever they want to do for you. Go for golf lessons, join a singles group, try out things they suggest as an experiment and to appease them.
My mom used to say “nobody likes a martyr” and she was right. Your kids will like you better, and continue to love you, if you stop dedicating your whole life to them and denying yourself pleasure, fun and friendships.
As for the counselling sessions, take them. It’s money well spent.
Dear Miss Lonelyhearts: My husband has started teasing me about my weight in an affectionate voice, calling me “Dumpling.” So, I started teasing him about his skinniness sarcastically, calling him “Boney!”
This has caused us both to feel self-conscious. We haven’t had sex in two weeks and I need my lovin’. We have dug ourselves into a hole. How do we get out of it? — Dumpling, Sage Creek
Dear Dumpling: Start with an apology, even though he started it. Apologies usually soften things up. After two weeks of no affection between you, he might be quite ready to apologize, too.
Then, play a little lovers’ game: tell each other everything you like about each other’s body.
Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber.
Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.