Glenn was forty-two, prematurely gray, with a voice that boomed self-confidence. Not only was he highly successful, but he also had a vivacious wife, two beautiful kids, and a spacious home in the suburbs. Many would have said Glenn had found the golden goose.
Shortly after his fortieth birthday, Glenn's golden goose had started to lay rotten eggs. His wife had begun to chal-lenge the restrictive role of wife and mother, his kids stormed into adolescence, he found his work more demand-ing and less rewarddemand-ing, and his body was quietly remind-ing him that alcohol had taken the upper hand. Worst of all, a relentless despondency had crept into Glenn's life, mak-ing each day a little darker than the one before.
He denied any deterioration in his life, however, until his wife broached the possibility of a legal separation. Dana had been seeing a psychotherapist for several months and had repeatedly told Glenn to find help for his problems. He went to his physician for a complete physical and was almost disappointed to hear that he was in good shape. He had hoped that his problems were not emotional. Deep inside he knew the truth; he just hadn't admitted it to himself yet.
He came to my office with an abrupt warning: "Basically
DESPONDENCY 173 I don't like you guys. You seem more screwed up than any of the rest of us. And you never say what's really on your mind. I don't want to sit here, pour out my guts, and then leave wondering what you think about something I've said."
Boy, had he come to the right place!
"My wife says I need psychotherapy," he said, and waited.
"Do you?"
"I don't know, you're the doctor."
He had given me a license to be blunt, so I didn't pull any punches. "I don't know either, so I guess we're both in trouble."
"Maybe you could give me your opinion on one thing.
How does a man handle it when his wife turns on him and takes away everything he's ever wanted?"
"That doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like you're trying to tell me something. Why don't you just tell me?"
"All the things I've ever wanted are being ripped away from me. And I can't do a damn thing about it. My wife needs to find herself—so she says—but while she's finding whatever the hell she misplaced, I'm losing my family."
Glenn's despondency was hidden behind anger. I moved slowly. " H o w so?"
"Dana decides she wants to finish college, so I have to wade through her English papers in order to find the TV Guide. Then she wants to get a part-time job, so I have to come home to a messy house. Then she wants to take an extra night class, so I have to hurry home to replace some dippy little teenage babysitter who's plopped into my chair, is drinking my pop, eating my pretzels, and talking on my phone while my kids, who probably don't need a babysitter anyway, are trying to destroy one another.
"I work hard, I make a lot of money, I have status in the community—and I've earned every damn bit of it. And now, what's my payment? My wife sees some damn shrink,
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pointment becomes the one characteristic of a disturbed relationship that just won't be silenced.
One can't consider the despondency that builds within the PPS victim without dealing with sexual unrest. Sexual complaints are often the one thing that breaks the bond of silence. At the moment of disclosure, "bad sex" is usually seen as the problem. In truth, it is only a symptom. Only if a couple looks beyond the symptom to the real cause does the relationship have a chance to improve.
LEARNING HOW TO FEEL
Glenn was forty-two, prematurely gray, with a voice that boomed self-confidence. Not only was he highly successful, but he also had a vivacious wife, two beautiful kids, and a spacious home in the suburbs. Many would have said Glenn had found the golden goose.
Shortly after his fortieth birthday, Glenn's golden goose had started to lay rotten eggs. His wife had begun to chal-lenge the restrictive role of wife and mother, his kids stormed into adolescence, he found his work more demand-ing and less rewarddemand-ing, and his body was quietly remind-ing him that alcohol had taken the upper hand. Worst of all, a relentless despondency had crept into Glenn's life, mak-ing each day a little darker than the one before.
He denied any deterioration in his life, however, until his wife broached the possibility of a legal separation. Dana had been seeing a psychotherapist for several months and had repeatedly told Glenn to find help for his problems. He went to his physician for a complete physical and was almost disappointed to hear that he was in good shape. He had hoped that his problems were not emotional. Deep inside he knew the truth; he just hadn't admitted it to himself yet.
He came to my office with an abrupt warning: "Basically
DESPONDENCY 173 I don't like you guys. You seem more screwed up than any of the rest of us. And you never say what's really on your mind. I don't want to sit here, pour out my guts, and then leave wondering what you think about something I've said."
Boy, had he come to the right place!
"My wife says I need psychotherapy," he said, and waited.
"Do you?"
"I don't know, you're the doctor."
He had given me a license to be blunt, so I didn't pull any punches. "I don't know either, so I guess we're both in trouble."
"Maybe you could give me your opinion on one thing.
How does a man handle it when his wife turns on him and takes away everything he's ever wanted?"
"That doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like you're trying to tell me something. Why don't you just tell me?"
"All the things I've ever wanted are being ripped away from me. And I can't do a damn thing about it. My wife needs to find herself—so she says—but while she's finding whatever the hell she misplaced, I'm losing my family."
Glenn's despondency was hidden behind anger. I moved slowly. " H o w so?"
"Dana decides she wants to finish college, so I have to wade through her English papers in order to find the TV Guide. Then she wants to get a part-time job, so I have to come home to a messy house. Then she wants to take an extra night class, so I have to hurry home to replace some dippy little teenage babysitter who's plopped into my chair, is drinking my pop, eating my pretzels, and talking on my phone while my kids, who probably don't need a babysitter anyway, are trying to destroy one another.
"I work hard, I make a lot of money, I have status in the community—and I've earned every damn bit of it. And now, what's my payment? My wife sees some damn shrink,
174 THE PETER PAN SYNDROME
suddenly decides she's unfulfilled, and starts talking about careers and a separation. And then I'm supposed to get help. What a rip!"
Since he had declared open season on shrinks, I decided a low profile was the best idea. "Sounds like you're upset."
"Damn right I'm upset. A man works to give his family the best, and then what does he get? I'll tell you; he gets dumped on, that's what."
"Have you talked with your wife about this situation?"
"What do you think?" He glared at me as if I were the one who had smashed his dreams. "Hell, yes. But every time I try talking, she says I'm not listening! I tell her I'd listen if she had anything interesting to say. But no, I just get more of the same old crap. 'I need to find myself and you don't understand.' " His falsetto voice was filled with derision and cynicism.
"Do you make fun of your wife to her face?" I asked.
"I'm not making fun of her. I'm just trying to find out why she wants to see me suffer. After all I've done for her, I don't deserve to see my world crumble right before my eyes. Hell, I've had hundreds of opportunities to cheat on Dana, but I've never done it. I've been true blue, and now I see what it's gotten me."
I remained silent, purposely skirting the sexual issue, knowing it would come around again.
With a self-righteous smugness, Glenn dared me to en-gage him in mental gymnastics. "So what do you think, Doc?"
"What do I think? Well, since you want me to shoot straight with you, here's what I think: You ought to get off your self-pity trip and tell me about your pain, because it's obvious you're hurting like hell."
He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and loosened his tie. A twinkle of schoolboy charm danced across his face. "Don't be afraid to say what's on your mind, I can take it," he joked.
DESPONDENCY 175
"You said you wanted me to call 'em the way I see 'em.
Was I too strong?"
His answer surprised me. " N o . I just thank God you aren't going to let me get away with any of my bullshit.
You may not know this, but I can con people very well. I even con myself into thinking I know what's going on. But I don't. My world is coming apart and I don't have the foggiest notion what to do. Sure I need help, but where I come from, a man just doesn't admit that. It's not good for the image, if you know what I mean."
"You're scared, aren't you?"
"Damn right. Wouldn't you be?"
"Sure."
"I'm forty-two years old, on my way to being a national sales manager, have a gorgeous wife whom I love dearly, two kids who I think are the greatest things since sliced bread, and my life is disintegrating right before my eyes.
And I don't know how to stop it. Yeah, I'm scared. Panicked is probably more like it."
Glenn talked about several major areas of his life during a marathon session that lasted over three hours. He ex-pressed regret that he and his father had never been close.
He felt disgusted with his compulsion to please people and the fact that he had no true friends. He was disappointed in his selfishness; he heard himself saying "my" much too often. He experienced gross ambivalence over the way he still seemed attached to his mother's apron-strings.
When we reached the topic of sex, Glenn was guilt-ridden and embarrassed. He started to talk about himself as if he were the world's greatest lover. But with a gentle nudge he reversed his "macho man" routine, confiding that it was difficult for him to accept his sexuality openly and honestly. He recounted a recent event that he thought proved he was "coming out of the closet" and accepting the spontaneity of his sexuality.
"I came home early one day last week. Dana was dusting
176 THE PETER PAN SYNDROME
the furniture and looking very sexy in her cut-off jeans. I walked up behind her and grabbed her tits." Glenn opened his hands and flexed his fingers, recreating the manner in which he had begun his "foreplay."
"I pushed her over the dining room table and started unzipping her jeans. She pushed my hands away, saying she didn't want to do it there. T h e kids were gone for a while, so I knew we had time. I kept undressing her. She told me to stop, but I knew I would make her like it."
As Glenn continued, his pride was as great as his boast-fulness. Our emotions went in opposite directions. He got excited; I was saddened.
"I sort of pinned her on the table and shoved it in. She finally stopped complaining." He grinned sheepishly. "It didn't last very long. I don't think I even made it for thirty seconds, but it was good."
I sat in silence, replaying the essence of what Glenn had just told me. It was evident that he was totally unaware of the nature of his actions. In the softest, most supportive tone I could manage, I hit him with harsh reality. "You raped your wife, Glenn. Maybe not legally, but physically and emotionally, you raped Dana."
His face turned ashen, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes, wide with awe, stared off into oblivion. He didn't move; I don't think he could have. Then small droplets of tears formed a glaze over his eyes, and he whispered, "Oh, my God!"
Thousands of floodlights had been switched on inside his head. Suddenly, hundreds of things he had never realized he knew were visible to his mind's eye. Glenn was in shock.
Every four or five seconds he whispered, "Oh, my God!"
Every fifteen or twenty seconds he looked at me, each time more tears forming in his eyes. His incredulity lasted over five minutes, a lifetime in psychotherapy.
Glenn choked over his words. "Of course—that's exactly what I did. I raped my wife. T h e only person I truly care
DESPONDENCY 177 about. Damn, I'm a helluva guy, aren't I?" His self-criti-cism was filled with overwhelming guilt.
More silence.
T h e shock of his insight pushed Glenn all the way down.
"I've hit bottom. Everything Dana has been saying is true.
I've been too damn stupid to see it. She tells me I don't really know how to love her, that I don't respect her. She says I don't know how to express my feelings. She tells me I need to grow up. I listened to all those things, but I never heard them."
He paused, his mind racing. " H o w do I ever recover from this? How do I make up for what I did? Where do I start?" He was searching desperately for relief from his guilt.
"There are several things you need to do. First, knock off the guilt. It's useless. Second, dedicate yourself to the pro-cess of growing up. Psychotherapy can help you im-mensely in that area. Third, go home, hug your wife, tell her you love her, and let her know that things are going to change."
Glenn was dubious. "Don't we have to talk about what I did?"
"Why? What good is there in singling out one inconsid-erate act when it's best forgotten? If Dana is anything like you say she is, she certainly doesn't want to rehash such an event. She may want to talk with you about her sexual needs, but I hope she doesn't want to ruminate on one mistake. Anyway, if you start showing her love instead of focusing on what an ass you are, she'll be more than happy to forget about the past."
"But I need to tell her I'm sorry."
"Fine. Tell her. Just don't start pounding her with cries and pleas for mercy."
"What if she won't forgive me?"
"Then she has a problem."
A week later, I saw Glenn and Dana together. Dana
1 7 8 THE PETER PAN SYNDROME
wasn't an unforgiving person, but she did have a problem.
She had developed a strategy to protect herself from Glenn's insensitivity. And it was one that she would have to change if the "new Glenn" was to emerge within their marriage.
I explained it to her this way: "You haven't been able to retaliate against Glenn physically, so you've done it emo-tionally. You are in touch with your feelings; Glenn, for the most part, is not. This makes you stronger than he is, at least in this area. So it's understandable that you would try to equalize your footing with him by hitting him where he's the weakest. I hear evidence that you've developed the habit of belittling him for his lack of feeling, ridiculing his emotional blind spots, scoffing at his attempts to be warm.
And now, with the advent of change, you may have the unconscious tendency to use this battle tactic when things get strained. But you needn't worry about it. With mutual growth, it will eventually disappear."
Dana was also dedicated to change. She asked, "So what do I do about this 'battle tactic' when it comes back?"
"You accept it. You don't have to like it, just tell yourself that it's okay. You have to accept the fact that you've both fallen into some bad habits. But together, you can change the way your marriage works."
With moving tenderness, Glenn leaned toward his wife and said, "I want to make our marriage better and I'll work my tail off to do it." He hesitated, then continued with a question he was afraid to ask. "Do you still want me?"
Dana smiled through her tears. "Of course I do."
Glenn turned to me with tears of his own and said, "God, I just want to hug her."
With the bluntness Glenn had come to expect from me, I said, "Well, don't tell me about it, you damn fool, do it!"
Glenn almost jumped across the room and grabbed Dana as if she were about to run away. I excused myself for a timely "rest break." When I returned, they were holding
DESPONDENCY 179 hands on the sofa like two kids on their first date.
I gave them one final directive. "You will have problems.
T h e same old stuff may rear its ugly head when you least expect it. But you can handle it easily. To do so I recom-mend a "touch-and-hug" program. When things go sour, walk away from each other as soon as possible. Go to oppo-site ends of the house if you have to. Then, within thirty minutes, seek each other out and, without talking, touch and hug each other. Then you can discuss what went wrong."
Their smiles spoke of commitment to this idea. Glenn was bursting with energy; he could hardly contain himself.
"There's so much to say. There are so many feelings inside me. I'm afraid I might lose them if I don't put them into words right now."
I tried to slow him down. "I understand your fear. But you won't lose them. Feelings are always there, you just never knew it."
"But what if they leave me and I can't find them?"
"Don't panic. T h e touch-and-hug program will bring them right back."
"But how do I get good at the touch-and-hug program?"
"Like anything else. Practice, practice, practice."
"But . . ."
"Hey," I interrupted, "I have a great suggestion for you.
Why don't you quit worrying about feelings for now, take your wife out of here, and continue practicing the touch-and-hug program."
Glenn and Dana beamed with delight as they walked hand-in-hand out of my office into a blissful spring evening.