Dear Bel,
My husband and I and our two children moved to Spain three years ago. At
the time we were essentially quite happy, though we were both having to work
full-time to pay our London mortgage and we felt that our children (then
aged 4 and 8) were suffering as a result. In Spain I have been a full-time
mother and the children have clearly benefited. However, our marriage has
come under strain, partly because my husband now has to travel extensively
across Europe. I am at the end of my tether, but he refuses even to discuss
returning to England because he says that the children are happier in Spain.
Nor will he consider counselling. His career is going well, but is even more
stressful now than it was in London. I feel so isolated here and really need
old friends and family as support. I’ve thought about issuing him with an
ultimatum — either we return to London or I will take the children back
anyway. I feel that this is a high-risk strategy but don’t know what else to
do.
Sophie, 39
IT IS interesting what words people choose to sum up their quality of life.
The revealing phrase is “essentially quite happy”, but I don’t seize on it
with a triumphant “You see? That means not happy!”, as you might expect. On
the contrary, I give a small round of applause for honesty, for realism. For
the “essentially quite” suffices for many of us. It means an acceptance of
the inevitable shortfall in happiness, which is one key to being able to
survive it. It sounds as if you would have been better off staying put. But
then, I have always been a pragmatist.
It seems that the daily grind of work and the mortgage (in other words, normal
life for millions of people) were the worm in the bud, so you escaped to
Spain in search, presumably, of the “real” happiness that you believed was
out there, somewhere. It’s the kind of Mediterranean idyll that many Brits
seek, only to end up leathery and lonely on the Costa del Sol. You moved for
the sake of the children and an ideal — both reasons noble enough. Yet
self-sacrifice never guarantees happiness; many martyrs face their fate with
a cry of resentment that they are forsaken.
And that is how you feel, on a foreign shore. When you imply that you moved
for the children’s sake, because you could live more cheaply, and therefore
give up your job, the further implication is that your work meant nothing to
you — you don’t mention that you miss it. The children have benefited but
you have not. Now your lifestyle has been turned on its head, and you and
your marriage are “suffering” instead of the children. This is the worst
scenario, since children are more resilient than we think. Better a
household where childcare is well organised and Mum and Dad are settled into
a work- home routine than one in which the mother is miserable, the father
stressed out and they have ceased to communicate.
Two children are not happy because their father states that they are, but when
their parents have that settled ease with each other that is the hallmark of
a great relationship. Your kids will have an opinion about where the family
lives, but in truth you can sell most plans and prospects to the young. Say
you are going home, throw in choosing a new pet from the RSPCA, and they’ll
be fine. Their wishes are not paramount here.
The situation that you describe is no longer much of a marriage, I fear. I am
trying to imagine what kind of man this is, who faces the world with so many
refusals on his brow. Perhaps his work has become so much “more stressful”
not just because there is more of it, but because he is an intractable and
angry person, as selfish in his business dealings and as difficult with his
colleagues as he is with his family. What right has he to refuse to take
your needs into consideration? I suspect that the move to Spain was
instigated largely by him, because his career took such an upturn as a
result, and he wanted the übermother figure at home with the children. In my
experience a certain kind of man likes nothing better than to position his
Queen in her place on the chessboard.
Yet maybe you were an equal partner in the flight to fantasy, and deep down
you feel that you have failed. I’m wondering if you have learnt Spanish,
because Brits in Spain are notorious for stopping at hola, then
complaining that the locals are not friendly. If the push to move there came
mainly from your husband, the worst aspect of the current situation is that
you are blaming him. If you were just as keen, then you are blaming
yourself, and the knowledge that you have done little or nothing to make
Spanish friends must make that worse. Either way you are stuck in a
negative, and life can only get worse.
At times when my life congealed, I looked in the mirror and asked myself
whether victimhood was one of the roles I had dreamt of as a little girl. Of
course the answer was no. Both times the first thing to do was to flush the
pills down the loo; the second was to ask myself what action I could take.
Faced with a wall, you have to feel around in the creeper to find the door,
like Mary did in The Secret Garden — because, believe me, there is
always a way out, even if it takes strength to turn the rusty key and more
to heave the door open.
You say you are at the end of your tether — a throwaway cliché with deep
significance. Your tether is not the house, or the children, but feeling
helplessly harnessed to a man who has no interest in your wishes, your
happiness. You must talk to him, even if it means going to England for a
holiday with the children and not being on the flight back, so he is forced
to confront the situation. You imply that you have tried hard already, so
it’s time for action.
One compromise would be to suggest moving to a place outside London, because
you are unlikely to feel as lonely in Andover as in Andalusia, and the
quality and cost of life will be better than in the capital. If your husband
keeps the same job he will be absent a good deal of the time, but then, he
is now. At least you will be a mere train ride from family and friends and
can construct a new life more easily within your own culture.
If you can’t face up to the confrontation this will inevitably bring, then you
have no choice but to decide what to do in Spain. You must not fester in the
current situation, but ask yourself if there are things to make it work that
you are not doing now — such as learning the language, taking a course on
the internet, finding some role in local life (informal English conversation
lessons?). You might just make some very good friends. If it’s meant to be,
you could also meet a man who values your feelings, your happiness. He could
even be your changed and chastened husband.
Dear Bel,
My daughter is planning to take a gap year before university and
travel to India, Thailand and other destinations in the Far East, with her
boyfriend. Although we know that this is a perfectly normal plan for
18-year-olds now, we have particular concerns because we know that our
daughter’s boyfriend, also 18, is a keen smoker of marijuana (and perhaps
takes other things). He will want to partake on his travels and my fear is
that she will inevitably join in (we know that she has sometimes smoked
marijuana herself in the past).
We have seen terrible reports of young Britons being locked up for
years in India for drug possession, and have tried to raise our concerns
with our daughter, but she dismisses us. Although we are partly funding her
gap year, she has also saved money from a part-time job and could probably
scrape by on her own funds. What should we do?
Ruth, 46
The terrible truth that all parents have to face is that you can’t protect
your grown-up children from their own choices. She will go on the dreaded
gap year and may or may not smoke, but you won’t be there. All you can do is
to hope that her whole upbringing, and the more recent talks you have tried
to have, will keep her sensible and safe.
Take the two of them out for a really good meal, choose a decent wine and
start a relaxed conversation about the issue. Treat them like adults whom
you respect. And remember that thousands of backpackers have the occasional
smoke on their travels without ending up in a Midnight Express
situation.
E-mail your problems to: bel.mooney@thetimes.co.uk or
write to her at: T2, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1TT, including your
name and age for publication. Bel Mooney cannot enter into personal
correspondence
