"I woke up yesterday morning to a bed still covered with a load of laundry that I meant to fold two days ago." Evelyn said. She was slumped in a chair at a therapy session with the oldest lady she ever met in her life. The woman was 125. (Evelyn is a human.)
She continued, "My husband slept on the couch again because of it. Sometime last night, after putting the kids to bed, I must have fallen asleep too, though I can't remember when. I can't even recall the last time I wore actual pajamas; I usually just sleep in whatever I'm wearing."
The old lady nodded. "Uh hmmm." She said, jotting down notes.
"I'm 27, but it feels like I've been in a midlife crisis for ten years. Maybe it's worse now, or maybe it's always been this bad." Evelyn continued, waving her hands as she emphasized her grief at the situation.
"It was Sunday but I didn't go to church. They've probably been wondering where I am—I haven't been in months.
And the day before, I managed to clean the whole house and it didn't even last very long! The kids tore through it like a storm. This morning, I nearly slipped on a shirt that had fallen to the floor! I just stared at the mess like it's so much work to do! When was the last time I took a bath? Maybe today should be the day." Evelyn said sitting up.
The woman listened, "well it seems like your words carry a lot of pain, complexity, and self-awareness. It's a powerful expression of the weight you're carrying, and it's clear you're grappling with so much, while still finding the strength to get through each day, even if it feels small or inadequate."
Evelyn didn't even register what she was saying. "Instead of tackling the mountain of chores, I drew a bath and sat there for an hour, letting the water wrap around me. Today was supposed to be a cleaning day. I've taken on the overwhelming project of decluttering the house before my mother-in-law visits for Christmas in twelve days. She cleans houses for a living, so she notices every detail. She's not coming to celebrate Christmas—not really. She's coming to inspect, and I know how it'll go." Evelyn continued.
The woman chewed on her glasses as Evelyn vented.
"She'll expect us to take time off work, fill our empty pantry with food we can't afford, and deep clean the house. When she gets here, she'll probably rope my husband and her husband into finishing the basement. For the two weeks she's here, I won't have control over anything—not what we eat, not what my kids do. Complaining won't be an option; my husband won't let me.
"Why am I like this? Why can't I be happy? This is the life I dreamed of. I have a house, two cars, three TVs, three kids, a job I love-baking cakes, and I believe in my faith. I should feel content.
"But I don't.
"Bills pile up faster than I can pay them. The water bill is overdue. The mortgage is looming. And then there's the alarm company, calling three times a day for money. I'll pay them—eventually—but right now, it's a juggling act!"
Evelyn listed all of her responsibilities like she could make them go away just by talking about it.
"At least I got the dishes done today."
"That's great! See you are doing alright!…" the woman said.
"-Still, I'm disappointed." Evelyn cut her off.
"I've been disappointed for as long as I can remember. Maybe since I was four years old. I tell myself it must be because I'm despicable, but deep down, I know that's not true.
"The truth is, my midlife crisis started at 17, when I testified in court against my father. The whole neighborhood found out. At church, they teach not to have sex outside of marriage, and I wondered if people look at me differently because of what happened—because I was abused. My one place of refuge was shattered, and I've never fully rebuilt it."
The woman looked at her watch, "Oh I'm so sorry to hear that." The woman said, but evenlyn kept going.
"I'm glad I spoke up. I know it was the right thing to do. But the grieving came after.
"I grieve every day. For the little girl I was when I got adopted at eight. For the pieces of myself I lost when my name was changed. For the innocence taken from me by someone who was supposed to protect me.
"These thoughts swirl in my mind as I sat in the bath yesterday, staring at the water. I kept thinking: I should get out. It's cold now. But instead, I turned the faucet back on, letting the hot water burn my feet. The pain feels grounding, somehow.
"Then I heard my kids crying.
"Time to get up." Evelyn said.
"They're sensitive to my hesitations, so I throw on some clothes and hurry to them. They need me, and as tired and broken as I feel, I'll show up for them. Always."
The old lady smiled at Evelyn now that it seemed like her story was over with. "Oh sweetheart, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself!" She didn't ask Evelyn questions like "so how does that make you feel?" Because that meant Evelyn would talk some more.
She patted Evelyn on the back. "You will be ok sweetheart. I know it sounds hard right now but you will be ok."
The old lady guided Evelyn with her hand still on her back as she led her to the desk to book another appointment.
"What stands out most is the resilience woven through your story. You've faced trauma, navigated immense loss and grief, and are still showing up — for your kids, for your husband, and for yourself in the moments you can. You're not despicable. You're human, surviving under a heavy load of responsibility, expectations, and unresolved pain.
"It's natural to feel overwhelmed when balancing trauma, the demands of daily life, and the pressure to meet external expectations — especially when compounded by feelings of guilt or disappointment. It's also incredibly hard to feel at home in a life that looks "ideal" from the outside but leaves you yearning for peace, belonging, and self-acceptance on the inside."
Evelyn nodded.
"Go buy yourself something online!" The lady said, "get yourself a treat or something, you've got this! Try to give yourself some positive encouragement."
Evelyn sighed. "Thanks. I'll see you next week."
(She wouldn't. Evelyn knew this lady wasn't right for her as a therapist for not caring about her very personal feelings. Sigh. Hopefully the next one would. In fact, for Evelyn's sake I will say the next one will in fact be her very best friend.)