ABOUT LUCY
My friend Lucys world turned upside down when her husband abruptly left her. He quickly swapped her generous thirty-four years for a blooming twenty, throwing away the dozen years theyd built together without a backward glance. As he packed his bags, he carefully explained that hed finally realisedLucy simply wasnt the one. She lacked resolve, wasnt lively enough, he called her a right hen, honestly, and then he was gone.
Naturally, the question surfacedWhy me?followed by that grim conclusion every forlorn soul reaches: Life is over.
In moments like those, its supposed to help to sob at a friends kitchen tabledoesnt bring answers, but after five or six different kitchens it takes the edge off. Trouble was, thanks to her husbands efforts, all her mates had been scrubbed out long ago, lost at the start of her married life. With nobody left to hand her tissues, Lucy turned to Ann Leonard, a specialist in family matters and depression.
Ann, with all the authority in the world, insisted the very first step was to take a good, hard look at herself. She needed to confess her own flaws, pinpoint exactly what had sent her man straying. First, she argued, you must demolish the old self, cast it aside, and only then can you build up a new youone that anyone would be lucky to have by their side. It would be a hard journey, Ann said, peering meaningfully over her glasses, but her proven system promised results.
At the very first session, it became clearher husband was practically a saint, nobly shouldering a backbreaking burden all those years. As Ann listed all the things wrong with Lucy, it seemed she didnt have more virtues than a cat could cry for, whilst her faults could fill a bus. Not so much a woman as a nest for every vicehonestly, it was soul-destroying.
So, Lucys old self was left in shambles, with nothing new rising from the ruins, except a fat new inferiority complex that cost her a fortune.
After ten sessions, Lucy crawled out of Anns office, sick with self-loathing, weak at the knees. She slumped onto a park bench, utterly defeated. A little old lady sat nearby, breaking bread for the pigeons. She looked over at Lucy and asked, Whats wrong, dear? Let me guessyour husbands left you?
Lucy, as if she hadnt had enough of Ann, spilled out her tragic tale, the saga of her long-suffering spouse. The old woman just tutted, You were together twelve years? Any children? No? Young, beautifuland what do you need with a wandering old goat like that? If I were your age, oh, the things Id do!
Ann kept phoning with rising irritation, demanding at the very least half the money for the unused sessions. Honestly, Lucy, she scolded, youll end up with nothing but broken dreams. As a professional, its abundantly clear to me. Frankly, youd be better off with a psychiatrist. Failure to form proper relationships with peopleas seen in your interactions with me, especiallyis a clear sign of antisocial personality disorder.
Six months later, her husband tried to crawl back, muttering nonsense about confusion and midlife crises. Lucy couldnt have cared less.
Russell Alexander, her extreme driving instructor, thought Lucy was the most promising pupil hed ever had. None of the blokes could hold a candle to her behind the wheel. He always joked that he could never fall for a woman who drove like a headless chicken.
Thank goodness, hed say, Lucys not that sort at all.
What Ive learned from Lucys journey is this: sometimes the greatest freedom comes when you realise you dont need to rebuild yourself for someone who couldnt see your worth in the first place. And when youre no longer looking for approval at every turn, real respectfrom others and yourselffinally takes root.
