Nobody Talks About... When He Is There, But Not Really There

“Are you even going to shul today?”

Rochie heard the sharpness in her own voice before the sentence was even finished.

Her husband was still under the blanket. The baby was crying in the high chair, grape juice sat open on the table, and from the hallway came the question Rochie dreaded.  “Is Tatty coming for kiddush?”

She looked at her husband, listless and unreachable, and felt the loneliness settle in her chest.

“It’s almost time for the seudah,” she said. “You can’t just sleep the whole morning.”

He pulled the blanket higher.  “I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

He rolled over and faced the wall.

Rochie never knew which version of him she would get. Some days, he got up. Some days he didn’t. Some days he helped. Some days, he disappeared. Some days, he came home and seemed almost like himself. Other days, he walked in with that heavy, unreachable look and went straight to lie down.

The not knowing wore her down.  Hoping, lowering her expectations, then hoping again.

The children were getting bigger now. They were old enough to notice when Tatty was missing from the table, old enough to ask why he was still sleeping, old enough to feel the quiet tension in the room even when no one said anything.

They needed a father who was present.   And Rochie felt the ache of being a single parent with a husband upstairs. 

He still had a job, but he hated going. He woke up at the last possible second, davened for a few rushed minutes at home, and ran out the door with that heavy look on his face, like he was forcing himself through one more day.

Every time she suggested a therapist, a doctor, a rav, a mentor, a program, a plan, he pulled further away.

So she tried softer.  “I’m just worried about you.”  He shut down.

She tried practical. “I found someone you can call.”  He got angry.

She tried desperate.  “You can’t keep living like this.”  He got defensive.

By the time Rochie came to coaching, she was worn down by the instability of it all.

“I can’t just watch him ruin himself,” she said. “I can’t watch him ruin our family. I know he needs help. Why won’t he just go?”

Then her voice got quieter.  “He knows he’s miserable. Why won’t he just do something about it?”

And then, even quieter:  “I feel like I’m watching him disappear.”

She was watching the man she loved pull further and further away while she stood there trying to drag him back.  But the more she pulled, the more he resisted.

To Rochie, it felt like love.  To him, it felt like she didn’t trust him.

To Rochie, it felt like urgency. To him, it felt like control.

When someone you love is sinking, doing nothing can feel almost cruel. But Rochie was not doing nothing.

She was doing everything!  Monitoring, suggesting, warning, and trying to hold his life together for him. And she was beginning to see that all her managing had not made him stronger.  It had only made her more frantic and him more defensive.

So that week, she practiced letting go in tiny, almost invisible ways.

When he woke up late, she did not comment on the clock. She simply said quietly, “I’m happy to see you.”

When he davened quickly at home, she did not remind him what time Shacharis was.

And one evening, while she was making supper, he said, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this job. Maybe I should quit.”

Rochie felt like she would jump out of her skin from the fear.  Tell him not to quit. Tell him to call someone. Tell him to speak to a rav. Tell him he needs help.

But she stirred the soup and said, “I hear you.”

He was quiet.  Then he said, “Maybe I should talk to someone first.”

Everything in her wanted to rush in with names, numbers, appointments, and solutions.

Instead, she smiled gently and said, “Whatever you think.”

Rochie stopped acting like his alarm clock, therapist, mashgiach, career coach, and mother. She stopped trying to be the force that made him get up, go to shul, like his job, seek help, or become okay.

Feeling controlled for a man who already feels like he is failing can feel like shame.  And shame rarely helps a man rise.

Rochie could not make him admit he was depressed, seek help, love his job, or become emotionally present.  But she could stop treating him like a broken project.

She could bring warmth back into the room. And she could give him back the responsibility of grappling with his own life.

He did not suddenly become cheerful overnight.

But Rochie was different. She was not measuring every nap, every sigh, every late morning. She was not spending every conversation trying to pull him toward the version of himself she was desperate to see again.

The next Sunday was not perfect. He still slept late. The kids still asked questions. The house still needed more from him than he was giving.

But Rochie did not spend the morning listening for every sound upstairs. She made breakfast. She put on music. She took the kids outside.

he was no longer waiting for him to become okay before she allowed herself to live.

Would he change?

Maybe. Maybe not.  That was the terrifying part.

But there was one thing Rochie could know for sure: if she kept measuring every move he made, she was going to keep feeling frantic, resentful, and alone.

Relinquishing control did not guarantee that he would become the husband she wanted him to be.

But it did give her back something she had lost.  Her calm and dignity.  Her sense that she could be okay, even while he was still figuring out his life.

Maybe you are watching your husband shut down, avoid, sleep, scroll, withdraw, complain, or sink into something you cannot seem to reach.

Maybe you are singlehandedly dealing with the children, the decisions,  and the fear of what will happen if you stop holding it all together.

Maybe you are angry. Maybe you are terrified that if you stop pushing, everything will collapse.

What if relinquishing control is not giving up but giving him back the responsibility for his own life?

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Yes… this is exactly how I’ve been feeling,” you don’t have to keep suffering quietly or figure out how to live with his heaviness alone.

You can schedule a free call with me here.

Let’s talk about how to stop carrying his whole life on your shoulders and start feeling happy and peaceful.