Nobody Talks About…Still Hurting After 28 Years

“Do you have to make fun of me every single time?” Sima asked, tugging at her coat zipper with shaking fingers.

Shmuel looked up from the bags beside the front door. “I asked if we were going for Shabbos or moving in,” he replied, the amusement leaving his face. “It was a joke, Sima.”

There was an overnight bag, a tin of cake, and a bag of things their married daughter had asked them to bring. Sima looked at them, suddenly feeling the need to account for every item. She had packed what they needed. Why was she standing here feeling foolish?

“Can you just put them in the car?” she asked, looking away before he could see her eyes filling.

Shmuel picked up the bags without answering. A few minutes earlier, she had been looking forward to Shabbos with their children and grandkids. Now she was wishing she could go upstairs and close the bedroom door.

They drove the first fifteen minutes in silence. Sima watched the familiar houses pass, embarrassed by how much a comment about luggage had upset her.  Why couldn’t she just laugh?

She could remember him making almost the same joke when they were newly married. Back then, she had laughed along, even when it stung. She had assumed that, with time, he would understand her better.

Twenty-eight years later, she was tired of laughing.

She thought about the extra sweater she packed because you never know. The snacks that came in handy. She liked being prepared and having something to offer when someone needed it. It hurt that something she valued about herself kept becoming something he teased her about.

After all this time, shouldn’t he know that?

They had raised children, made weddings, and stayed up with the same worries. She knew exactly how he liked his coffee and could tell from the sound of his voice when something was weighing on him. She had spent years learning the little things that mattered to him.

She wanted to feel known that way, too.

Sima heard that familiar joke and pictured the next ten years sounding exactly the same. In the beginning, she had thought they were still learning each other. Now she wondered how much longer she was supposed to wait.

She had listened to classes, read books and underlined passages. She recognized herself in the examples. But standing by the front door with her coat half zipped, she just wanted him to know her better already. She wanted the man who had shared twenty-eight years of her life to see something lovable in the very qualities he joked about. Answering sharply protected her from showing him how tender that wish still was.

During our coaching session the following week, Sima began to see how much effort she was putting into convincing herself she shouldn’t be hurt. She had been treating vulnerability as something to try after she felt calmer, less sensitive, less affected by him.

But the hurt she was trying to get past was the very thing she could express.

We explored what a simple “Ouch” might feel like in that moment. Sima could hear the difference between letting him know something stung and delivering it with a tone that demanded an apology.

The following week, Sima slipped a small umbrella into her handbag before they went out.

“What else is in there—a tent?” Shmuel asked with a grin, watching her tuck it beside her reading glasses.

Sima felt the familiar tightening in her stomach. She was about to mention the forecast, then remind him how often he had been glad she’d brought something along.

“Ouch,” she said softly, her hand resting on the bag.

Shmuel’s smile faded. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, shifting his keys in his hand. “I was just kidding.”

Sima still felt a little hurt. But she had let him hear it without having to explain twenty-eight years of it.

She closed her bag and followed him outside. Sima slid into the passenger seat, tempted to fold her arms and give him the silent treatment. Part of her wanted him to work a little harder to get a word out of her. She was still hurt, but she had let him know that. Now she wanted to carry herself with dignity, and she chose to start a conversation.

“Apparently, Yitzy has decided he only wants to be a Zeidy when he grows up,” she said, turning toward Shmuel.

“A Zeidy?” Shmuel asked, glancing over with raised eyebrows. “He’s skipping a few steps.”

“He says Tattys have to go to work, but Zeidys get to give out candy and take naps,” Sima explained, a smile spreading across her face.

Shmuel chuckled as he started the car. “Smart boy. I should have gone straight to that job.”

Sima laughed, too. The hurt hadn’t completely faded, but this time, she wasn’t laughing along to hide her feelings.

Perhaps you recognize that ache: After all these years, why does this still hurt?

Big changes in marriage rarely come from big dramatic moves. They come from small shifts practiced with intention.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Yes… this is exactly how I’ve been feeling,” you don’t have to figure it out alone.

I’d love to support you. 

You can schedule a free Marriage Breakthrough Session with me here 

Let’s talk about some small shifts that could bring more warmth and closeness into the marriage you’ve shared for so many years.

One conversation is the beginning of that shift.