Love in the Pension Zone

That’s the title of the first chapter of a book I’ve been writing for ten years. It’s a no holds barred, comedic autobiography called Work in Progress so it’ll probably not see the light of day. Until I die I expect. My kids will discover it, publish it and make a fortune, story of my life (sic.)
But I remembered it today when one of my clients, who is only just a bit younger than me, was talking about romantic feelings and remarked with a certain insight: ‘You feel exactly the same inside about these things when you are older, don’t you.’

Yes you do. In the last five years, among my clients was a man in his eighties who came for counselling because two of his girlfriends had died and he was wondering if it was appropriate to have another go, and a couple in their 70s who had been conflicting about an adult stepchild for years and were just so exhausted they had turned to counselling in desperation.
Love is Alive and Well in the Pension Zone, it seems.
My relationship history consists of me only ever being dumped once – in my forties, by a hopelessly attractive, intelligent rock star, a cool, sexy, musical genius, younger than me, utterly seductive who I fell for At First Sight but who was a nightmare of addictions and misogeny and broke my heart for the fatuous reason that he didn’t drive and lived in London – too far away.
I’ve been in five serious long term relationships since I was 14, none of a duration of less than 3 years and my record is twenty years. I always go in for keeps.
But I’ve never given up having another go. I’ve always left them, except for Mr Gorgeous Nightmare. I have major issues around my emotionally unavailable father and I fall in love readily, if not quickly. I am a trusting soul and I’ve never been with a man for any reason than I dug him, it’s never about money or status that’s for sure. I didn’t seem very hip to the dark side of men when I was younger, it seems.
I’ve left men for reasons ranging from alcoholism to Asperger’s – I didn’t know about that one at the time or I’d have been more patient.
I ended a relationship of 11 years last year, aged 59. I don’t want to trash him, suffice it to say that I gave it my best shot but saw my golden years slipping by with someone who felt impossible and after two years of agonising, baled.
I’ve never had any trouble pulling, oh that sounds bad… it’s not that I am so great, I’m just confident.

And my client was right – you feel the same. All those lovely fluttering feelings, the times when you’re not sure how your advances are going to be received, or whether what looks like interest from him is being misread the anxious chats and emails with girlfriends, the processing (for me) to make sure my agendas were healthy and authentic.
I was literally catapulted into this one overnight. Like numbers four and five, as Terence Trent D’Arby crooned, ‘ we started out as friends’.
But now, he’s ‘signed his name across my heart.’
On first sight he was the last person I’d have expected to fall for, lots of potential Red Flags, never been married, no kids, very sad history of being used by abusive, horrible women. But we were good mates for about 18 months and it wasn’t until relationship number four finally broke down that I realised I might have more than friendship going on.
I was all set for Time Out from relationship, possibly for good, since I do not believe in using one relationship to dig yourself out of another. I had Plans. I was going to move in with a friend until I could figure out where and who I now wanted to be. I was going to have Single Time again. Focus on work and the grandchildren. Etc etc.
All seemed good.
But his kindness and caring during what was a pretty ugly breakup blew me away.
Within a couple of weeks I’d moved in.
Well, at my age, life is short.
And it was a good decision. We just fell into a nice laidback domestic scenario. I feel like I have been here forever. It’s comfortable yet he surprises me every day. Our friends and families hit it off instantly. I am ridiculously happy.
After a couple of months I asked him how he was doing with the new relationship.
He was honest – a breath of fresh air? No, more like a lifetime of waiting for someone straightforward and who was prepared to communicate.
‘I don’t know quite how I feel yet because it’s happened so fast but I can tell you that I’m very contented’, he said. That was better than all the I Love Yous that we women seem to need to relentlessly extract from our confused men.
I’d made someone contented! Wow! Awesome!

As a couple therapist, I know that the ‘oceanic period’ where you’re both infatuated, obsessed with each other, tearing your clothes off every chance you get and seeing every single thing in life through the lens of that wild, In- Love high, cannot last. We simply can’t sustain it, we’d physically explode.

I now know after a lifetime of painful apprenticeship that you have to then work to replace it with something just as exciting – security, support, emotional intimacy and joint plans for the future.

• You have to lace it with space, maintain tolerance and give enough attention, then add a soupcon of kindness and keep the bedroom buzzing.

• You have to monitor for resentments and clear them.

• For me, these augment the feelings my client was talking about.

Because, yes, it does feel the same. But being so much older and wiser, there is much, much more.
So now, having tried Love in the Pension Zone, I feel I am more a happy Pensioner in the Love Zone.

Rhiannon