Jane Who Had It All

In her freshman year, Jane had to read that story about the woman who goes completely mad because of the hideous wallpaper in her room. Ok, that isn’t exactly the reason, but as they say, If you know, you know. The story scared the absolute hell out of her. She wasn’t sure if it was the bulging eyes of the nightmare women rattling the bars that trapped them in the wallpaper, or the crouching women creeping around in the darkness outside the window, or, no—it was definitely the bedpost, the gnawing on the bedpost—this woman in the story, lovingly and securely driven to insanity, gnawing on her bedpost was sheer terror.  

As an 18 year old girl, away from home for the first time, having struggled with depression and anxiety since long before she knew they had a name, Jane considered it a win every time she actually got up and out of bed. Everything felt overwhelming, and she spent close to half of her 9am Intro to Lit classes in bed with the covers pulled over her head convinced she was unwell. She had become so adept at faking migraines that she was now actually getting them, and did not appreciate the irony that the only thing that inspired any energy in her at all was getting up—that was literally the cure—and that seemed all but impossible.

That is until one dark and stormy morning when Jane happened to make it to class and happened to read the Wallpaper story and everything changed. It had been 90 minutes of reading and reflecting in a classroom that looked way more like high school than she thought college would, in a small chair with the desk attached exactly like the ones she’d been sitting in year after year after year. Ninety minutes, and nothing was ever the same. Walking back to her dorm after class, Jane couldn’t stop thinking of the story. It had reminded her of an assembly they’d had a few years ago called Scared Straight or something close—the speaker guy had the most God awful life and frightened his entire teenage audience to their very cores; they swore they’d never smoke again, or drink again, or take their health, their opportunities, their lives, for granted again. It had been extremely powerful. But it didn’t compare to the last hour and half she’d spent in that classroom.  

Jane knew then and there that if she let the loneliness and exhaustion and hopelessness that had a way of consuming her, keep her in bed, out of class, and away from people who might even become friends, she would end up crawling around her dorm room on her hands and knees, scratching at the walls, gnawing at the furniture, and ultimately destroying herself. Terrifying.  Jane never missed another class. She go straight A’s, graduated with honors, scored a sweet internship at a law firm, aced the LSAT, and flew through law school. She never looked back.

At forty, Jane had it all. A loving marriage to a renowned and beloved OBGYN, three incredible kids, a beautiful home, a fulfilling career as an attorney, and a yellow lab named “Charlie.” Sure she was busy, but she loved every minute. She was living a life she had never even dared dream of, and was the envy of everyone she met. John, her husband, was always there to support her and encourage her to put herself first. He cared so much.

He cared about her energy levels, her nutrition, her weight, and her tendency to slide back into bad habits like oversleeping and eating junk. He knew all about Jane’s struggles before they met, and had assumed the role of ever-vigilant protector. He would never see her plummet back into that kind of despair. They had worked on establishing a strict routine for Jane, allotting a scheduled block of time for everything she needed to do to stay well. John made sure the routine included plenty of self care. He loved her too much to see her burn out.  

Jane’s daily “To Do” would have impressed the young James Gatz—14 hours scheduled to the minute and packed with exercises and activities to better the mind, body, and soul. Up at 5 for reflection, meditation, and gratitude practice—writing a list of five things she was grateful for, and 5 things she was looking forward to today. She joked to herself that what she’d really be grateful for was not having to write the damn list and maybe getting an extra twenty minutes of sleep. Haha! At 6:15 she’d head downstairs to the kitchen to put on the coffee for John, and heat up some water for her morning tonic of hot water, a squeeze of lemon juice, and a dash of cayenne. She used to enjoy a cup of coffee. Sometimes she’d try to imagine her first taste of tonic as strong black coffee, but the lemon made it almost impossible, not to mention the cayenne. She knew coffee wasn’t good for her, but she swore this tonic was stripping her teeth down to the nerves. Anything too cold was impossible to eat without excruciating pain—ice cream was out—probably for the best.

As she sipped the hot tonic through a straw, John had suggested a straw to reduce sensitivity, she glanced at the fridge for today’s lunch menu. She wrote out the menu on a neat little magnetized calendar each Sunday afternoon, taking care to address each child’s needs and restrictions, and of course being sure that each meal was tasty, nutritious, creative, and aesthetically pleasing. There was a (mostly) unspoken and vicious competition between the moms when it came to lunches from home. No one was really sure how the info got out about who had what for lunch and how it was packed —it seemed a more sophisticated operation than just kids’s talk—but everyone knew. Any kind of peanut butter and jelly level effort, or God forbid a Lunchable, was certain to bring not just derision, but worse somehow, concern and a hint of pity—hushed inquiries: Was everything ok? Must be hard with you both working so much; I know someone great if you’re looking for help”—that kind of thing. It had never happened to Jane, but she lived in fear.

Today would be a yogurt and fresh berry parfait for Lindsey, with a side of homemade granola for sprinkling on top.  John said the store-bought granola might as well be crushed up cookies. Boy, it had been a really long time since Jane had had a cookie. Remember Chips Ahoy? She couldn’t imagine how she used to eat those things, all full of chemicals and preservatives— delicious, addictive, comforting chemicals and preservatives. Carolyn would have a Cesar salad with grilled chicken and a homemade dressing. She was on a high protein, very low sugar diet to improve her focus. John reminded them daily of the hidden sugars in things like salad dressing; he really, really didn’t need to remind her. Jane knew. But he cared so much, he couldn’t help it. Jack would have leftovers from his dinner last night. Chickpea pasta with turkey bolognese. Jack was gluten-free. Jane wasn’t a hundred percent sure why. As far as she knew, they’d never been advised by the pediatrician, and when she got really cranky and unreasonable, she was convinced John was doing it just to make things impossible.  

Lunches were packed with a freshly-baked, sugar-free, gluten-free cookie that tasted to Jane a little like honey and a lot like hay.  She tucked in a napkin and a little handwritten note with a riddle on one side, and the answer and “I love you!” on the other. As she lined up the lunch totes and boxes on the island, she thought of how her mom had sent her to school everyday with $1.15, and she ate whatever it was that the lunch ladies would slop onto her tray, washing it down with a tiny carton of not-so-chocolatey chocolate milk. Everyone got school lunch. Or maybe they didn’t. Nobody cared.

Jane went up to wake the kids, made sure everyone was dressed, fed, and fully back-packed, before loading them into the car and heading to their first stop: the middle school. To make things easier for her each morning, John would stay upstairs and out of the way until the car was backing out of the driveway. Sometimes she imagined what it would be like to be John, having a cup of coffee in a quite kitchen with the early morning sun shining through the window. He worked so hard. She was glad he got to enjoy his mornings. She told herself again and again, she was glad. 

After the third drop-off at the third school—and the daily realization that she would never have all three kids in the same school at the same time, Jane headed to the office for a couple of quick meetings before getting back home to get some actual work done. About a year or so ago, she had cut down on her hours in the office. Working from home allowed her to drop off and pick up the kids from school everyday, and take care of her other responsibilities like groceries, little league practices, and playdates.  John felt that her working full-time in the office had been less productive—downtime at the office, meant wasted time. At home she could throw in a load of laundry, or get in an extra workout, maybe make a quick run to the grocery store, or send an email to the parents’s social committee—there was always something to do to ensure what he liked to call maximal productivity.

Jane was the Chair of the Parents’s Social Committee at Jack’s preschool. It was an honor, really, to hold the position. There were loads of parents who would love to be Chair, but John had nominated Jane at open school night in September. He knew she’d be great, even if she wasn’t so sure about it, and of course if he had the time, he would love to take it on, but this would be second best. She was in the middle of planning the third fund-raiser of the year. The first two were hugely successful—a private wine tasting with a renowned sommelier for Mom’s Night Out, and a tour and axe throwing at a local distillery for the dads. She would need to come up with something really incredible for the next one, which was a couple’s event. A flash of spilled whiskey and wine, bloody axe handles, and twisted, mutilated bodies made her laugh out loud as she considered a combination of the first two events. Haha! 

The timer on the drier played its maddening little tune and called Jane away from her planning. She had 10 minutes before her scheduled workout—just enough time to switch the laundry and get the girls’ clothes folded and put away. As she reached into the warm dryer she imagined herself climbing in and shutting the door behind herself, tumbling around and around in the warmth. No one would ever find her. She was the only one in the whole goddamn house who ever went into the laundry room. She could tumble there forever and ever until she disappeared. She shook her head and smacked the side of her face to knock the silly thought loose. Thank goodness it was time to workout—that would clear her mind. 

John knew the key to a woman maintaining good mental health was prioritizing good physical health. He had created a rotating exercise and fitness schedule that made use of all the equipment—the bike, the treadmill, yoga mats, kettle bells, to make sure things stayed interesting. She exercised for an hour twice a day, and he didn’t want her to get bored. Or fat. Sometimes Jane's insecurities would creep in and convince her he just didn’t want her to get fat.  But John was too generous, and spared no expense on equipment and the latest tech. For Christmas the year before, he had gotten her a smart watch that allowed them to track steps and calories burned and heart rate and sleep and all sorts of very useful analytics. It was so helpful to get a quick text from John throughout the day if her step count was low or her calories high—little loving reminders to keep moving, make the healthy choice, show gratitude. Go fuck yourself John, Haha! 

Today’s workout would be on the Peloton bike she had gotten for their wedding anniversary. 45 minutes on the bike and then 15 minutes of strength training. Their home gym was on the third floor. The attic had been converted for that very purpose, and it was perfect, but a little hot. It was perfect because it was far enough out of the way that she wouldn’t disturb John if he was trying to get some rest or watch a game. It was an old house, and everything creaked and rattled around, especially when she was running on the treadmill with her “giant Sasquatch feet.” The way John told the story when they were out with friends, the whole house shook and the Richter scale reported a 6.0 in the neighborhood. They all had a good laugh about that.

 But the attic was hot. Sweltering. There was no ventilation up there; the windows could only push out a few inches at the bottom, not enough for any air. All the heat in the entire house found its way up to that attic, and even though Jane knew it was good to sweat it all out, it was impossibly hot. The temperature jumped up with every step, as she climbed to the attic to exercise. Of course there was a good wifi signal up there, John made sure so she could sign in to the live workouts and keep on climbing up that Peloton leader board. John could follow her progress, and there would be a follow-up conversation on days when she had gotten so close to the top! Or not close at all. Most of the time she was close-ish, but there were a few ringers who were untouchable. John was sure she could catch “CoffeeIV4Me” and “MerlotMermaid” who swapped back and forth on the top of the board. She never would.

She finished at number 21 and shut down the treadmill; her watch pinged with a thumbs up from John and then an added “21?” She could expect a follow-up. Then came a caldron emoji followed by a bell emoji as John reminder her it was time for strength training. The heat must be getting to her; she felt as evil as Satan when she looked at those texts. She imagined the whole attic going up in flames and poor John finding her charred body, just black bones, lying in a pile of rubble—that ridiculous smartwatch still glowing. Wouldn’t that be astonishing? Jane really wanted to astonish him—make him feel this burning fire.  

The heat was impossible. She couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t any air. Another ping, another kettle, another bell. He knew she hadn’t started. It was as if he was peering through the window watching every single move—hearing every single thought. She snatched at the medium weight and heaved it with all of her might through the angled window, shattering glass in a million pieces as cool air swept in. It was so wonderfully cool out there, outside that window. She still felt the flames licking at her mind, incinerating her reality.

She had to focus. Get this workout done, shower, check emails, get to Jack’s school on-time, then there was a meetup at the park he loved, and off to pick up Lindsey and Carolyn, to start the parenting part of her day, the real hard part—help with homework, hair brushing, somebody had practice, she was sure of it, cook dinners, have them ready on time, but this burning! It was too much. Outside that window was blue sky and moving air and freedom from these flames. She pictured herself, just as she had with the kettle bell, hurling her own body through that window, jagged pieces of glass bitting into her, trying to grab her, to stop it from happening. No. She saw it all so clearly, and wouldn’t he be? Wouldn’t John be astonished to see her cut up and broken and lifeless right there on the front lawn.

No one picked Jack up a preschool that afternoon. John was annoyed when he got the call. Jane must have gotten distracted. She’d been slipping a bit these days. He saw so many women her age get overwhelmed or lazy and let everything they’d worked for disappear. He would pick up Jack and talk to Jane about focus and responsibility and how did it look to miss picking up their son?—oh, and the leaderboard. That would do her good; He had worked so hard for her health and happiness. He cared much too much to see her fall.