One of the labels I coveted in the 1980s was “family leader.” Many of the books I read and tapes I listened to challenged men to become strong family leaders. In many ways my personality failed to match the expectations of a family leader. In truth, Sherrie had always been the true family leader. She made most of the important decisions during the first 12 years of our marriage.

For the first 35 years of my life, I earned a doctorate in daydreaming. I was a high-school jock and big-time dreamer who assumed I would become a professional athlete. I fabricated my Major League career with pages of statistics documenting my success. While those who were eventually successful played ball year round, honing skills, I fiddled away my days, expecting dreams to turn true.

When chronic illness walloped her, Sherrie started struggling with which brand of bread to buy, what color sweater to wear; forget the big decisions. Uh-oh. Ship without a captain.

For years friction existed between the part of me that sought adventure and the part that demanded security. I was the reckless Indiana Jones teamed with the corporate accountant. The internal numbers guy always won out, causing relief mixed with a dose of self-hatred.

Sherrie’s new illness allowed me to imagine wondrous experiences without the angst of deciding whether to take a bold step. Chronic illness was the perfect out for me – I didn’t have to back up my dreams with action and people began giving me four-star ratings as a family leader. Indiana Jones and the corporate accountant both got what they wanted.

“What would Sherrie do without you?”

“I couldn’t handle this as well as you do.”

“Sherrie is so lucky to have you stand by her.”

These comments boosted my ego, made me feel like I was a family leader, told me I was living up to that label. For the first time in our marriage, I felt as if I was truly meeting my obligations and it felt good.

Damn, did you grasp what I just said? As Sherrie felt worse, I felt better. That is horse shit! It represents a win/ lose philosophy. For someone to be a winner, somebody else had to be a loser.

I became dependent on Sherrie’s illness for my egotistical kicks. Her illness gave me new meaning in life. At long last I had climbed the ladder to that family-leader rung, gaining the admiration of family and acquaintances.

Periodically, Sherrie would go through a month or two when she felt halfway decent. During those times I would subconsciously find ways to throw tension into the equation, spoiling what could have been wonderful times of respite or pure fun. That was when I said I wanted to leave my secure job and move to Montana.

Of course, I knew I would not have to follow through on those pipe dreams. Sherrie was not so sure whether I would take those bold steps. I certainly kept her in the dark regarding my true intentions. Then, her symptoms would flare again and I could go back to my “caretaker” duties, which I hated and loved simultaneously.

While arthritis can add additional stress to a family, it doesn’t have to mean disaster. The Arthritis Foundation can help you learn more about how to communicate clearly about and to deal with important issues openly. When your family learns that expressing anger, frustration and sadness are as important to a healthy family as expressing joy, love and adoration, you will be on the road to success.