Two years ago, I went through a phase that felt suspiciously like a mid-life crisis. I could no longer find joy in my husband, our three-year old son, or my work. I felt like the entire world was at war, and that I was powerless to do anything about it. Despair over not having published the book I'd been writing for six years pressed down on me all the time. I couldn't get pregnant, either—we had been trying for fifteen months—and this failure took me into the darkest depths of self-loathing. On the surface, my life was busy and full.
