I know a person who's having a midlife crisis. It isn't a secret; that's part of the crisis. His issue comes down to an excess of sex that he talks about excessively. His best friends don't mind that he's scoring more than LeBron James in a heated playoff -- they just wish he'd stop flaunting it.
When I was married and struggling to come to terms with my diagnosis, I could not help but feel that my husband, deep down, felt like I was a burden. That he was a pack mule carrying the whole load of the responsibilities.