Why Am I STILL in Therapy?

I'm sixty-one years old. I am intelligent. I have had a career and a family. I am educated. I have friends. But I am still in therapy! I think that when I embarked on the psychotherapy journey, I thought I'd do it until I came through whatever that current crisis was. Trying to remember. What crisis was that? Ah, yes, the old standby. Gambling. 1995. Go to therapy. Go to a therapist who works in collaboration with husband's therapist. We have a few months of separate sessions, each with our own respective therapist. Then there is a night when he and I go out to dinner and are supposed to have a joint session with both therapists after. I enjoy myself at dinner. He apparently doesn't. We get in the car to go to the joint session and, on the way, he seems tense. When we get to the session. BAM!! He tells me he's been gambling. Does he do this of his own free will? No. I later find out his therapist was going to call off all the sessions unless he came clean with me. I thought I'd only be in therapy until that crisis was over. Nope. No dice. Every time I thought things were settling down and I could quit, there would be another crisis. More gambling. Or the kid became a teen with the body of a Playboy bunny and the face of a goddess. Or Bill had a heart attack. Or a parent died. What happened over the course of eighteen years is life and its problems. The calms were only brief respites between crises. Does this mean I can't handle life's problems? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm still hopeful there will come a day when I don't need a professional to help me walk through the bumps in my life's roads.