You’re saying you don’t love me anymore?
So I’ve struggled with what I want this blog to be. It has been cathartic for me to write, and good for me to be able to peruse when I’m having a bad day. I’ve always felt that in my heart I’m a writer before everything else, and truly, its the only thing I’ve always done well-well, writing and being modest that is. But I look at these posts and I don’t see all of Angela. I see half of who I am. Perhaps this is because I’ve felt like half a person for so long, just part real, and the other part just a portion of the stuff that goes into a marriage. Truth is, I haven’t been really happy in a long time. I’m not going to say that my marriage is awful, or that I’m miserable. My husband has never done any of those lifetime movie of the week things to make me decide one day to get up and leave. But as I’ve spent more time in the world, as a worker, as a friend, mentor, student, whatever, I’ve realized that I’ve become just a part of a whole. Just a piece of a larger picture, and its not really a picture I buy into. Don’t get me wrong. I want to enjoy being a wife, and although the 2 year old challenges my patience on a moment to moment basis, I do love being a mother. I guess maybe this just isn’t the situation I thought I would be in. I haven’t felt like my husband and I are on the same team in a long time, actually, since before we were married interestingly enough.
So, I decided to leave. And for some reason, it surprised him. I think about that a lot. All the warning signals were there for him to see, I’ve clearly been using work as an escape-and also as a means to repair my broken self esteem-I’ve been distant and I glaze over when we have the same argument for the 5th time in one month. I haven’t even had the passion to fight about anything. I checked out a long time ago. I was just too insecure to leave. But this seems to be something he would have been happy doing forever.
And now I’m leaving. I’m moving in a little over a week, and I’m really excited about it. People come up to me and say that they’ve heard a rumor and I think they expect me to break down crying as if I’m a woman scorned, or perhaps I’ll confide in them-give them all the juicy details of my personal failure, as if no longer being married makes me less of a private person. My standard response is, “Yeah, I think it’ll be good for everyone. Sometimes you just bring out the worst in people.” And more than once I’ve gotten the very judgmental, “Well, you seem happy about it at least.” What does that mean? What’s the response to that? “Yes! I’ve been annoying someone with my happiness for 5 years! I’m gonna let go now before I become someone I hate! Isn’t it great?!” I know I don’t have to answer anyone’s questions but my own, but its a very strange and disarming feeling to know what a small world EMS is and that I’ve been a topic of conversation in this world for a few weeks.
So I’m starting a new life. I’ve been asked if I have a “plan”, as in, loose guidelines as to things I want to happen in my new life. I do, I have those things. I know I want to be in EMS forever. I know that I want to magically turn into the kind of mother that other women so effortlessly seem to be. I want to be happy being alone. But the big questions right? Do I want to be married again? Do I want more babies? I think I have to table that. The first time around I was sure. I wanted a baby, I wanted to be his wife. There was no doubts…..perhaps because I refused to listen to them. This time I’m going to listen to doubt. I’m not going to be so cocksure of myself. But I’m not going to hold back either. I’m going to be happy, and look for happiness and beauty everywhere. I’m going to love fiercely. I have a tough time believing that we shouldn’t give our hearts away, that we’re on this planet to guard our emotions, to hold back when something feels right. That we’re on this planet to just at all costs avoid getting hurt. Its an exquisite, breathtaking pain when a loved one hurts you. Its also a moment of clarity. We can learn so much about ourselves from simply putting our hearts in someone’s hands and letting them do what they will with it. I’m not scared of being hurt. I’m scared of never being in the position to be hurt again.