I spent a great deal of my time today contemplating leaving my relationship, for no other reason than to try something new. I’ve never really bought into the idea of eternal love, and things just seemed easier, lighter, when I was single.
But maybe that was just the effect of youth. Those beautiful feelings of having the whole world ahead of you–– time to decide who you are and space to dream about a glittery future where you achieve all your goals and lead a happy, fulfilled life.
The thought of being married always made me feel old and stagnant, like my options were limited and I was invisible. I didn’t want to clip my wings; I’d rather have stayed in storybook pages forever, the main character who inspired others all over the globe.
I got married for financial reasons, thinking it would afford me all the tools to turn my dreams into a reality, but when I look around, I’m not where I want to be. I’m not happy. Worst of all, I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
How much of that is related to aging and the general realization that life isn’t quite what we thought it was? How much of it is a societal shift and deep submersion into comparison culture? How much of it is feeling stifled by “settling down” and helping raise step-kids? I don’t know. I just know I’m unhappy.
Chad’s a good guy. He’s smart, he works hard, he’s honest, and he loves me to pieces. He’s such a good guy that any one of my friends, family members, bandmates, or colleagues would come to his defense if I expressed my desire to leave. He’s the kind of guy that women dream of marrying, and here I am complaining.
I just don’t know if the outcomes of being with him are healthy for me. I'm craving a sense of freedom, adventure and independence. Moreover, I’m deeply disturbed by the fact that I don’t support myself financially. I feel like it makes me a fraud who is detached from reality, unworthy of stakes in any real conversations. The nearly unlimited access to unearned money buys me bundles of time to spin out about things I can’t control, and it’s the reason I’ve had so many goddamn needles in my face over the last year, the main contributor to my identity crisis.
I don’t want to be safe; I want to be brave. Because that is where true art is born. At this point, I’m not sure what the path forward is for me. Even if I were single, I’m too old to be one of those bubblegum pop princesses who exclusively sings about being hot. So maybe I oughta just buck up and use my financial freedom more wisely instead of wallowing in self-loathing. Easier said than done. But I’m working on it.
Per usual, I worry publishing these blogs is TMI, not very good for my public image, but then, I don’t really have an image right now, anyway. Maybe when I do, I’ll delete these. So if you’re reading them, good for you. You’re getting the inside scoop.
I just want to feel good about myself. I think I know how, but it’s going to take some time and effort.
Ttyt,
Hannah