Coming back to writing…coming back to me?

I have been gone from the blogosphere for a long time. Writing, for me, is a therapeutic way to organize and process my thoughts. Not so surprisingly, then, when things are feeling good, I just don’t feel compelled to write.

I won’t lie, 2020 and 2021 haven’t been easy years by any means. To be honest, I think I flipped an auto pilot switch on and doggy paddled my way through each day. I was surviving and, in this weird, pandemic world, that felt like enough.

Until…it didn’t.

During each fall season, trees drop their dead leaves. Oftentimes, I start to feel similarly heavy, with the urge to examine and drop the things in my life that are no longer working for me, either.

This year, as I sat back, I realized that the heaviest thing in my life, the thing I need to drop and be free of, is my marriage. It has been stagnant, loveless, and unfulfilling for far too long.

I’ve negotiated with myself for years–thinking, I can be comfortable. Comfortable is enough. I can travel, buy what I want. It’s okay if I don’t feel sexy, or desired. It’s okay if I feel hard to love. I will stay for the kids.

But…these things I was telling myself didn’t fill those empty parts of my soul. Rather, those empty parts started growing, feeling resentful and unworthy.

I have always stayed because I have deeply held fears of abandonment. I know how much it hurts to be left…I could never hurt somebody in that way.

So…I’ve stayed. I’ve stayed because it is easier to deal with my own unhappiness than cause someone else pain. I’ve stayed because comfortable is easier than scary.

But, you guys…I can’t stay any more. I want more. I hope for more. Perhaps more doesn’t exist in the way I imagine it.

..but, what if it does?

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