I knew this autumn was going to bring about some major changes in my life. First of all, it was the issue of money, as my income streams are coming to an end. And then starting my Master’s Degree. What I hadn’t fully grasped earlier, however, was that this autumn was going to be the autumn that I finally would let go of life as I have known it for the last 8 years.
I’ll make a long story short and cut through the chase for you, as I don’t have the energy to make this a long, well-written and thrilling blog post right now.
I’m releasing the dead.
I’m moving out.
I’m leaving my house, my home and my life partner up until now, and I’m starting a new life of my own.
It’s just time.
This has been the least dramatic break-up in history, I assure you. No tears has even been shed, on either part, and I’m not even sure who’s leaving who. We are just done, quite simply. Our daughter is looking forward to getting two homes (she has great plans for her art exhibitions when we get our own apartment somewhere!), and there’s no drama even from her side of it. She’s known for some time that her mom and dad aren’t in love with each other any more, and she understands how this is and how it should be.
There is that strange feeling of complete absurdity, though. Like when we went to IKEA the other day and my ex jotted down notes for me on which furniture I might want, and us chatting and laughing and getting exited thinking about our new lives apart – almost like those years ago when we were shopping for our new home. Only this time, we’re preparing for a different life. Best of friends, still, and now with a project in common. He even went with me to check out an apartment, to make sure it was a good deal.
We’re all good.
It will be OK.
It IS OK.
This was not an easy decision, though. We died a long, long time ago, but I’ve been holding on. Holding on to life as I knew it, holding on until our daughter was old enough to understand, holding on to the die-hard concepts about Family and Sacrifice, no matter how hollow they started to feel.
That has been the hardest thing to let go of.
But I cannot live the rest of my life like this, my heart yearns for so much more. I cannot look back at my life and the wasted years, knowing that I’ve taught my daughter to sacrifice her own heart just to keep it nice and stable for someone else.
So I’m leaving. Or allowing him to leave me. Or both, as it turns out.
It feels right.
It’s almost as if I were moving out from my parent’s house again, a slight feeling of unease about the whole thing, but mostly wild excitement. A bit scared, a bit nostalgic, but I know it will be better. I will live a life that is more authentic, more ME. And by leaving, I’m giving him the gift of living the life he wants, too. And I want him to have that, with all my heart.
And it’s almost as if I’m standing on the top of a mountain, feeling that intense urge to just throw myself out in thin air – and knowing it will be completely, utterly safe for me to do so. I am supported, in so many ways. The government will make sure I get enough money for the first three years of living alone. I have friends, I have family, I ironically have my ex stronger and happier than before, making the transition as easy as he possibly can, and there is also someone who always seems to know when I need a hug.
This Samhain, I am releasing stress and the pain of living in a house haunted by what has been, and what can never be that way again.
Releasing pressure and overwhelm.
Releasing the perfectionism of having to make it work… when that means two very different people becoming utterly miserable on account of constantly having to make too many sacrifices for each other.
Opening up for more time to be an introvert.
And above all… perhaps in a not too distant future…