No offense to Pete from Wisconsin

Out with the old, in with the new.

I had a moment last night where for a brief second in time, I was sad about my breakup. The feelings of loneliness and anxiety about starting again started to creep up into my throat and for a moment, I wished that things had been different. That we could rewind time and start again, but this time be good to each other, and to grow in the ways we needed to be the partner the other requires. It was almost like my heart was saying, “Breakups are supposed to be sad. You’re supposed to be grieving the life you are no longer going to have.” Almost like my reflex should have been to try to fix it, one more time. But enough is eventually enough, and that time has come. There’s no fixing something that has shattered so many times that the pieces are no longer salvageable, now made up of shards and dust, and impossible to reassemble in any tangible way.

I don’t want that life anymore, at least not with him. We used to talk about buying a house upstate where I could have chickens once again and he could grow tomatoes. We would mow our own lawn and have gardening clogs. We would frequent farmer’s markets and make pancakes on Sundays and open a shop that sells vintage furniture and home décor. We would have a music room for his records and a place for me to paint, and it would be our own bohemian paradise. But like I said, I don’t want that life anymore…with him. And when I get really honest with myself, it never felt totally possible to begin with. You see, for us to have a life that was slow, intentional, and filled to the brim with wholesome joy, he would have to become an entirely different person, and I didn’t realize what I was asking him to do.

I think this happens in relationships a lot, where the line between compromise and losing yourself gets blurred. You want to please the other person and make sure they get the life they want, and sometimes your own needs go unnoticed. And even worse, sometimes you lose sight of what your own needs even are and adopt those of your partner out of desperation to have an identity. That’s what I think happened here. I think he knew the only way to live a lifetime with me would be to get onboard with the visions I had for my future, and I feel like I failed him by going along with it. Because I also wanted him to be on board…desperately. And I fell short by not seeing sooner that the life I want will likely never fulfill him. Not in a real sense, anyway.

And now that we’re broken up and he’s moving out as we speak, I actually feel quite badly for trying so hard to bring him on my journey. Because it was obvious from the jump that our life philosophies could not be farther apart, and it was selfish and foolish to think that I should try to convince him that mine was right. I want slowness. I want intentionality. I refuse to be a slave to the grind and am fortunate enough financially that I don’t have to. I want my life to be filled with indulgence, meaning slow mornings with a great cappuccino, an evening spent making root vegetable tarts with homemade crust, writing for hours, reading for days, and moving my body in ways that feel good. But this kind of life requires a specific type of surrender. The type of surrender where you truly let go of expectations and micromanagement. The type of surrender that releases you from incessantly checking the stock market, keeping meticulous tabs on your 401k, and planning for retirement. The kind where you don’t need proof a hundred percent of the time that things are exactly where you need them to be, because you know you’ll be okay if they’re not. And I’m not advocating for financial irresponsibility or ruin by any means, I’m simply saying that life is so much more than currency, planning, and sticking to a timeline. But for a lot of people, the anxiety of letting go is far too great. It requires a softening, a calming down, and a release of chronic tension that is just never attainable for some, and the more I tried to steer him in this direction, the more I realized this might be true.

Now my intentions were good. I’ve been working on my own softening for years, searching incessantly for the things that help regulate my nervous system, calm me down in a city filled with so much chaos, and allow me to be present. I’ve been rebuilding myself intentionally since getting sober, curating a life that has meaning, joy, and is filled with curiosity, willingness to try new things, and openness. No longer looking to booze and drugs as my main source of entertainment, or bumming cigarettes off a man named Pete from Wisconsin that I met at the bar, or fucking the bartender out of pure boredom, has given me a hell of a lot of free time back to explore myself and what I like to do.

Reading, writing, tarot, yoga, tennis, cooking, learning Spanish, and brushing up on quantum physics to name a few.

And it’s right in the middle of all the things that light me up and make me feel something that peace is found, and presence is observed. It’s in those moments that my jaw has finally unclenched, my shoulders have made their way a little bit farther away from my ears, and the death-grip I have on my pen and tennis racquet has started to be a little less grim reaper-y. But the more serenity I found in the surrender, the more sensitive I became to others that were living their lives wound too tight. And he certainly was wound the tightest, which coupled with the anger and emotional volatility that was already so present in our home, was a recipe for disaster.

My nervous system was feeling more threatened by the day from the instant energy of angst that entered our space the minute he walked through the door. I could feel the anxiety emanating from his person, and the ever-presence of it was starting to affect my own vibes. The constant planning, worrying about the next weekend, day, or even hour, was overwhelming and felt like a literal roadblock to the present moment. We could barely get through an appetizer at dinner before I was asked, “What do you want to do after dinner?” I don’t know… maybe enjoy my meal and see how I feel? Being in the presence of someone with no ability to be present is draining, and after a while, I became hateful. It was like my own energy was being sucked out of me with a straw and I could feel the light in my eyes starting to dim.

And I feel guilty about this—that I held onto so much resentment toward his state of anxiety. It’s not his fault, and is likely a result of a life built on instability. I also have my own anxiety, and it felt hypocritical to be so affected by someone else’s. I should have offered more grace. I should have refrained from laughing when he couldn’t find the natural position of his own neck due to tension. But at the time, I thought I could simply just help him change and we would be right back on track. However, it wasn’t long until I realized that I gave myself far too much power by thinking this was possible. And it came down to two things:

1. I was still dealing with so much of my own shit that I wasn’t able to hold enough space to help him find softness, calmness, and release from a life of debilitating tension.

2. It would take so much more than yoga blocks, a Theragun, and an earnest desire to relax. It would likely be years of therapy to uproot the emotional cause, and even then, there was no guarantee that we would find each other on the same page.

And my naivete about it all was truly unfair—to him, to me, and to us. I glossed over how much his energy affected me, convinced that I was being extra, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But now that my space is starting to clear out, and his things are getting packed away, my energy is starting to shift. I’m already starting to feel a bit lighter, and an air of hope and possibility has entered the chat. I didn’t even realize that I lived perpetually with the sensation of butterflies in my stomach until it started to cease. It’s not totally gone, but I can feel the anxiety that bled into me over the past year starting to quell and relief that I didn’t know I needed will be waiting for me on the other side. The footsteps still give me agita, but there is safety in knowing that its temporary at this point. And when it’s all over, sage and palo santo will finish up the job nicely.

And hopefully when he’s done resenting me for uprooting his life, he will also experience the sensation of lightness. That he’s no longer in a relationship that pressures him to be someone that he’s not. I feel terrible that I missed the mark by so much on this. Who he told me he was and who he showed me he was were too totally different people, and I chose to pick the one I liked better. But like anything, lessons were learned. I know now that people show you exactly who they are and that actions will always speak louder than words. And although I appreciated that he spoke into existence his desire for a different type of life, the ignorance involved from both of us only led to disappointment. And maybe someday he’ll get a different type of life, but I hope for his sake that it’s a life of his choosing and not one that was forced on him.

As for me, I have more evidence than ever that my gut is not to be reckoned with. It is my inner knowing, and always steers me in the right direction. It’s when I don’t like the direction that I get defiant and try to do things my own way, but like so many times before, I’m proven wrong in the end. So it’s time to get back to basics and take my own advice of surrendering—completely and with unwavering faith that I always land on my feet. I’m free of interference and can reclaim my peace, refind my serenity, and get back on the path, one step at a time.