Was my first thought.
“That” was the last 2 ½ years of my life. “That” was the decision I had made for
myself. And those were the words I used to do it.
Before I get ahead of myself, here is a little about me. I
am a person with two very different sides. Half of me believes life should be
spent living out of a backpack, traveling the world, learning about everything
from new cultures to what makes a an airplane fly. I love to read and my thirst
for knowledge is never ending. I want to see everything I read about and more.
The other half of me loves baking pies and cupcakes.
Scrapbooking and DIY projects make me feel accomplished. Cleaning the house and
fixing meals can be fantastic fun. I enjoy spending a Tuesday night in cooking,
drinking wine, and watching the Voice with someone special. Half of me was born
an adventurer while the other half was born to be a homemaker. I always knew
one day this would cause me problems. I always knew I might have to choose
between two sides of myself, but I always hoped I’d be able to find a balance.
In my head I set deadlines like “I don’t want to be married
before 30, that way I will have time to adventures before I have a family,” or
“if I haven’t taken a year off and traveled I’m quitting my job at 28 and
becoming a citizen of the world.” I was constantly planning to figure
everything out later. That brings me to the start of this journey.
I spent the last 2 ½ years in one of the best relationships
I could imagine. I met an amazing man. We worked in the same industry, knew the
same people, and above all loved each other so deeply sometimes I couldn’t
believe I’d found him. We went to every concert we could, laughed until we
cried, and spent evenings dancing in our living room singing to each other. Before
we dated, we spent months “dancing” around each other at work related
functions, but from the minute I finally gave him my number we were one. We
went everywhere together, did everything together. I stopped hanging out with
my friends. We literally became each other’s whole lives. I had never been in a
relationship like this.
Along the way there were signs that it wouldn’t work, like
when he told me he never wanted to leave the area we were living in (the same
area he grew up in) or when a weekend to visit my family a few hours away
became me “dragging him out of our great town.” But the thing that upset me the
most was when he made reference to other girls being too independent for their
own good. I was more independent than 80% of women I knew and I came from the
most independent woman I knew. Because of this, my relationship with my mom
suffered. But still I didn’t listen, I was in love and our love could conquer
anything, even complete and total different ideas about the world, life, and
most importantly relationships. Over the course of the relationship I
completely lost my independent self.
The traveler in me slowly died. She gave way to the
homemaker me. I spent my days off baking homemade bread, doing laundry for two,
and cleaning the house so my someone special could come home to the perfect
home. I never really cared for sweets (other than Belgian chocolates), but I
started eating dessert daily, sometimes twice. I stopped exercising, I gained
weight, I watched more TV than I care to think about. I started to sneak
reading travel blogs and erase my search history before he could see it. He
would constantly ask me what I’d been looking at and I’d lie. I didn’t want it
to start another round of “what is so wrong with this town.” I became the exact
version of a homemaker that terrified me the most.
All until today, when I decided “that” was enough.
Adventurer me was done being dead. She woke up this morning and said “give me
my life back.” Our relationship wasn’t bad, it was actually great, even right
up until the end we barely fought. We just had different ideas and we each had
planned us a different future. His version of a “big” vacation is a two hour
drive up the coast; mine is a two month trip to Europe. In fact, he’s an
incredible guy and I would set him up with any girl who would love to stay in
this area and never leave.
And then came that hard part…
…2 ½ years of life lived together. I tried as best I could
to separate our stuff. I washed and seperated all the laundry and kept going
through the day like normal. I was a blubbering sobbing mess of myself. My two
halves spent the entire day fighting over whether I had just sent “the one”
packing.
The next few days were more of me being a mess. I quit my
job and decided to move home. My boss and coworkers were unbelievably
supportive and everyone told me I had made the best choice for me.
The more I talked to friends and family, the more I started
to realize everyone in my life thought something was wrong. I started to feel
better about my decision.
I still had to pack and get out of a house that we had spent
two years in. During the day I would be convinced that I made the right
decision. Then I’d come home to “give away” piles and boxes and all I wanted to
do was cry. To make matters worse, he hadn’t moved out. He took his tv and left
everything else. I stared at his clothes for days, hoping one day I would come
home and they just wouldn’t be there anymore. The dog would just stare at his
stuff, probably wondering where he was, which just made me feel worse. She was
feeding off my anxiety and neither of us was sleeping. It took me three days to
eat anything.
The “garage sale” “give away” “keep” “maybe” and
“craig's list” piles kept growing. I had eaten two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and
was ready to dig into a third. I was beyond flustered at how to fit 8 years
worth of living in one location (I’d been in the same town since I was 18) into
my small SUV and still have room for me & the dog. I wasn’t able to focus
at work (which considering I was on my way out and trying to get my position
ready for someone else, was not good).
And then it hit me. What do I really need? My mom has a full
kitchen, so I don’t need anything from that. Yes, I have a great kitchen and
great accessories and cool measuring cups and Mason jar glasses, and shot
glasses that I’ve had since I was 18. But really, who needs two sets of
measuring cups, my mom has plenty of glasses, there is nothing I can’t get
later if I decide I want it. Why do I need my current wall hangings, I don’t
want the sheets that were “our” sheets and the picture frames that held “our”
pictures. How was I supposed to let go if I took everything with me. Adventurer
me had no interest in being bogged down by stuff and homemaker me didn’t want
to be reminded of the life she just lost. For the first time in over 2 years I
saw clearly, as me, as one me who could make the decision I wanted to make. I
did some research. I didn’t want anyone to have to pay for my things. I wanted
them to go to someone who would appreciate my cool measuring cups and would put
family photos in my pictures frames. I wanted my dresser to go to someone who
needed somewhere neat and unique to put their clothes. I wanted my stuff to be
filled with life and used by someone who would love it, not packed away in my
mom’s garage for 10 years until I was ready to deal with it. So I scheduled an
appointment with the local AMVET.
I will be keeping some things. My mom does not have a bed in
her guest room so I will be taking mine. I donated about 1/3 of my clothes, but
I will be keeping the rest of them. At my mom’s request (and under heavy
protest) I am keeping all of my books, only under the condition that once they
get to her house they are hers, I will not move them again. I am keeping some
jewelry and donating the rest. I will also keep my makeup and toiletries. I
have a tent and some camping things that I will be keeping. I will also be
keeping all of my childhood and college mementos including my Christmas
decorations. I also have a handful of blankets and comforters that I have
stolen from my mom over the years. I will be bringing those back with me. I
will take one bin of shoes and get rid of the rest (I probably have close to 45
pairs of shoes at the moment). We’ll see where it goes from here…
-Al
-Al
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