Finding Myself Alone: Who Am I Without a Relationship?

Finding Myself Alone: Who Am I Without a Relationship?

About eight weeks ago I separated from my husband; it was my decision: I asked him to leave. The events that happened after that, his reactions, his poor choices erupting out of anger and a desire to get control back (of me, of the relationship, of the family, of his life) led to a tumultuous and, at times, harrowing path for my children and myself. I've been processing through the myriad emotions and aspects of how separation affects me and my life moving forward at my blog.

I woke today with a question, led by my active imagination which from time to time pictures me dating and finding another (healthier) relationship. I do believe it will happen in time, though I do not feel whole or healed enough to start; I need to thoroughly process through all the hurts and damage inflicted by my husband, as well as let things settle out as we all get used to a new normal. I need to look honestly and openly at the warning signs that I either saw and ignored, for not knowing how to define or how much weight to place on them, or didn't see until the issue had grown so large as to result in an insurmountable obstacle to continuing in marriage with him.

The question that entered my mind was this: who am I without relationship? Who am I as a single woman? Do I really know her, who she is, what she likes. Her passions and goals and dreams.

I'd so completely given myself over, identity included, to being married, to being his wife. Though I'd thought I was being so careful to avoid that common pitfall, I found in those last months I'd lost myself, had given up pieces of my identity both intentionally and unintentionally, to make myself more compatible with him.

I couldn't see it, or the gravity or the depth of identity loss, until I felt panicked inside, as I looked at the last vestiges of my truest self and the conflict within me to either relinquish this, and risk completely dying inside, or find another way, a way out. When I was faced with that last piece of identity and the knowledge that he would require me year after year to give it up again (it relates to my birthday and his refusal to acknowledge either my existence or my specialness in any way, and how that revealed just how little he regarded my contribution as a person to the world and to his life), desperation rose within me.

When I viewed giving up begging him, year after year, to acknowledge my birthday as one day a year where my existence was celebrated, the proverbial floodgates opened, and I saw parade before my mind's eye all the other ways I'd given up pieces of myself because he required it of me.

Suddenly, I looked at myself and saw but a thin, fragile shell of my former self, the girl I'd been prior to meeting him. I saw how he'd eroded at my self-confidence, stealing my joy in pastimes or endeavors that fed my soul, and I saw how emaciated my soul had become - emaciated to the point where even engaging in one or two activities as I could (with three children in the mix to take care of) effected but a drop on my tongue after having walked in a desert for over a decade.

I didn't know myself any longer, but I knew the path to rediscovering myself did not follow the current path. That is to say, that in order to rediscover my truest self, I could not stay married to him. Some friends advised a 'trial' separation; I knew that any trial and reunification would only result in travelling further down this path.

Further, the person he'd shown himself to be during all the years of marriage, and his vocalization of his acknowledgement of the need to change while immediately followed by expressing in words his refusal to change, meant that these same issues that had plagued and deteriorated my marriage from the earliest days would follow with me through the rest of my life, if I stayed with him.

Since I could not accept that, since I could no longer exist with the conflict internally that created tension from not living authentically or in harmony with my personal integrity - that I was carrying a toxic marriage and pretending it was merely 'rough times' and that I just had to push through - I decided to walk away.

Without him, I can breathe again. I spend a lot of time looking back, not just to teach myself what I should have seen and will hopefully see next time but also to ask who was I, and how can I reconnect that younger girl with the woman I have become?

I talked to a friend last week, one I'd known before him, and in the conversation I mentioned that I hadn't baked in years, had in fact nearly gotten rid of my mixer. He responded with shock, you gave up baking? I'd not talked to him in nearly ten years, but he knew that baking was a fundamental part of who I am. I replied by saying I'd given it up for him because he didn't value it and nit-picked and criticized me and everything I made. He killed my love for baking and baked goods.

The list of passions he killed or eroded away until they crumbled goes on, and that is not the point of this article. The point is my journey to finding those pieces that I allowed him to destroy, and being gentle with myself.

Gentleness with myself has not come naturally or easily. Although this again is a different story entirely, my upbringing taught me to treat myself harshly, no excuses or allowances for failure or not living up to the standard - and my standard always sat out of reach, further than I could ever hope to attain.

But these damaged pieces of my soul desperately need gentleness; they require a soft hand to pick up the shattered pieces. And then they require patience and time to put them back together.

I don't know how all the pieces fit anymore; they haven't fit together in too long, and some have been so damaged it is not clear how they fit into the whole of my soul. The possibility exists too that their position or their appearance or their function might have shifted with time and maturity.

Beyond finding the activities and passions that will help me find myself again, the deeper question still remains: who am I without relationship, as a single woman? I don't have that answer yet, and it will take a process to get there. The goal, though, is to become confident and assured of me, alone, and take that person into relationship. To continually invest in her, instead of giving her over to his pursuits, his passions, his likes and dislikes. To retain my identity and simply add that to the duality of relationship.

Maybe because of youth, or lack of finances or other resources, I neglected myself. I put my pursuits and passions on hold until a more opportune time in the nebulous future - especially those that I would have engaged solo because my husband didn't want to do them with me, and I strove to make all my available time as a gift to him. I didn't realize at the time that that gift of my time and availability was rejected; he never got to the point where he agreed to do something I wanted but he didn't really like.

I didn't understand when people would advise me to keep up with my pursuits, to not neglect my passions and not let the excuse of lack of money or time prevent me. Now, too late for this marriage, I see the wisdom in the advice; further, I understand what they meant and the effect not following that advice had on me and on my relationship.

I do not intend to make that mistake again. But my husband made that mistake too, in neglecting his truest self, his passions. Oh, he made more time for his things than I did; somehow he had the right and I did not, another unhealthy dynamic in that relationship. But over time, he isolated himself more and more, neglecting or perhaps feeling pressured by me to give up his pursuits because I couldn't engage with him in them. Somehow in the abundance of individual pursuits, only one shared activity ever emerged, watching TV or movies.

So, who am I, without relationship? I'm not sure I can put her into words yet, but finding her, identifying her, and treasuring her are my priorities in this rare opportunity to separate and have the single adult experience - hopefully in a more complete way than I did before I was married the first time.

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