I sit in the café and read these words by the beautiful author Deborah Levy. The wood burning stove glows. The surrounding sound of gentle safe chatter. Hanging baskets. The smell of coffee and pumpkin pie. Bob Dylan sings quietly and mournfully.
Something resonates about Deborah’s words. She talks about a man who never looked at his wife. A dismissal. “He was seeing her off. It was nothing less than attempted murder!”
I consider my own marriage. On the outside people saw “Such a lovely couple”. On the inside I was dying.
Unseen, unknown, none existent emotional connection. Passion, dreams, emotions dismissed. Desire, hopes unheard. And the narrative from her that I was too much. The same narrative in me too. I am too much.
Was I being killed by someone so dismissive and cold? Was I at fault — accused rightly of being too much?
One day — after 20 years I decided to believe that a different narrative was possible. Who I am is good. This narrative wasn’t particularly compatible with my marriage. Somewhere and somewhat desperately I scrapped together just enough courage to say “no more”.
The marriage ended. Despair, grief and fear followed. Along with violence and exclusion from the tribe. The terrible fear that my kids would go along with the general flow of ostracizing. Wondering for most of the hours in the day who the court would believe before stating their verdict of whether I was worthy to be an equal parent or not.
Its over three years now. Some things have settled. I see the children and can be a parent for half of the week — well all of the week but practically for half of the week. Still grief and despair follow me around. The moments of joy and connection are not following the script I had hoped for.
So here I am after all this time trying to make sense out of what I feel. And wondering if I got it all wrong. Wondering what the root of such disconnection and grief is. Endeavouring to take responsibility but to also be kind to myself and to let myself feel what I feel.
I am sat in the café — apparently free. And yet searching for something. Freedom seems so elusive. The yearning and longing so much more tangible.
I wonder if romantic love is the answer. Ok let me be honest. My whole life since the age of seven, I dreamt romantic love would be the answer. The connection and beauty. Seeing and being seen. Hearing and being heard. It must be true as I saw it in La La Land and in Moulin Rouge and I hear about it in every song I hear. I read about it in most of the books. And I feel the absence of it in my very soul.
I wonder if anyone else feels this longing? What a crazy question to not know the answer to after all this time on the planet. Does anyone feel this or rather does everyone else feel this feeling?
I often visit this café and imagine my soulmate walking in.
“A rush, a glance
A touch, a dance
A look in somebody’s eyes
To light up the skies
To open the world and send it reeling
A voice that says, “I’ll be here”
And “you’ll be alright”
I don’t care if I know
Just where I will go
’Cause all that I need is this crazy feeling
A rat-tat-tat on my heart
Think I want it to stay”*
But she doesn’t. Where is she?
And I continue with my life. Ashamed to feel such longing. Especially as I am no longer young. Or even close to young. And I question…
Am I too old, too desperate, too uninteresting, too fearful, too feminine, too unsuccessful, too invisible or just too much.
To dream or not to dream?
Hope burns within….
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*From the song City of Stars.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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Photo credit: RR Abrot on Unsplash
