Dear ones,
It’s a heavy, grey day. The air is bearing down on me, almost weighted, but today I find myself welcoming it. It’s brought me back to earth after weeks of feeling more untethered than ever. I’ve come to the conclusion that when it comes to writing summer isn’t my season. What I’m yet to figure out is if my reluctance to return to the page is an avoidance of sorts, an attempt to fall so fully into the moment that I might evade any sense of consequence. There is always fear isn’t there, here at the helm of our silence?
For over half a decade I’ve devoted myself to figuring out who I am alone. I’ve been divorced for almost five years. Separated for over six. I’ve spent most of that time trying and failing to untangle myself from my ex-husband, frustratedly tearing at the knots that remained despite how frayed the cord between us had become.
It wasn’t until I fucked someone else a couple of months ago that I realised I’d finally succeeded. The moment I write this sentence the rain starts. It’s in this moment, bare skin soaking wet in seconds, that I know I’ve revealed something crucial, something true.
I’ve been dying to write about it since it happened, but something told me to hold back. In the past I’ve shared my experience of some incredibly sensitive subjects with very little restraint and whilst I don’t regret anything I’ve published I’ve realised recently that I have no desire for my private life to be splayed across the internet. This is why after much contemplation I’ll be turning on paid subscriptions in the next week or so.
For me, these topics – the ones that seem to evoke powerful emotions or provoke strong reactions – are some of the most exciting and eye-opening to write about. But the more I think about it the more I feel that this kind of intimacy requires a commitment of sorts from both writer and reader.
The kind of writing I aspire to share is an invitation to know and grow alongside one another. And I’ve missed that more than I can express. Over the past year or so I seem to have developed an aversion to the kind of work I used to revel in. For as long as I can remember I’ve welcomed the opportunity to meet myself more deeply, to reveal something I had yet to realise about why I am the way I am. Or so I once believed.
What I believe now is that we all allow ourselves a blind spot or two, at least sometimes. Because how hard is it to have to fully acknowledge the ways we’ve been wrong? How excruciating is it to take responsibility for the harms we’ve caused? Inevitably our blind spots do eventually come into focus, but often the damage has already been done by then.
I look back at my marriage, at my desperate attempts to ensure that the father of my children remains stable and able to be a nurturing presence in mine and my children’s lives, and I feel so many things: grief first and foremost, but also betrayal, anger and resentment. The biggest resentment of all being the time and energy I poured into him that should have been reserved for our children.
It’s something I wish I could lay the blame at his door for, but I know I can’t. At the time I truly thought that I was doing the best thing for us all. It’s taken me moving past this pattern of mine to find out how blind I really was. The truth I wasn’t ready to face was that by overcompensating for his shortcomings I perpetuated them. That since I never felt wanted by him, I found satisfaction in being needed.
Now though I feel like I’ve entered a renaissance of both desire and desirability. After years of tying these experiences to a single person suddenly I’m being shown that it doesn’t need to be dramatic or damaging or dominate my entire sense of self. I’ve been reminded of how it feels to be wanted, not indefinitely by any means but in the moment. I’m aware that being desired and being chosen are two very different things. But the truth is right now I’m not ready to be chosen. Nor am I ready to choose someone else. Or for any kind of commitment to anyone other than my children.
Ironically, feeling wanted has short circuited my desire to feel needed. To deplete myself to gain any man’s favour or recognition feels entirely unnecessary to me now. This isn’t to say I never catch myself falling into this way of operating, only that I’m more aware that it’s never a wise idea to negate my worth to maintain a man’s interest. If I feel myself being drawn back into this way of being, I’ll know he’s not for me. Because if he is I’ll feel full in all the ways I need and deserve to.
A friend of mine reminded me recently that having a clear idea of what we want and need from life coupled with the audacity to claim those things for ourselves is what cements our sense of value. I told her I was edging closer to it; at the very least I know what I don’t want. But what I do want is still ever so slightly out of focus. I know I want mind-blowing sex, but not if it comes at the expense of my sanity or self-worth. I know I want safety and stability, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to sacrifice spontaneity. But what I know above all is that I want a man who can handle every side of me, who will welcome them all.
Right now, I’m carrying out my research in real time. And it’s the most fun I’ve had in years.
With Love,
Laura x
I can relate to summer being a time for everything but writing. It is as if during summer life wants to be lived rather than being reflected upon on the page. So glad to hear you've been living fully this summer 💗
Laura thank you for sharing your raw truth. I am navigating something similar so I understand. I think turning on oasis subscriptions is a great idea and would encourage and build a sense of safety for those who want to add their thoughts to comments. 💗