Two Choices: Running Away or Walking Away, I Chose the Latter
…it’s either fear or love, people.
I dropped my oversized bag on the floor as I walked in the door, “Hello?”
My boyfriend excitedly hollered back from the other room of our beautiful San Francisco apartment “Babe!” as he made his way to the kitchen to greet me. Looser than usual, I could tell he’d been drinking. That’s right, he told me he was going out with his friend and I hadn’t given an ETA on when I’d be home from my six hour drive from LA. With a gooey, generous hug and a “How was your trip?” I quickly remembered how fond I was of this version of him — drunk, free, open, confident. Looking into his hazel brown eyes filled with curiosity and care, my own immediately welled with tears as I mumbled through my feelings, trying to cautiously communicate just how incredibly moving the twelve day road trip was.
It had been that many days since I set off in my Volkswagen Jetta alone, the open road ahead of me, armed with a Southwestern map and a plethora of playlists, podcasts, and spiritual tomes in a quest to reconnect with myself in the company of nothing but unobstructed nature. Ojai, Joshua Tree, Sedona, Grand Canyon, Palm Springs all had accommodations awaiting with my name on them. The anxiety attack that greeted me just two hours into the journey as I headed down the US 101 was preceding this exact moment. There I was, standing in the kitchen, looking up at a man I love holding the heavy decision already signed, sealed and delivered in my heart to walk away from him. Something my body had known for months, possibly even the better part of a year, I was finally ready to accept. Alright, maybe not totally ready. But the next day, when we were sitting in a cafe having breakfast and he was being his kind and loving self, telling me he was putting money into a joint account for grocery shopping, I felt overwhelmed with his obliviousness and broke down. We walked outside and through streams of tears I told him “I don’t think we’re supposed to be together anymore.”
David and I had been together over four years, the last two of which we spent most of our time in conflict around sex, marriage, and babies. When we met I fell head over heels, it was clear he was perfect for me in so many ways — hilarious, creative, generous, evolved, emotionally stable, and hey, what do you know, he was also very easy on the eyes! A huge step up from my last relationship which started after only being sober for six months and was dysfunctional at best. A sensitive Pisces like me, he provided an open sea for my very big feelings to wash (or crash) ashore and created space as I processed through my ever present emotions in the way necessary for my sanity. But from the very beginning, something just wasn’t there. We had textbook physical intimacy issues — and I completely ignored them. Maybe that’s not true, I confused them as my issues instead of our compatibility configuration. I figured, there must be something wrong with me, that I was broken in that department and would never feel completely free and loved in my body. That for some reason, after all the damage that I did to myself over the years, I didn’t deserve to.
A recovering alcoholic with abandonment issues and a somewhat complicated relationship to sex, I crave a certain closeness and to be deeply “seen” by my romantic partner. So, yeah, intimacy is a big deal to me. If we’re going all Oprah’s Book Club up in here, my top Love Languages are physical touch and quality time with a smidgen of words of affirmation. And like every human on earth, he was carrying his personal passport stamped with his own baggage which is obviously not mine to unload here or anywhere. But when it came to big life choices, we simply couldn’t align. Having spent almost ten years in recovery, I was well-versed in cleaning up my side of the street and took inventory of what I was bringing to the table, where I needed to self-soothe and what was appropriate to seek out from a committed partnership. I practiced those principles on my best days. Most of the time I was flailing around asking myself what was wrong with me and why everything felt so complicated all the time. As we spun out of control, grasping at fleeting moments of serenity and connection, I would often consider running away, but then would check my traditional fear-based response and mindfully lean into the conflict in an effort to understand, heal our past wounds and hopefully overcome our differences. “That’s not your M.O. anymore, Joanna.” I would tell myself. That’s right, I’m super emotionally aware now, I can absolutely fix this.
With the help of a well-trained therapist we waded through our struggles, I looked at where I needed to grow personally and focused my attention there. It was pretty straightforward, reconciling issues around my femininity, mothering my inner child and learning how to love and feel safe in my body. I worked on trusting myself and creating healthy boundaries. Then instead of running away, I chose to run towards him and embrace her, my inner child — with so much love and acceptance. Then while I was out on the open road, with no distractions or false sense of connection, nature began reflecting the magic and beauty inside of me and everything became crystal clear. Chock full of self-love and respect, I knew I had to walk away. This imperfect union wasn’t serving either of us anymore. It had run it’s course and my self-worth demanded that I release us both.
In the end, I am grateful to have had him as my teacher — and a big one at that — responsible for bringing me to my knees and showing me what I was unwilling or incapable of seeing on my own. This relationship was delivered to me specifically to rebuild what I unconsciously tore down for decades — myself.