Tag Archives: passion

I want to stop. He wants to go on.

2 Oct

We just don’t work, I sadly said

And I meant more than just in bed.

Things have simply changed, I added.

We’re lacking passion, he admitted.

You’re all closed off, won’t let me in,

You shut me out, I just can’t win.

We’re trying to force it, but it’s impossible,

I sighed and said: we’re incompatible.

But what I truly felt inside

was more than anger, fear, or pride

I had forgiven, I’d felt compassion,

(I’d been to every therapy session)

That wasn’t it, there was something more,

Something I hadn’t said before,

I couldn’t say, it was too tough.

I didn’t love him quite enough.


That Girl

2 Dec


I’ve been reluctant to post about this, because I’ve been reluctant to admit it, but – we’re in therapy again. BD and I, trying to work things out, with the hopes of reuniting and giving our little boy the family we want so much for him to have.

I haven’t really talked much about it, I let almost everyone around me just assume that we’re separated, and on the way to a divorce (I bet they’re wondering what’s taking us so long). The few friends I have told, received the news followed by giant all-caps disclaimers: IT PROBABLY WON’T WORK OUT. NO POINT OF GETTING MY HOPES UP. WE MIGHT AS WELL GIVE IT A TRY, BUT, YOU KNOW, I DON’T REALLY THINK IT’S GOING ANYWHERE.

We have a good therapist. She’s practical and gets to the point quickly, which is good. And things are going well, I guess. We’re discussing moving in together for a trial period in a month or so. If this works out, it’ll be great. I mean, just think of the convenience: First off, having a live-in partner helping me raise my boy, and having that live-in incidentally be his father! There’s the little things – taking out the trash without worrying about leaving Baby at home. Going to the bathroom and, drumroll… Closing the door! Having someone to eat dinner with and spoon with at night. And then, there’s being able to have sex whenever I want, without it becoming a huge project. Only for that to become a consideration, we need to actually have sex, which we’re not, at all. God I miss sex. Sex is the best.

So now I have some down time, since the holidays have provided a short break from work, and BD went on yet another one of his business trips. Time to myself and I have no idea what to do with it. I’ve become so used to working nonstop, I kind of want to work though my vacation, and I can – it’s not that I don’t have stuff to do, I just don’t think that would be smart. I really need a time out.

After taking Baby to daycare this morning I went running, which always makes me feel powerful and sexy and I haven’t done it in a really long time. My running music is horribly outdated, but I haven’t listened to it so long that even Thrift Shop didn’t get on my nerves. When I came back home, feeling energized, I took a nice long shower and was suddenly overwhelmed with memories, little fragments of a winter day, almost a year ago, January 22nd, the day that marks my biographical birthday, the day New Me was born. As the water rushed over my hair, my face, my body, I felt a tingle in my toes as I caught a glimpse of a head of auburn curls, enormous brown eyes and strong arms that used to crush me to pieces and make me feel alive.

But it wasn’t SG I was remembering, it was me. Beautiful, sexy, strong, energetic, creative, vibrant, healthy, happy me. The girl who somehow survived the flood; the girl who camped out on the beach, sipping Breezers all day and returned home with her hair full of sand, and didn’t feel guilty for a minute for leaving her 7-month-old with his daddy; the girl who kissed a guy she never met at a club when she was 10 kilos heavier with post pregnancy weight, but felt hotter than she could ever feel these days; the girl who painted abstract crap and hung it on her wall shamelessly because it meant something to her, and started a blog and wrote 83 posts, consistently, every day, and then every week, and then every other week, but never stopped; the girl who, while raising a baby on her own managed to change her career around; the girl who fell in love, not only with a beautiful, free-spirited red-head, but with her brand new self.

I can’t go back now, I can’t. How could I ever give her up?

But I have. I am. I look back at that girl and I think I must have dreamt her. Just as I dreamt those enormous brown eyes that looked straight into my soul, and those big pouty lips that whispered “I love you” before they devoured me.

Not Too Much to Ask

21 Jul
In bloom every spring.

In bloom every spring.

I seek passion in my life.  But I also seek security.

My therapist thinks my expectations are unrealistic. She thinks what made SG so exciting, what made our relationship so fabulously passionate was the fact that there was no security there, it wasn’t going anywhere, it was clearly temporary. I disagree. I think it was insanely, intoxicatingly passionate, but it became even more so the closer we became, the more I trusted him, the more I let myself believe that it was going to last.

Is it really such an oxymoron, to find passion and security in one man?

I find this magical combination of both passion and security in many different aspects of my life. Motherhood is by far the most prominent. I am head over heals for my little boy. I’m in love with every little brown curl, and overly grown toenail that I struggle to clip as he squirms and squeals. I’m passionate about teaching him everything I know about the world and directing him to look and see the things which are most important to me, showing him by example and helping him learn to deal with difficulty and pain as well as embrace the beauty and pleasures of life. I’m passionate about everything I learn from him. The way he views the world, freshly, unbiased, excitedly, teaches me to let go of preconceptions and misconceptions, and accept things for what they are.

But there is also security in our relationship. I will be his mother always and forever. I will love him always and forever. I will be a part of his life always and forever.

I find passion and security in my career. When I started this blog my need for anonymity was so great that I never mentioned any personal detail about my life. I not only used initials rather than real names, I used an false initials. I never mentioned where I lived, not the city, not even the country. I was careful not to ever mention currency or any other detail that my be revealing. I never posted pictures that took myself, only images I found online. I also never said what I did for a living.

I am an elementary school teacher. And let me tell you, it’s the kind of career that fills your life with a constant flow of excitement, in my opinion like no other, which is why I have chosen it. I cannot sit behind a desk. I have to keep moving. I have a need to reinvent myself on a daily basis. I love inspiring my students. I love helping them fall in love with the world, overwhelmed by all it has to offer them. I love teaching them to have a positive approach to life.

So I have passion in my career. But I also have security. I’m great at what I do, and I’ll always have a job doing what I’m doing, for as long as I’m interested. I wake up every morning, put my son in daycare and go to work, and at the end of the school day I pick him up and take him to the playground, fix dinner, bathe him, put him to bed, and I love this routine. I also know exactly how much money will be in my bank account at the end of every month, and though it’s not a spectacular sum, this too gives me a sense of security.

My friends too fill my life with passion. They get me. We can talk into the night, dissecting our lives and reaching exciting conclusions. Spending time with them is exciting, as well as comforting. I know that they will stand by me when I fall, and this gives me a sense of security.

So why is it so farfetched that this combination of traits can be found in a partner? Why do people find it so unreasonable for me to long for a man who excites me, as well as soothes me, who is passionate and yet reliable?