The walk away type


When I was in my twenties, I dated two people in succession whose moms had left. I remember feeling indignant when they told me about their moms. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things at that time but I did know for certain that I would never leave my kids. Granted I didn’t want kids, but that didn’t stop me from having such a strong opinion. Leaving your kids just wasn’t something a mom was allowed to do, under any circumstance.

Now that I have children I see how it could happen. I feel like a horrible mother for even saying that, since it’s so far outside the realm of what a mother is supposed to think. But they exhaust me. The responsibility of them feels like so much. I look forward to the time when they’re asleep. I keep thinking that I’m supposed to be getting some great fulfillment from them, and that I’m supposed to appreciate the little moments with them. Neither happens a good portion of the time.

When I was in Cincinnati, I was fairly content. I liked only being responsible for myself. I didn’t miss anyone in my family. I felt like I was more comfortable in my skin there. I enjoyed the anonymity. It’s what I’ve always loved about traveling, especially by myself. No one knows who I am or how I really act. There is the potential to recreate yourself, or simply to be unknown.

This is has always been my thought process. If something bad happens, I want to run away. I have this idea that things would be better if I was somewhere else. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t think that way.

In grad s.chool I had a friend tell me that I was the walk-away type so I probably shouldn’t get married or have kids. Again, I remember being quite indignant at the accusation that I would walk away from my fictitious family. In reality, I probably am the walk-away type. There are moments when I think that if I didn’t know what it would do to them, I might leave. I just keep that tucked away, along with its associated guilt.


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