Dear John . . .

I am so sorry that our marriage has gotten to where it is. I love you and was looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you, but now I'm just waiting, I guess. There's so much here to sort through, and I don't want it to sound like I'm blaming you, but I am so dissatisfied with this life that we've neglected to build.

When we started this relationship, I told you that I was committed to sharing what I was thinking. I was certain that my inclination to keep my emotions tamped down in order to avoid conflict was a large part of why my first marriage failed, and I was determined to rectify that problem in future relationships. And I started out doing exactly that. I'd share my insecurities even when I knew they weren't rational. I'd share my hopes, my fears, and my dissatisfaction. It was hard work, but I knew that it was vital to a healthy relationship.

And it seemed like you were doing the same. Though, retrospectively, I can now clearly see that you mostly weren't. I remember feeling like I was being too pushy in the progression of our relationship, like moving us toward marriage when you were hesitant about our future. But then you'd clearly want me to join you at Blissfest so that I could meet your dad, or at deer camp or other things where I was considering skipping. 

The first, absolutely clear sign that our communication was lacking was when I read your email. That was a double blow to my commitment to share, First because I looked at all; I was still sitting in that place of limbo - we were planning on getting married, but it was still so unclear to me how you actually felt. So when I had the opportunity to look through your email, I thought that maybe I'd find something that you'd sent to one of your brothers about me; I knew that you talked to them about our relationship; you'd told me as much. I thought that maybe I'd find something in there that would help me understand what you were feeling. But instead I got the second gut-punch when I found betrayal. 

On the surface, it was just dirty-flirty emails with an old girlfriend, and while that certainly hurt, a lot, I was most betrayed by the emotional intimacy that the two of you seemed to share. This was not something that we seemed to share. But I moved forward - confessing to my transgression, explaining my insecurities, making clear that I was not okay with the flirting no matter how unlikely you were to act on it. And I thought it was okay.

But as time moved forward, I began to realize that it wasn't okay. Communication seemed to first be one-sided - it might be clear that you were angry with me, but you refused to express it in any way other than shutting me out. And after Eric's death it got even worse. And as it became more and more clear that you didn't trust me to accept you and your emotions, I lost faith in the idea that you might accept mine. And now all we do is get high and watch TV.

So far this may seem more like a blame letter than an apology letter, and maybe it is, but I know that I carry at least as much blame in this mess as you do. Maybe even more, because not only have I broken my promise to share my needs and worries and everything I had so that our marriage would stay strong, I've also expected you to keep a promise that you never made. 

I'm not ready to give up. I want so much to build a happy future with you, but I need to reinvest. And I need you to figure out a way to share what you need. Because I have no interest in continuing on this path.

I Love You -

Penny

Dear Reader -

Turning fifty smacked me in the face.

Up until the half-century mark, I couldn't understand people's reluctance to age. For me, every birthday felt like the beginning of something - every candle represented all of the better versions of myself that I'd become. But fifty left me bruised and battered and in that oh-so-typical crisis mode of mid-life. All of a sudden, it became a near certainty that my future is shorter than my past, and my life was not what I wanted it to be. I didn't go out and get myself a new sports car and a trophy wife, but I did start cataloging all of the ways that I didn't measure up to my expectations. And I slipped into a pretty deep funk.

While I'm far from through the "crisis", I have made some great strides while working to sort myself out  On the cursed birthday, I restarted my regular yoga practice and have stuck with it ever since - even earning an instructors certification. Later that year, I finally started a daily journaling ritual that I have managed to hang on to for nearly four years. And during COVID, I began an every-morning meditation practice which has nearly smothered that little fucker in my brain who always told me what a stupid, worthless piece of trash I am.

But despite all of this growth, I still often find myself wallowing in guilt and regret over my past missteps. For some time now, I've been wanting to apologize to all of the people that I've wronged, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. Many of the transgressions are decades old, and while some people may feel a sense of closure from my apology, I'm guessing that most would be at the best confused and at the worst see the apology as some sort of begging for absolution or reopening of a long scarred wound. Basically,I feel like sending a former childhood boyfriend an apology letter would appear, and perhaps actually be, a selfish, attention grabbing act of narcissism. 

But I haven't been able to shake the desire to apologize. And since I'm not asking for forgiveness, or rather, since I am only seeking to understand and forgive myself, I finally landed here where I can kind of hash out what it is I'm trying to do without forcing my self-actualization journey onto unsuspecting, long-lost friends and relatives. 

Thanks for joining me on this ride. Let's see where it goes.

Take care - 

Penny