It happened again today… the “Oh it must be nice." Or “I wish I had your freedom, but some of us have to work.”
I always smile stupidly… what can I say? What can I say to a well-meaning stranger, or even a friend who slips now and then. In truth, it’s not their fault. I present myself as blessed. I am blessed, there’s no denying that. But I’m also broken. And sometimes, like today, I wish people would notice that too. I wish people would see that I’m suffering. That I feel so trapped in a house that I’m literally climbing the walls, or sitting on the steps crying. But alas, I don’t post that on Instagram.
I spent the first half of my life, trying to keep my father alive… and it seems I’ll spend the second trying not to repeat his mistakes. I am well aware that my father could see no other way out. He couldn’t simply walk away from my mother, or shutdown the business he’d spent a lifetime working to create.
In truth, I’ve often wished that he’d been brave enough to leave. To go find happiness, even if it was hiding in Italy. My mother would be angry, but not broken. The PTSD that ultimately landed her in memory care, could have been avoided. My sister and I would come to understand, and perhaps even be happy for him. He could have carried his own cross, rather than laying it down at our feet.
But alas that isn’t how his story was written. So forgive me if I smile stupidly when you tell me how wonderful my freedom is.
I wish I could tell you the truth - that I’m not out here by choice, (at least not completely). I wish I could tell you that my drive to keep moving is a trauma response. That I’m terrified that if I put down roots, (be it a house, a pet, job or a relationship), I’ll wind up trapped like my dad.
And yes, I wish I could tell you that the irony is not lost on me, (especially as I sit crying in a sweltering hot van): The endless quest for freedom is also a trap.
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