I decided to interrupt the “string of heady existential essays meant to be read in order” to do something else: tell the truth. It’s become clear to me that all my abstracting of reality, while fun and meaningful and worthwhile, is, perhaps, a way to deflect how I’m actually feeling. I mean, solving the mystery of life is fun and all, but have you ever tried asking yourself how you’re feeling throughout the day? Not to judge or condemn or change it, but because you’re genuinely invested in acknowledging it? Well… that’s where I’m at. And this newsletter is supposed to be field notes of where I’m at. And here I am. So the said series will resume (and perhaps swiftly end) after this one. I’ve been called to write to something else.
I’ve been waking up in the morning with my thoughts in a piercing rotation. I know this is a body habit that I spoke about here. I also think, at this point, it’s alerting me that something is amiss. There’s a man1 I follow on instagram who says that unrelenting anxiety isn’t actually telling you anything. There is no deeper meaning, it’s just a pattern the brain knows so well to do. And to not place meaning where there needn’t be any or to stress yourself out more trying to find one. When I first heard this I sensed relief, yet even with this knowledge my anxious mornings persist. I know it takes time to change a habit, but I also tend to think that emotions like anxiety, while not literally true in what they may be immediately expressing, are pointing to something… if even only a somatic imbalance of sorts.
In an effort to self-soothe, I listen for the rain, rub my own arms, and take as deep of breaths as my lungs will permit. Still, I find myself in tears, resisting them, as I watch the silvery droplets trickle down my window. I witness the downpour shake the dead brown leaves from the trees, the last ones still clinging in late winter. I wonder if even though the storm is violent, it’s ultimately helpful. Does the tree feel gratitude for this help as the rain hurls itself upon its branches? Is the tree angry, desperately clinging to its once lush leaves? Perhaps the tree embraces its seasons better than I—the mortal from the species who claims to know it all.
I certainly don’t know everything, but I think I know something. That when it’s time to let go, it’s time to let go, and I know when this is and how to act. In fact, sometimes I wonder if I can will the process of letting go anymore than I can will the sun to rise. The process of attaching and releasing to other humans, to our ideals—to our entire lives—are our mortal versions of seasons. I like to think I have all this agency in rushing them along or preventing them altogether, but I’m humble towards whether we actually possess this power. How present and awake we are to our seasons, however, that’s certainly something we can be.
It’s funny, even with this in mind, I still agitate myself over whether or not my relationship is “working”, even though I’m very much in love. It’s why I’m anxious and crying upon waking. In the last year and some months that I’ve been with my partner, we’ve lovingly shared in the dizzying dance of will this relationship work or won’t it? Which of course begs the deeper, presently unknowable answer of will this relationship last until one of us dies, or won’t it? I understand why we commit to someone with marriage, it is a nearly impossible endeavor, it seems, to confidently stay in romantic relationship with someone long term without an external pressure to keep us bound. And often not even that is enough. I don’t want to leave. And I keep telling myself I’ll know when if it’s time, but then couldn’t I stop asking myself if today needs to be that day?
Incessant questioning haunts me. How many times will I give myself to a man only to feel I must question leaving? Am I the one with commitment issues, or is love really this hard?
My partner and I have struggles and our relationship is full of immense love and pleasure. I’ve written fondly of my lover in here many times with truth from my gushing heart, and now I am met with a quiet, underlying pondering if I’ve somehow deluded myself, something I’ve been known to do. Before I met my partner I asked the universe for unconventional relationships and a sexual revolution2. In the beginning of our meeting I celebrated this—look I got what I wanted! But recently I’m at a loss. When I said unconventional I didn’t realize what was in store. Truth be told, my main struggle is that my partner hasn’t earned a steady income for roughly a year. For many months in the beginning I let this be okay, he was laid off like many others in tech at the time. I chalked it up to bad luck and a bad job economy. But as each month passes without a steady replacement, my doubts have nowhere to go—but grow. In all fairness we do not live together and he has never put me in a position asking for me to cover him. We still do what couples do; make love, eat out and cook food at home, and enjoy our sharing of time and energy. In theory, his lack of steady employment effects me little in a material way, but emotionally, it feels unfeasible to plan a future with someone who is financially floating in the present.
What is a relationship if it cannot extend towards the future or fulfill my provisions? Is this all a relationship is?
Perhaps he is less wary of the future, but my relationship to the future, likely rooted in fear, has always propelled me towards becoming a rather responsible adult, in my opinion—which let me be clear is not a morally righteous thing. I have the standard adult check mark’s like retirement, a small savings, and even a life insurance policy that will grant my parents a hefty chunk of money if I die before them; the least I could do for the hell I gave them in my youth. But of course, none of this represents what kind of human being I really am—a many headed and strong hearted beast—which includes my current incoherence in believing people shouldn’t have to work jobs they loathe for an income to survive, and who is simultaneously becoming wary that their partner isn’t participating in the work ecosystem in a self-sustaining way. Money isn’t everything, clearly not to me, but to sever our ability to earn entirely from our being, our values and beliefs about ourselves also feels far-fetched.
He is currently relying on the support of his family, which they are happy to do, while he looks for steady work, which he is and has been. And he’s created his very own side hustle which is growing traction. I spend many weekends with him and his parents. We share quiet mornings and meals with them, then him and I take existentially chatty walks through the meandering woods. Plus, he gets to share a chapter with them he probably wouldn’t have otherwise gotten if he’d not been laid off, which he is grateful for. They’re only getting older, after all. Time moves slower up there, and I am so grateful I get to breathe some fresh air and see the stars and a few planets twinkle in the night sky, a rarity for me.
I bring all of this up not to out or belittle my partner < — which is my very point — > that convos around earning (or lack thereof) and relying on others feels icky, especially when we’re supposed to be gRoWn uPs. Which is why I want to write about it, because we don’t talk about unemployment or uneven fiscal dynamics in partnership enough. Not humbly or with dignity. Not with love. We don’t talk about how we could measure the exchange of love not just with money and earning, but also with genuine joy experienced and night sky access when you live in the Big Apple. There are so many patriarchal, capitalist stories layered over the reality of people struggling to find meaningful work, especially after they played by the conventional rules of school and workforce. I’m not here to argue if these stories are true or not, they may well be, but these stories so often get in the way of relating to the actual breathing human being(s) in front of us.
It’s easy for me to get swept up in a story: that I’m a 35 year old woman dating a man living with his parents who’s looking for a good job—and what will people think of me? But there is so much more happening beyond that sentence. There is so much I love and enjoy beyond money and status—arguably the stuff that really matters. Or at least really matters to me—and isn’t this the thing we’re actually trying to find out? Nonetheless, I have sometimes felt alone in my situation because of my fears in how I will be perceived and in wanting to be mindful of his feelings, though neither of us are in denial about the situation. We talk openly and honestly about our struggles and hopes for it, which is majorly important in these dealings. And still…
In an attempt to feel seen while being anonymous, I went to reddit to see if anyone else is experiencing what I am; fun fact, they are. I got exactly what I expected and didn’t expect, which were some people calling me an idiot, some people calling me selfish and materialistic (me?!), and some saying I’ll figure it out and to trust myself. Fine. But what I really read between the lines of stranger’s comments on the internet, at least so it seems, is that more and more people are getting laid off or quitting their jobs and are struggling to bring themselves to participate in work that doesn’t fulfill them, or at the very least, doesn’t swallow their soul. I’m one of the fortunate ones, I love my work and I make a good living. I’ve had partners and friends alike who earn a larger income than I do, but who hate their jobs, which can be its own tormenting hell. My partner is currently searching for some kind of middle ground, which I understand. I think to only make this situation about him and who he is, is a missed opportunity to look at what’s happening in the broader ecosystem of which we all belong. It begs the question is life merely for working or is it the other way around—and what are we going to do about it now that corporate greed has reached an all time high?
I suppose, ultimately, under this balancing act of what actually matters and will it work or not, is establishing a sense of trust. It’s a fickle thing to learn to trust another human, but even more-so to learn to trust oneself simultaneously. At any moment I want to believe I am making the best decision with the information I have, but am I? Even our best is not foolproof. Even our own intuition is more of a guide than a rule, and we are never fully void of deluding ourselves. We can finesse our intuition with care and attention, but even still, we are going to play fools and get hurt on the playing field of life no matter what precautions we take. We may do our best to not deceive, ourselves and others, but we can still be deceived—if we are truly open to life that is.
, the author of the substack Unsupervised, so graciously wrote about trust in romantic partnership, and how it’s silly to think we should have to trust someone entirely to love them. In fact, to fully give our trust over to someone is perhaps even dangerous; or rather, the opposite of what mutual connection and adherence actually requires.Perhaps it’s not his lack of income I’m so worried about per se, he is looking for work and is in good hands for the time being, but whether or not I can trust him to fulfill what I believe a good lifelong partner is. Is this a brief moment of accepting support or is his lack of work something fundamental? I suppose both could be true. Beyond that, though, my lack of trust really stems from me not wanting to “get got”. I’ve been in a relationship in the past where all of the financial burden fell on me without my consent, and I would rather cut off my foot than go through that again. If I’m really honest, I mostly just don’t want to be the fool, the one who invests too much for too little, or later realizes I had totally deluded myself.
Is partnership (and relationship in general) only about exchange and about roles and power dynamics? Are there seasons that give and seasons that take? And is there truly a way to measure such things in the present?
I am living the questions, as muse
would say. I am not at my wits end of loving a man who isn’t currently earning a good income, and I also wonder how long I realistically can. I want to travel, move in together, and grow a garden, none of which I want to do on my dime alone. And none of which I will put off doing forever. And where is the line drawn between now and then? I suppose that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Now that the initial rush of falling in love is subsiding3, I am left with the reality of our situation. The normal steps of relationship progression are on hold, and there are many dynamics I have yet to know about our relationship. I keep thinking this isn’t where I want the relationship to be. And yet, here I still am. Here we still are—unconventionally exploring ourselves.I asked the universe for unconventional relationships and now I’m irritated I got exactly what I wanted. I hadn’t considered money or work being part of convention, but is there anything more conventional than work and income and who should be earning more of it? Until recently, I’ve been mostly fixated on my issues with the situation, but now my focus is beginning to shift. I don’t think I’ve let myself fully receive this experience in all of its unideal glory. Perhaps it wouldn’t kill me to honor that I did get what I wanted—a relationship that is crumbling all of the notions I hold around conventional partnership, with a man whom I adore, who I will never forget, who I am forever touched and changed by. It may sound woo woo or delusional, and indeed it may be, but there’s a liberating levity that comes with confessing nothing in my life ever lives up to the ideals in my mind, ever! And that there is a less nurtured part of me who utterly enjoys this—that loves the disappointment and inadequacy of humans. In fact, I find the desire for everyone to be exceptional is rooted in systems of patriarchy and domination, and is a game I don’t always like playing although I very much do.
I could play it safe, save face and avoid many more uncomfortable conversations with him and my friends and family alike. And instead, I choose to linger in what I have with my partner. For now. And it is a choice. Or maybe our season isn’t up. And whether we are victims to seasons or fully heightened from them, life and relationships still come down to a simple yet glaring truth—we have choices, of which we make decisions, and these create who we are. We can go about this like it’s a great weight or like it’s a dance, as Ram Dass says. Each day, I am invited to accept where we are *right now* over where we could be. It demands a presence in me I can so often and easily lose touch with otherwise. From this presence I realize it actually isn’t his potential I’m in love with—it’s him. His very being is what lights me up and also frustrates me—it’s the whole of him I accept and feel delighted to bear witness to. My love is true. And it’s true, also, because I honor my own boundaries of where I am willing to bend and where I refuse to break. I know well enough by now that to love someone deeply and wholeheartedly is not always enough of a reason to stay with them. So I’m taking major life decisions, for instance, moving in together, slow.
The collapsing of worldly constructs isn’t a sweet spot to be in. From within it’s falling walls, what I believe a partner is and who they should be are being challenged. And because of this I am learning what kind of partner I want and, most importantly, what kind of partner I am. Which is what matters most to me in this life—to learn who I am/what we are. Not to achieve, not to win, and not to be right, not really. Perhaps partnership isn’t just about finding the most ideal suitor, but finding ourselves. Finding things out, in general, which allows us to expand our definitions of what is worth measuring and whose rulers we ought to use. Maybe it’s about finding each other, fleeting and failed, and alive and in love nonetheless.
At the end of the day, I asked the universe for something new. Which I got. But I also got the same predicament I continually run into, should I stay or should I go? It’s the same story it’s ever been, for me, lover after lover. Perhaps that is the story of love itself, continually needing to be asked as we expand and shrink with our lives. Because there are endless ways to frame it—so many stories to tell myself over why I should stay or why I should go, and all of them could be true or at least true enough. Stories provide us with temporary relief, but they’re as faulty as the plates beneath earth’s surface. And so, it just keeps coming down to my bodily grit of feeling and choosing, and doing so with the gusto of my heart—who is not here to get it right, but to feel it all. What I know is that relationships take an effort that often disappoints. Perhaps it’s the men who are to blame. Perhaps it’s me (women) for choosing them. But as the genders blur and we release archaic, exhausted stories tied to sex, maybe it’s just life, and we are just humans, and here we all are, loving, imperfectly, desiring so very much to be loved just as we are.
The life and love that my partner and I share cannot, at the moment, be fully measured with the ruler of the status quo, not by money or material alone—although we are hotties if I do say so myself ;) But we are rich in other ways (ways I never centered in the past)—in sensation, loving communication, mutual exchange of energy, creating art together and sharing admiration. Honestly, we have so much fun. Deep belly fun. To say our incomes don’t matter is a lie and I know not what the duration of our time together will be, and… I give myself permission to enjoy it nonetheless. Through meeting him, I have further met myself, which has brought me that much closer to gob—my relationship with the entire cosmos. And this is invaluable, this is maybe the whole point, at least to me. At least for now.
I share all of this because I desired to be real; because it’s something that’s been on my mind for so long but has failed to show up anywhere in my public writing. I’ve hesitated to send because I haven’t been honest about this situation with many people (which is totally fine and my/our business to do), and I don’t honestly know how many of my friends, family, or clients read my work. I’m not looking for advice or judgments. I just hope whoever reads this senses, whether employed or unemployed, male or female or nonbinary, broke or thriving, that there is a limitless potential awaiting you in your presence—and I believe to love and be loved is your birthright, whether you fulfill it or not. And of course you won’t fully fulfill it because to make a choice is, in essence, to limit yourself. To pick one is to surrender the others.
If you think someone could feel less alone from this essay, please share far and wide! Liking and commenting helps ease my anxious mind about whether or not I’m writing to air or other humans, and I’d love to chat more with you in the comments! Thanks for being here.
@theanxioustruth
It may sound woo, but I do believe the universe gives us what we want. And that to some extent (not entirely) what is in our lives is what we want in our lives, even if we don’t like what’s in our lives. Which means I think we want things that we say we don’t want, and that sometimes what we think we want isn’t. And of course, sometimes we do get what we want and we want it. But I find life is usually way more interesting than that.
I was speaking with a client the other day who is also a neuroscientist. She’s studying dopamine and oxytocin, two types of hormones, and how they interplay. Her finding’s have led her to believe that oxytocin, also known as the love hormone, is less about actual love and more about intensity. When we are first meeting someone oxytocin is abundant, making the initial months and sometimes years sensationally intense so we can bond. I asked her what is the evolutionary purpose of this. She said, she guesses so we can come together to procreate and then be able to bond with our babies so as to not kill them. We laughed. This may seem hollow at a glance, like hormones just drive our species to procreate and that is that, but I actually think it’s quite magical. How our biology pulls us closer together in an effort to bond us so that when life becomes difficult, because it absolutely will, maybe—just maybe—we choose to stay with each other. Ain’t life sweet?
Thank you for your vulnerability, darling. This is a topic many women (and people in general) have confronted in their relationships, especially women like us who pride themselves in our business success and autonomy. In my journal earlier this year (and later underlined), I wrote, "Choosing to be awake is choosing to be aware of what makes you suffer." I thought of that when you wrote about how being in a partnership feels like constantly grappling with whether you should be together. In my marriage, there were many years where I didn't question the compatibility of our timelines/values, but when I reflect back on that time, I realize I wasn't in an awakened state. I think the hyperawareness of our relationships allows us to appreciate the idiosyncrasies of each partnership but also creates so much more space for analysis. It's beautiful that you're sharing openly about this struggle that can be perceived as superficial by some (not me). Ultimately, it comes down to values. You're asking yourself if you are aligned with your partner on how you value security/stability and where it exists in your hierarchy of needs.