MY HUSBAND REFERS to the internet as the devil. He trusts nothing that takes place on the screens Iām constantly working from. Itās easy to sit back and judge something you havenāt allowed yourself to explore. I finally broke him out of his no-internet accessing flip phone, and he has now come to the dark side.Ā
Where Iām engrossed in social media and keeping up with my readers and fellow authors, heās now consumed by stupid, childish games that make absolutely no sense to me. Whoās the hypocrite now? Well, both of us. But at least it keeps him out of my hairā¦a little.Ā
He likes to complain and assume the worst on my end, throwing out the fact that heās kept in the dark and has no clue who I interact with. This is true. I do keep him out of my author world bubble. Itās mine. I donāt want to share it with him. If I allow him to get close enough, I know heāll pop it. And Iām not ready to fall back into reality. He doesnāt get my ājobā and doesnāt even see it as oneāalthough he doesnāt complain when my ājobā buys him stuff.Ā
The internet is my office. And a very, very distracting one at times. But itās a necessity. I wouldnāt be known without it. He doesnāt get that. He has no clue how much work goes into this passion of mine that has turned into a career. The truth of the matter is, he doesnāt support me. So therefore, his mind isnāt open to everything that goes hand in hand with me being an author. All he sees is me on my laptop or phone, and he instantly thinks Iām chatting with peopleāguysāI shouldnāt be.Ā
And maybe I shouldnāt.Ā
Iām unhappy. Iāve been this way for a couple years nowāsince I started writing my books to be more precise. I didnāt wake up one day and tell myself, āSelf, I want to be an author.ā I woke up one day realizing I needed more in my life. Not that being a stay at home mother and wife isnāt satisfying, but it definitely wasnāt quenching my thirst once I delved into my new life as an author. Something was missing, and I was on a mission to find it. Thatās when I discovered writing and that I could write out whatever I wanted and toss it into the black-hole known as the internet and if someone read it, cool.Ā
It felt amazing letting out anything and everything I had on my mind without any expectations in return. Slowly, I started gaining readers. It was scary and exciting. There were people who actually wanted to read what I had to say. Why? I didnāt understand it, and I still donāt. But as they started conversing with me, one by one, I realized I wasnāt alone in the grand scheme of life. And that felt good. I felt like my purpose had been found. And I planned on embracing it no matter who had my back, which my husband didnāt. But his unsupportiveness hasnāt detoured me from continuing my writing journey. Itās not a choice. Itās my destiny, my future. The passion burns throughout me and I canāt extinguish it even if I wanted to. And yes, there have been times I wished I could shut the ideas out. It completes me and gives me a sense of purpose. When a reader tells me that my story moved them, helped them, made them laugh or they related even a tiny bit to something I wroteāit changes you.
And thatās exactly what happened to me.Ā
And dammit, I like who Iām becoming.Ā
I want to embrace this revolution rising within me. I want to spread my wings, and expand my horizons, and see where the possibilities of it can one day lead.Ā
Being a prisoner to a life of contentment, knowing that I settled and wishing I knew then what I know now is so disheartening. Iām married to someone Iāve wanted by my side from the get go, but who loosened his hold on my hand, allowing us to grow apart. Now that he sees me pulling away, knowing Iām unhappy, heās grasping for my fingertips, trying desperately to slip his fingers between mine and pull me back to him.Ā
But itās too late. My fingertips are now curled, forming fists, and leaving nail imprints in my skin. Him refusing to take the journey with me not only hardened my stance against him, but also my heart.Ā
I canāt change it. I canāt change the way I feel. I canāt go back to two years ago when I picked up the first book I ever had the urge to read, and warn myself of what would take place once I closed that story with a new outlook on life. And if I could, Iām not sure Iād want to.Ā
I knew it the first time he came over to my apartment and we ended up sleeping together, that I was settling. I was compromising who I was, and who I wanted to beāeven though I wasnāt sure of who that was at that time.Ā
The ironic part of it all is my settling led to my passion. But now Iām in a predicament. Do I stay with the man who loves me, but doesnāt know how to fully support me? Or do I skip bail and find what brings me joy? I have kids to take care of. I have to be smart instead of jumping on a whim and praying for a safe landing.Ā
Waiting it out shouldnāt be hard, right?Ā
Iām sure most will say Iām being a horrible wife, and that I shouldnāt have put myself in this situation to begin with. To an extent, I agree. I know all Iām doing now is flirting with disaster.Ā
I canāt help itā¦or stop it.Ā
It could be the fucking author in me reading into a web of lies my mind is forming, writing my own personal whacked out fairytale.
I know people say the grass isnāt always greener on the other side, but something inside me makes me want to test that theory.