My Roman Holiday
A marathon?! In Rome?! Wow…omg…that’s amazing. You see the shock mixed with excitement on her face. Will your other half go with you? You visit the dentist once every six months. Your hygienist gets a very brief life update from you between cleaning and flossing at the two times a year you see her. So much has transpired since you last saw her. The question stings a little. Hearing “other half,” you know who she’s asking about. You feel a tiny jolt like an electric current move through your body. It’s not her fault. You’re grateful she remembers things about you.
No, you hesitate, that’s a long story. You force a smile and try to brush it off with a sweeping motion of your hand. That’s over now. I’m going alone. You feel the air get a little heavier. You imagine this is what it’s like when you tell someone a family member died or that you have cancer. There’s an awkward pause; no one knows how to react or respond. You don’t blame them. People don’t expect to hear news like we aren’t together anymore, or we’re getting a divorce, when they go through the polite surface-level how are yous and hows so-and-so? Even though this truth feels like a scarlet letter you wear on your chest, no one else seems to notice what’s going on behind your eyes.
In a few days, you’re leaving for Rome, Italy, to run your second marathon. Several months and countless miles have been put in to prepare for this. At the time you signed up for this race, you were still in an abusive relationship. You remember when you told him about it, and that you wanted to go, it became a point of contention between the two of you. Instead of being excited or interested, he became cold and shut down when you said you wanted to sign up for the Rome Marathon. That’s the thing about abusers: they don’t like it when the spotlight isn’t on them. Any time it’s your moment to shine, they manage to create mass destruction.
His cold, passive-aggressive response stunned you. Tears filled your eyes. I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to ask you for permission, but I don’t want you to be unhappy about it either. Traveling and running make me happy; it’s who I am. At this point, he knew who you were and how you spent your time. In the years before you two dated, he could see how you lived your life, the places you traveled, and the miles you ran. And in the beginning, it was something he complimented you on: that you are a fit and active person who runs marathons and travels the world. So, signing up for a marathon in another country was on brand for you, and he knew it. But somehow, now that it was up close for him rather than watching from afar, he no longer liked it. Cue censorship.
Celebrating you and all that you are wasn’t an option; it was a threat. He didn’t want you to be living a big life. Because he thought that if you lived a big life, running marathons, traveling the world, it meant you didn’t want him. And so he would do anything he could to sabotage your wins. He wanted to contain you, shrink you, make you small and manageable. You weren’t. If there’s anything your running shoes and passport stamps can say about you, it’s that you will go wherever and whenever, alone. You wait for no one. I’m not saying that I cant live without you, because I can. I’m saying that I don’t want to. Independence is a trait that most men say they’re attracted to, but one in which few can truly tolerate.
I guess I believe it’s okay for us to have our separate passions and independence, as well as things we share. You were explaining your philosophy around independence within a relationship. It’s important that you still have what’s important to you, things that are yours, like football or music. I want that for you. It brings you joy. And traveling and running races internationally is what’s for me.
Yeah. I don’t know. I can’t afford that. I can’t live as you live. Your attempts to smooth this over aren’t working. He remains distant and somewhat cold. Your heart sinks as fear and dread fill your chest. You’ve been here before, in a relationship where your wanderlust was a fault instead of a triumph, where your ambitions led to the breaking instead of the uplifting. I don’t want things to be separate. I want things to be done together. But I know you don’t like football. He continues, standing in the way of curiosity and understanding.
It always came back to him. Suddenly, your moment, your news, transformed into tending to his hurt. You hadnt even gone anywhere yet, and you were already in the wrong. Why? Because to him, even though you hadn’t left yet, you were already gone, out of his reach, and out of his control.
This has nothing to do with football. I never said I don’t like the things that you like, your defending and explaining continues, anxiety rising within you. Look, I want us to do things together, too. Of course I do. And I want you there for all of these things. I’m just saying that it’s ok for us to have our own separate passions; it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. Is this a mindset thing? A fear? Do you just need to explain more and provide more assurances of your commitment and devotion to him? It hadn’t occurred to you that it was about control and manipulation. But from where you are now, you see something profound: you were in a place of secure attachment, a rare state for you, given that you historically operate as a highly anxious or anxious-avoidant attachment. Here, with him, you entered the relationship with confidence and security. Mix that with an insecure abuser who thrives on destruction, manipulation, and control, and you have a recipe for disaster.
That conversation ended with you in tears, going quiet, unsure how to proceed. In a past relationship, when faced with this dilemma, where you risked upsetting your partner and disturbing peace within the relationship by going on a much-needed solo trip, you canceled the trip the day before you were set to depart. Your partner didn’t tell you to, but you could feel his disapproval. Money went down the drain. You watched it wash away, along with your sense of self. You never recovered from that moment, from shrinking yourself to make someone else happy. And that relationship never recovered either. Two things broke that day: your heart and that relationship.
The efforts you make to keep the peace. It’s a skill you know well. You saw the same dilemma playing out again, now with him. Cancel the trip, say you won’t go, apologize, shrink, stay small. Or continue forward, living your life, defending your views and values, and providing assurance of your love, loyalty, and commitment, as well as your independence. Two things can be true at once, you would always tell him. At the end of the day, I want you there. I want to do all of these things with you. My first choice would be for us to be together always. But we both know that isn’t always possible, and it isn’t realistic. And that’s ok! You are reaching now, trying all you can to assure him and sway him not to be upset with you. You threw away one European adventure for a man once before; you aren’t about to do it again.
Reflecting on this today, your mind slips into a daydream: final miles closing in, crowds cheering, exhaustion weighing you down with every step you take toward the finish line. When you reach the end, tears stream down your face as you think, I did it! And as you walk slowly through the crowd, you make your way to him. He’s there, waiting for you, arms wide open, smile on his face. He wraps you in a huge embrace, pride beaming from his chest as he congratulates you on your accomplishment. He lifts you up and twirls you slowly. You let exhaustion melt, and you comfortably collapse into his arms and against his chest, feeling safe and secure there with him. You lift your chin up toward him, and he kisses you, his hand cupping your cheek. He takes your hand with care, attentive to your every need as you make your way through the crowd. He’s there. He’s safe. He’s proud of you. He’s celebrating you.
Then you wake up. Alone. And the dream comes to an end.
