WTF Am I Doing?!

‘WTF am I doing?’ is a phrase I find myself thinking multiple times a day lately.

Hi. I’m Joanna, also known as Joey.  It’s been 68 days since I have left my husband.  I am well aware this is not an AA meeting, but for someone as obsessed with organization, planning and control as me, leaving your entire life behind feels like something in a similar vein to moving past addiction.  The addiction of the safety and security I found by being with my husband, on both an emotional, physical and financial level.  The addiction to a defined life where I knew what to expect, and equally as important, what other people expected of me.  Some of my greatest loves in life are lists and organization, so this would appeal to me.  I do not do well with ambiguity.  While married, the next steps in life seemed as clearly defined and laid out as my Vera Bradley Day Planner.  Anticipated, deliberate and calculated.  Just how I like it.

So why would I leave?  What was wrong?  I am the first to admit that there was nothing tragically wrong with my relationship or life with my husband.  No violence, substance abuse, financial strains, cheating, lies or even hard-core fighting.  I was not tricked into marriage, I knew what I was getting into; we had been together for over five years when we finally tied the knot.  For months earlier this year, I struggled with my feelings of non-complacence in my seemingly perfect life.  Within my life with my husband- who is, in-and-of himself, a wonderful man and my best friend- I also had a great house, a good education(masters degree, woot!), a job, extraordinary family and friends, and loveable dogs…what else could I want?

After many long months of personal therapy, insomnia and xanax, due to my conflicting feelings of dissatisfaction while living this ‘perfect’ life,  I began to realize it was exactly the sense of comfort,  and simplicity of life I just wrote about that I fell in love with; not actually my husband.

This blog isn’t to be mean or garner sympathy or even make excuses for my failed attempt at marriage.  And though I am not too worried, since it’s highly likely no one will ever even read this, I do not mean to be airing ‘dirty laundry.’  My writing here is a way for me to work through the torrents of thoughts and emotions that run through me on a daily momentary basis.  Leaving was hard, but not the hardest part.  The hardest part, I have found, is sorting through the rubble of the aftermath, to find myself again, re-build my life from the ground up, and move forward in a direction that is still unknown to me.