Hi. I’m Joey. 28 and ready to take on the world. Or so I thought.
The reality of my life is that is that at 29 years-old, while I may have my masters degree, a great professional job, have traveled the world, bought a house and gotten married, I am also newly divorced, boys still confuse me, and I feel lost more often than not.
Join me here to follow my thoughts through this quarter life crisis that has me single and rebuilding my life by questioning everything I have ever known
Also, a more visual way to following my thoughts can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/goingourseparateways.
Excerpt from 1st blog entry:
Today, 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. 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.
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, conversely, garner sympathy and support 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.