Im 41 years old and Ive been married to my husband since I was 22. Its only been two months since a thought crossed my mindone Ive never dared to say out loud until now: I dont think Ive ever fallen in love with him in the way people describe love. It happened on an ordinary evening; I was sitting in the lounge watching telly when I wondered why Id never felt what other women call butterflies in their stomachsthat sweet nervousness, that urge to run up and hug someone. I kept thinking, and suddenly everything started making sense.
I come from a difficult family. My dad drank heavily. Hed come home drunk, blow his wages on booze and cause a scene. Mum cleaned houses to make up for what he couldnt provide. I grew up surrounded by rows, exhaustion, and tension. As a teenager, my only wish was to get out, to have my own space, to sleep peacefully and not wake up to shouting. I didnt dream about loveI just dreamed about escape.
When I met my husband, I was 22 and he was ten years older. Only a month into dating, he was already talking about us living together, telling me hed help, that he wanted something serious with me. I never sat down and asked myself if I was truly in love. I saw it as a way out, a chance for a new life. I accepted quickly. Packed my things and left home. There wasnt much deliberation, no deep doubtsjust a strong urge to go.
To be fair, my life hasnt been bad. Hes a good husbandhardworking, dependable. Weve never lacked food, the rent was always paid, and eventually we bought a house. He adores our kids, takes care of everything. Ive never had any reason to suspect infidelity or endure screaming matches. From the outside, our marriage probably looks perfect. Thats what confuses me most, because theres no obvious reason for this peculiar emptiness I feel.
I love him. I respect him. Im grateful for so much. He gives me peace and stability. But looking back, I realise I never had that fierce, burning love other women talk about. I never felt sharp jealousy, never dreaded losing him or got excited waiting for him to come home. My love has always been more about routine, partnership, appreciationnot passion.
Im not thinking about leaving. Im not searching for anyone else. I dont want to break my family up. Im just coming to terms with something Ive never allowed myself to admit: that maybe what Ive called love all these years was really need, security, the desire to escape a hard life. And now, at 41, with grown-up kids and a settled home, I finally see it.
Sometimes I feel guilty for even thinking this way. I tell myself, How dare you question something thats given you stability? But at the same time, I feel its only fair to acknowledge it. Perhaps my way of loving is different. Perhaps I learned to survive first, before learning how to fall in love. I dont know. I just know this realisation has stirred up feelings in me that go all the way back to that little girl who only wanted to run from home.
What would you do if you were in my shoes?
Id truly appreciate your advice.
