I am 41 years old and have been married to my husband since I was 22. Only two months ago did I allow myself to consider something Id never dared say out loud: I dont think Ive ever fallen in love with him in the way people describe love. It happened on an ordinary evening, I was in the sitting room watching television, when I found myself wondering why Id never felt what other women call butterflies in the stomach, that sweet sense of excitement, the urge to run and wrap your arms around someone. The more I thought about it, the more things began to make sense.
My childhood was tough. My dad was heavy on the drink, stumbling home drunk, spending his wages on pints, making trouble. My mum cleaned houses to fill the gap he left behind. I grew up surrounded by arguments, exhaustion, and tension. As a teenager, all I wanted was to escape, have a place of my own, sleep in peace, and not wake up to shouting. I never dreamed of finding love just of getting away.
I met my husband when I was 22 and he was ten years older. After only a month together, he was already talking about us moving in, of helping me, of wanting something serious. I didnt stop to ask myself if I was in love. I saw a chance to get away from home and start a new life. I accepted almost immediately. I packed up my things and left. There was no long period of doubt, no real soul-searching just a strong desire to bolt.
I cant say my life with him has been bad. Hes a good man hard-working and reliable. Weve always had food on the table, always paid our rent, and eventually we bought our house. He adores our children, takes care of everything. Ive never had any reason to suspect him of cheating or causing drama. From the outside, our marriage seems perfect. And yet, this is what confuses me the most there isnt a clear reason for feeling this strange emptiness.
I love him. I respect him. Im grateful for so much. Hes given me calm, stability. Yet, when I look back, I realise Ive never felt that deep, burning love other women talk about. Ive never felt violent jealousy, or a fear of losing him, or a thrill waiting for him to come home. My love has always been more about habit, partnership, gratitude not fire and passion.
I dont think about leaving. Im not searching for someone else. I have no wish to break up my family. Im just starting to come to terms with something I never dared admit: perhaps what Ive called love all these years has actually been a need, a longing for safety, a way out of a difficult past. And now, at 41, with grown children and a settled home, I see it clearly.
Sometimes I feel guilty even thinking this. I ask myself, How dare you question whats given you stability? But I also feel its honest to admit it. Perhaps the way I love is simply different. Maybe I had to learn how to survive before I could learn how to fall in love. I dont know. All I know is that this thought has unsettled so much of what Ive carried with me ever since I was a little girl desperate to run from home.
What would you do if you were in my shoes?
Im hoping for some advice.
