Unpacking my head

One of the things I've loved the most about Geneen Roth's books is that she has highlighted the importance of being familiar with and accepting of your feelings.  The thing is, sometimes I feel like that doesn't apply to me.  I'm an engineer by trade and schooling.  I think logically.  I don't NEED to figure out my feelings.  I can think my way through them.

Know where that got me?  280 pounds.  So obviously, I wasn't doing something (many things?) right.

So I'm willing to give this whole "Feeling your feelings" thing a shot.  The best way I know how to do that is to get it all out in the open.

But growing up, my mom was always quick to point out that things could always be worse.  And she's right.  They can.

So, before I start going on my soap box of whining, I'd like to clarify a few things:
I understand people are dying of hunger all over the world.  I understand that I'm lucky to live in a country where there are basic rights that are respected.  I'm blessed to have a sexual orientation that is widely accepted and promoted.  I'm lucky to have been born in a family where we always had enough to eat and where education was encouraged.  I am healthy. My family and friends are healthy.  I'm blessed to be in a relationship that is healthy, nurturing, and really a great team - many people don't have that.  I am lucky.  PLEASE don't comment that things could always be worse.  I get it.  Really, I do.

BUT...I'm dissatisfied. 

Let me back up. 

In February, I decided that I might want to put my house up on the market - it wasn't a good fit.  Things didn't feel right in that house, despite me trying to make it work for three years.  I deep cleaned and de-cluttered my house, putting about half of my stuff in storage at my boyfriend's (Joe) storage unit.  Most of the stuff were things that I knew I wouldn't need soon.  I could unpack it all when I got in my new place!

Less than a month later, it was up on the market.  Five days and 2 showings later, it was under contract.  We closed in April.   For the first few weeks after my house was under contract, I looked very hard for a new place to move into.  And I couldn't find anything that I liked.  So Joe offered the chance to live at his place until I found something.

I rented a storage unit of my own - this time putting 99% of my remaining stuff in boxes and meticulously labeling everything so that I could find it when I moved out of his place.  I really believed that being at Joe's was a pausing spot until I found the place where I was supposed to be.

Only after I was living there, it occurred to me that the place I was supposed to be was with him.  I realized that I didn't want to move away from him - even if it was only a few minutes away.  I loved him.  The bond that I felt was too powerful to ignore.

In May we talked and agreed that we would officially live together.  We agreed that we both wanted to see where this went - neither one of us had ever lived with someone else before - so that was a big step.  We wanted to take it easy, but we both agreed that I should stop looking for houses.

Since then, we've certainly had some disagreements - all normal.  99% of the time, we're really happy.  We really gel.  We are a great team.  In my opinion, we just fit.

Yesterday I had to go to the storage units (both in the same facility) to look for a few things.  And I couldn't find a bathing suit for a water aerobics class I'm taking with Katy.  So I started digging around in the unit.  And I got reacquainted with my stuff.

And HOO BOY there is a lot of it.  And you know what?  Sometimes I miss it.  I miss the furniture pieces that I picked out after I graduated.  I miss having a wall of pictures (all mismatched frames) of people that I love dearly.  I miss being able to step on my grandparent's rug that they bought when they lived in India.  I love the margarita glasses that I picked out on a whim in Mexico.  And I wish that I could use the couch that is way more comfy than Joe's.

The stuff in Joe's unit are almost all in black garbage bags (only a few have labels slapped on them).  I thought that it would only be in storage for a month or so - until I could sell my house.  I have no idea where stuff is.  Going through that unit makes me cranky.

MY unit (with meticulously labeled boxes) is much better set up.  BUT since the season is changing soon, I'm going to need to find all of my winter stuff.  I'm going to need more space.

AND this gets to the heart of my whine.

I like where we live.  I like the convenience of living downtown.  I LOVE living with Joe.

But I want more.  I want to have some more of my stuff AND live with Joe.

(deep breath)

Truthfully, I want a ring.  I want to be his wife.  I want to be a mom.  I want to start that portion of my life.

I want to be able to invest the proceeds of my house sale in something other than an online bank account (because if we break up, I'll need access to it right away, right?). 

I want to merge our lives together.

I don't want the storage units.

He knows this.  We've had direct and indirect conversations about it.  He loves me.  I know that he does; he says it and he shows it on a daily basis.  A little over a month ago, I told him plainly that I wanted to be his wife.  He understands.  But he's freaked out about the idea of marriage.  And yes, he has business cards for therapists (he initiated it)...he just hasn't made the appointment yet.  It's been over a month.

When people ask (and yes, they ask often) "When are you all going to get married?" and "Aren't you worried that he's never going to propose?  What would you do then?"  I put up a brave front.  I say that I'm happy.  Happier than I have been in forever.  I say that I never thought that I could have something like this...and I'm thrilled with how happy we are.

And I am.

Only when I'm not. 

My brave voice says out loud to people, "I'm happy now.  And when I stop being happy, I'll do something about it.  If being married ever gets to be more important than being with him, I'll know it's time to leave."

In the security of his arms at night or in the morning, I realize that I might not have that kind of strength.  This is the best relationship I've ever been in.  It's healthy, nurturing, loving, and kind.  It is almost everything I've ever hoped for.  As we snuggled last night, I felt so loved - my soul felt warm and cherished.  Why would I throw that away for a RING and a name change?

I am happy.  Most times, blissfully so.

But if he won't make the appointment for the therapist to discover his issues with marriage, how long will I really wait?  Is it even healthy to do so? 

This is the best thing I've had - ever.  It's rare.  I believe that.  Why can't he see it?  I recognize that he's thinking: if this is so great, why can't she just be happy?  Why does she have to push for the next step?

My real fears: What if I'm not good enough to be with for forever - what if that's what he really believes?  What if that's what I really believe?  What if by waiting for him, I turn out to be a fool?  What if this ends and then I can't ever be a mom because I'll be too old (I'm 33) to be one anyway?  He's 43 and has never been married or engaged - what if he is just one of those guys that won't commit?  What is so wrong with wanting to be with someone who wants to claim you as his own?  What is so bad about wanting someone to make a life long pledge?  Why won't he receive the gift that I want to give him (my pledge, my commitment)?

Like I've said: we've talked about it.  We're just in different places.  When I bring it up, he withdraws and gets sad.  He feels bad that he doesn't know what he wants.  He feels bad that I feel sad.  I feel bad that he's feeling pressured to make a decision.

And yet, the feelings don't get resolved.

I just don't know if what I'm doing is right.  I don't know if what I'm doing is healthy.  Am I being too selfish? Am I being too needy?  Or is he being stupid?

Most of the time, I'm FINE with it.  But when I go to the storage unit, I realize the truth: my life is on hold for him. 

It feels so risky - this waiting game; the stakes are as high as they've ever been. 

I don't want to leave because I AM so happy most of the time.  I believe that this is real, genuine, and healthy.  But I don't want to give myself the message that I'm not worth a ring, a promise, or a partner either.

Hey Geneen, how's that for feelings?  Sitting with them isn't DOING anything.  Eating them isn't helping.  Talking about it doesn't change anything. 

I have no idea what else to do.