Who am I and what did I really want? I used to be a woman with fire—someone who loved painting, hiking with friends, losing myself in books at Winnipeg’s cozy cafés. I had a job I was proud of, a life filled with color and connection. But here, in this cold house, waiting for a man who’s grown cold himself, I’ve given it all up. My paintbrushes are packed away, my hiking boots gathering dust, my books unopened because I’m too busy tiptoeing around Étienne’s irritation. He’s changed—snapping at me over nothing, his once-warm smile now a scowl when I speak. I’ve become a shadow of myself, sitting in this chilly room, hoping for a scrap of the love we had online. What do I want? I want to feel alive again, to be seen, to be loved without feeling like I’m begging for it.
I looked around, called house, cold man, no people to talk to or activities that I used to do . Is this the way I want my life to unfold? Living in the middle of nohere and only conversations to have are about groceries and cleaning
I tried it all. Itried to initiate a conversation, I tried to explain things that
I was looking to volunteer
I wanted a second jodb – he dsmissed, we didn’t meet anyone. It was depressing
I started digging inside and relized that I made a mistake early on
My gut feeling was telling me that he was the wrong person. But I realized that I chose him more because of fear , and of what I thought was luck to find such an “amazing man”
What did I want to see,
I did a visuaalization meditation. And combining with advice from astrologis
Tjat was true. I was afraid of my greatness. I didn’t feel like I was deserving an am
I made a lis of all the things I didn’t like
I tartd digging in my shadow
It was extremely hard. To get dip into yourelf
And now, there’s this gnawing suspicion twisting in my gut. The other day, Étienne mentioned someone complimenting his new cologne—some “friend” at the village market, he said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Then he let slip about getting “advice” on our relationship, dodging details when I asked who it was. My stomach dropped. Is there someone else? Someone on the side he’s turning to while I’m here, pouring my heart into a relationship that’s crumbling? His jealousy over my phone, his lack of passion, his aggressive outbursts—it’s all starting to feel like projection, like he’s hiding something. The astrologer’s words echo: he’s not good with women, not built for trust. I ignored it then, but now it’s screaming at me, alongside the signs—the feather, the song, 11:11 on my clock.
I don’t deserve this—to be lonely in a life I gave up everything for, to be with a man who’s irritated by my presence, who might be sharing his with someone else. I wanted love, a partner, a home where I could be myself. But this? This isn’t it. I’m 45, and the thought of leaving this village, starting over, terrifies me. But staying here, losing more of myself to a cold house and a colder man, is worse. The signs, the stars, my own heart—they’re all telling me to go. I’m whispering to the angels, or maybe just to the woman I used to be, for the courage to pick up my hobbies, my life, and walk away. Because I know now: I want me back, and I’m done waiting for him to decide my worth.
It made me realize that the reason for my frustrations and unhappiness was not the person I was with but I didn’t choose what the best for me because of the fear of not finding anyone.