I am a fool. Not the guileless, fascinated-with-his-surroundings-and-other-people kind of fool that one hopes to return to being in one’s senior years, but the kind of fool as defined by Webster’s: a person lacking in judgment and prudence. And to fully understand prudence: the ability to govern and discipline oneself by the use of reason. In certain areas of my life or maybe all areas, I’m unable to govern or discipline myself by use of reason and I often act in poor judgment.

This is made most apparent to me in my marriage of 25 years. The same problems keep arising time and again dating back to the start in 1993. I love the man I’m married to, I’m often happy and grateful to be with him, but the challenge of being an independent person — with my own desires, goals, achievements, friends, sense of self — consistently get lost as I enmesh myself in his life.

This inclination goes back to childhood and maybe it’s encoded into my DNA as I’m doing exactly what my mother did her entire life. She had no life beyond or apart from the men she married. The idea of being independent or on her own was so terrifying to her that she remained married to a most horrible man for 30 years until his death. She complained about him for many of those years and yet when he died, she longed to have him back. She missed “fussing” with him, which actually translated into name-calling, spitting, biting or punches on both their parts.

While I’m not physically abusive or abused in my marriage, the emotional abuse I put myself through (and sometimes my spouse as well) is too close to my mother’s experience for me to keep denying. I slip into this behavior without realizing it and begin to actively resent my husband for the things he does or doesn’t do, I keep secrets (mostly smaller ones these days) that provide me with protection from revealing what I want or what I need. I act passively/aggressively towards him and justify this behavior by using the psychological tools I’ve learned from years of 12-step meetings, therapy and self-help books. I tell lies to myself and to him, often without realizing I’m doing it, to keep the peace or to avoid potential conflict. It’s no different than my mom telling me to hide the new tennis shoes in my closet and bring them out gradually so that my stepfather doesn’t realize she’s spent money. How do you wear tennis shoes gradually — one at a time? He always found out and it was always a fight. My lies are also always discovered and they’ve branded me a “liar” in my marriage. It’s a painful designation and one I’m not ready to accept.

In the past five years, my husband has become involved and well-known in the LGBTQ leather/fetish community. Initially, I internally scoffed and judged him and this community for their “weird” kinky lifestyle, while outwardly acting like I was open-minded and accepting. Gradually, by attending events with him and getting to know the people in the community as individuals, I found that I was welcomed and included into it without having to necessarily adopt any BDSM or kink of my own. The vast majority are great people who have a lot of fun and are much like many of us — trying to live lives of integrity and compassion while seeking their own authenticity. They’ve become my friends as well, which has been gratifying for me, but not so great for my partner who would like to have a part of his existence to be his own — without me in the midst or center of it.

I have done this frequently in my adult years. Made friends, taken jobs or found lovers that offered something close to my own desires or goals, but wouldn’t require me to do much work to achieve anything. I would become friends with their friends or work a job that had some creative input, that sort of touched on what I truly wanted, but not enough to be truly satisfying. When I was an actor for a brief few years, I would complain about the annoyance of finding an agent, go get new headshots every six months or take endless workshops and classes, but when the auditions came, I didn’t put much energy or imagination into showing whatever talent I may have had (it’s also no accident that my husband was a financially successful actor when I began dating him). As a writer, I’ve published a story or two, wrote copious journal entries and read every book on writing out there, but the actual job of sitting my ass in the chair each day and cranking out the words that might form something interesting or worthy was too easily put aside as I focused on the husband, the dog, household responsibilities, the paycheck, sex/porn or the next new shiny thing that would distract me from living my own authentic life with integrity.

This isn’t to say that my life hasn’t had accomplishment and worthy moments. I’ve successfully dealt with physical problems and handicaps for years including an amputation six months ago, I’ve remained a sober and active member of 12 steps for 29 years, I’ve maintained friendships and family relationships that I can be proud of, I’m still married after 25 years, I work for a large entertainment company and have advanced in that position, and I’m in relatively great shape for almost 58 years old. But, time and again, I’ve been a person lacking in judgment and prudence when it comes to my own wants and desires. I’ve often been resentful and envious of others who’ve pursued their passions and goals while also being in healthy relationships. I have found it perplexing as if the two things are mutually exclusive. And yet today I see. I see that it is fear and resistance to change that keeps me from stepping out of my childhood conditioning and living a more authentic life. I’ve intentionally kept my internal self small despite what it might look like on the outside. I’ve kept my secrets hidden away and lived in fantasy and wishful thinking while going about my daily routine. And out of this dark and closed off cave, my resentment and anger at not being true to myself has crept out like a shadow monster that wreaks havoc when least expected and in ways that my conscious self initially finds perplexing.

It is time to let go of the scared and hidden fool, to step out of the cave and into the light. I will discover what’s possible as a creator rather than a spectator that continually shrinks inside a little more each day. It scares me to state this out loud as then I’ll be expected to act, but that is exactly what I must do — act and act on my own behalf. I’ve said all of this before and have made resolutions and beginning attempts, but time is running out and I don’t know how much longer I can live with the regret of ignoring the creative voice inside and remaining a victim of the past. I want to be the best kind of fool, the courageous one that knows the crevices and pitfalls of life, but keeps trudging along with a cheerful soul and a playful spirit. That fool once lived inside me long ago and I can still feel him there if I open my heart and mind to him. He’s seven years old and he still finds magic in unexpected places and looks for the good in those around him. Hello old fool.