Have you ever wanted to run away from your life?

I have…and I’m trying to understand why

Photo by Raimond Klavins on Unsplash

I was sitting at my desk on Friday afternoon a few weeks ago, when I had an overwhelming urge to run away and not come back.

For the first time in my life, I felt trapped. The reality of being middle-aged with a mortgage and a menagerie of geriatric pets to care for hit me hard. 

I finished my day job for the weekend, went downstairs, had a cup of tea with my lovely husband and explained how I felt.

‘We’ve got the holiday coming up,’ he said. 

‘I know, but I’m not sure I can make it to the holiday. I’m exhausted.’ As well as being in desperate need of a break, I felt bored. The monotony of doing nothing but working and caring for pets was taking its toll. Usually in summer, the weather is nicer and life is easier. But with this strange British summer, there’s been no differentiation in the seasons and the drudgery of winter has rolled on.

Immediately, I felt guilty for feeling so negative. There are much bigger problems in the world than the meltdown of a middle-aged woman. So I decided to carry on and keep quiet. I continued to work and sort the horses a million times a day and write and run and clean and do all the things. 

Except just getting out of bed became hard work. My body was heavy with fatigue. My face erupted into the biggest cold sore I’ve ever had. And that feeling of wanting to run away and start again got stronger and stronger. 

‘I’m going to do a Shirley Valentine,’ I told my sister and niece.

‘Don’t do that,’ my sister said. ‘I want you at my wedding.’

‘Who’s Shirley Valentine?’ my niece asked. 

Only my husband seemed mildly concerned. ‘I’m worried you’ll go and leave me looking after the horses.’

Despite having a happy home with people and animals I love dearly, I kept thinking how I could escape. I want to travel and have adventures. Maybe I could find a way to write my way around the world.

The thoughts were hopeful, but then the dark clouds of reality would move in. Write my way around the world? How was that possible? Too many commitments. Too many things holding me back and, in the end, all I was left with was the frustration of being stuck and this urge to make a change. 

I confided in a friend. ‘You just need a break,’ she said. ‘You will feel better for a rest. When you’re away you’ll feel differently about home.’

I hung on for the holiday and I’m now relaxing by a pool in Cyprus, hoping that a holiday sorts me out. I love the long leisurely days with my husband without one or both of us having to rush off to be somewhere. The space to think has also been nice, trying to understand why I’m so restless.

There could be lots of reasons —losing friends and family, being aware of my advancing years and time passing so quickly, working hard and needing rest, or maybe it’s all down to my perimenopausal hormones. 

I’m not sure. 

All I know is that I’ve not felt like this since I was eighteen and desperate to move away to London to university. Back then, I wanted my freedom and independence. Now aged almost forty-five, I suppose I’m craving the same things. 

Rather than running away, I need to sit with my feelings, take my time and think things through. I’m determined to focus on the moment and enjoy this precious time away with my husband. Hopefully that way, I will return home (because I’m definitely going home) rested and refreshed, ready for whatever comes next.