Since my divorce I have intensely felt the inverse relationship between freedom and security. It was always there, existing in the background of my days, but only now do I find myself uncomfortably conscious of these forces. The tension of freedom vs. security is at work in many arenas: political, social, spiritual, etc. What has caught my attention is how these competing forces play out in parental and romantic relationships.
Divorce was about freedom. Obviously. It was choosing the freedom to live authentically and to open myself up to love again, and to be loved, romantically. When people expressed shock at my choice to date right away, I knew that they underestimated the clarity of my motivation. It would have made zero sense to me, absolutely none, to divorce and then not seek out love. After all, in my marriage I had lots of security, for myself and my children. I even had the freedom to express myself in my work, for example, and to make unique parenting and life choices, like homeschooling and moving abroad.
There wasn’t so much missing. Or was there? How valuable is it to be loved?
I think that freedom is undervalued in personal relationships because it outlines the possible, not the actual. After all, one may divorce and never find love. How much are we willing to give up to make space for mere dreams? How much space do we need to dream, anyways? Is that really necessary, wise, responsible?
We parents are especially prone to prioritize security for our children. That’s why we tend to support our child’s job ambition that pays well and is a sure hire, even if the hours will be long and their lifestyle choices limited. In fact, when I’ve cautioned my children away from high-security, low-freedom life choices, my concerns haven’t much resonated. It seems that freedom is something easily taken for granted, while security forms an obvious goal.
So, what about me? Less than a year after my divorce I began a promising relationship with a new friend who proved to be a wonderful romantic partner. In no time at all, I had traded in that costly freedom for security. For a committed relationship. For a partner contract. For a home we own together.
And it’s not as if I regret these decisions. That’s not it. But it surprises me how quickly I returned to the comfort of a sure thing. And I do feel the rub, because security is most always an illusion.
Maybe you have a permanent work contract, but that business could fail or reorganize, and there goes your sure-thing job. Maybe you’re married and have been for years, but that’s no guarantee, I promise. Maybe you live alone, own your own house and work for yourself - all bastions of perceived security - but your health can fail, your country can go to war. Nothing, nothing on this earth seems truly secure.
Perhaps security is an illusion, but my heart says that freedom is not. If you are free in your heart, you can withstand all kinds of captivity. I am still finding my way in this new landscape of modern, post-marriage woman, and I do hope that I remember the lessons I’ve learned about letting myself become caged. I do hope that I find a way to carve freedom into this castle and to lean lightly into any dream of security.
A therapist said that she sensed I was a woman who yearned to explore and live a little wildly. Ok, shocking! But do you know what surprised me most? Not her words, but her insight (at our second appointment). I recognized some truth in her observation, which I hadn’t wanted to see myself.
Freedom vs. security, it’s a balance that I’m still making.
I created this quilt in 2017. Read the story of Tipsy quilt here, here and here, on my old blog.
Love these musings. At 71 with incurable cancer, I wish I'd allowed myself even the window into my heart to consider such things, I worry it's too late now. But you have allowed the freedom even to think about it. Thank you.
Thank you, Rachel. I understand, as much as is possible from your words and your musings. For me, (finally!) finding an emotionally secure and rock-steady love later in life allowed me to soar creatively and emotionally. And to soften up, to shed my hard shell of self-protection and fears of losing control. To give up the insecurities and the fears, recognize them for what they were and why, that was freedom for me. But all that came later in life. As it seems to be for you. Be proud of your brave self for letting love in. I think often of this line from Leonard Cohen’s ‘Anthem’, “There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.”