I’m running, but more than anywhere, I’d like to stay.

I don’t know how many of you have experienced this. Maybe more than we admit.
I didn’t leave the marriage because the woman was bad. She was good, caring, looked after the kids, did things right.
But next to her, I stopped breathing.

From the outside, it looked fine.
Inside, I was learning to keep my mouth shut. Not to say too loudly what I feel, what I want, what bothers me.
Every attempt at truth ended in an attack, silence, or me feeling like a selfish person.
So over time, I stopped trying.

I learned to be quiet, to adapt, to survive.
But that’s not life. That’s slow decay.

So I left.
I felt like I could finally breathe.
No explanations. No guilt. No pretending to be a family that works, even though it fell apart long ago.
I was alone. And I claimed I was enjoying it.

But… sometimes something came over me.
I sat in the evening silence and suddenly it stabbed me.
Not loneliness. But a strange feeling of emptiness.
As if I had space around me, but nothing inside.

I started sleeping with different women. Not like a player, but like someone who needs to feel closeness.
But who can’t hold onto it.
As soon as it smelled like love, truth, or just interest in me as a person, I ran.
It was too much. Or rather, it reminded me of what I had run from.

The moment I felt I had to do something… that someone needed me… that I had to explain where I’d been or what I felt… I got angry inside, even though the woman wasn’t to blame.
I raged. Went silent. Closed off. Lost interest.
And then I texted her that it’s too much for me. That I need to sort things out. That I’m not ready.
But the truth is different.

Sometimes I catch myself doing exactly what I used to hate. Downplaying emotions. Joking about things that are sensitive. When someone tries to get closer, I pull back into the observer role. I’m funny, chill, independent, but inside I’m completely lost.

I’ve learned to hide even from myself.
In the morning or evening I run, work, plan, do what’s expected.
In the evening, I open wine, or go see someone who wants nothing from me.
But then night comes. Silence, and with it, the shadow.
And the shadow says: “What if you finally stopped running?”

And that’s when I met her.

It was one of those dates you arrange more out of habit.
Nice words worked, the promise that there would be more than just dinner was my motivation.
I knew how it goes. I’d played this game many times.

But she was different.

Suddenly, I was genuinely enjoying it. She talked about everything, laughed, was real,
and wasn’t pretending.
She didn’t come with expectations, nor with a life preserver… she just was, and it was a presence you couldn’t escape.

She didn’t say, “I know how you feel.”
She sat across from me, holding her glass with both hands, and instead of, “So what now?” she stayed quiet.

And suddenly I felt something shifting inside me.
Like it wanted to launch me away, but at the same time there was something new.
A small, fragile feeling that maybe, I don’t have to run.

I’ve run many times. From different relationships, from truth, from arms that were too close.
But that night, I wanted her to stay.

I didn’t sleep. I sat leaning against the wall, watching her sleep, and inside me there was a roar.
Fear. Desire. Memories. And alongside that, something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time:
Silence. Presence.

In the morning, I wanted to run. I admit it.
It took everything I had to stay.
But I stayed. I made coffee. Didn’t make any promises. Just sat down next to her again.
And she didn’t want anything. Just presence.

That broke me open.

And that’s why I knew, I have to try this differently.
Still, in the following weeks I was absent, silent, then overly talkative, then texting another woman, setting up a date for sex just to prove to myself I could still escape.

I love the scent of women. I love sex. I love moments where I don’t have to pretend. But I also love peace. A place where I can take off my armor and say that I am not okay today.
And suddenly, I realized that more than anything, I wanted to be with her again…to feel that peace again, the kind I’d never felt with anyone else.

She came back…

But maybe it won’t be a happy ending.
Maybe I’ll give up again. Maybe I’ll run again. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and realize I can’t be truly seen for more than a few weeks.

And I know that underneath years of lies, what I really long for is love. Not romance, but something real.
A relationship where I don’t have to be someone.
A place where someone hugs me without needing an explanation.
A woman I can tell the truth to… and not be left alone for it.

Right now, I’m learning what it actually means to live in truth, without games.
Right now, I still want to run when someone sees beneath my skin.
Right now, I still sometimes play the game of freedom, even though sometimes I stand in the shower, hands against the wall, and say out loud:
“I don’t want to go on like this.”

So I’m not writing this as a man who’s got it all figured out.
I’m writing this as someone who got lost a few times on the way to himself.
And who was helped by finally admitting it, out loud.
For the first time, I’m speaking about it without playing a role.
For the first time, I’m not writing this to impress anyone, but so I don’t lose myself again.

And if someone is reading this… and recognizes themselves in it…
maybe this is the beginning of change.

Calmory’s note: 
Not all men know how to talk about themselves.
Not all can stay when emotions come.

But anyone can start somewhere.

Maybe just by admitting:
“I’m running… but more than anywhere, I’d like to stay.”