Dear Caretaker

Effective immediately, I will be taking permanent leave of the environment you've built for us. I find I can no longer meet the demands of the role you would have us play.

I understand its origins. I recall the deep-seated lessons of our youth, in a home where giving of oneself was literally a religious tenet. It was reinforced by watching it in practice by our older siblings. It was enforced by a father whose word was law.

What's more, it felt good. It's always felt like the right thing to do, and that feeling, that serotonin rush, is, frankly, addictive.

Like any addiction, it comes with a price tag. Let's take a look at just part of what it's cost us:

You spent the last 5 years of a 14-year marriage refusing to acknowledge that it was broken. You reasoned that you could fix it, for the kids' sake, if you just gave enough. And man, did you give. Let's not review that. It's too painful.

The marriage finally ended, thank God. I suppose that sounds a little sacrilegious, but by that time, there was nothing resembling sanctity in the relationship. You gave her everything, then, in exchange for custody of your children. Unlimited visitation rights. A vehicle. A roof over her head. The right choice, but the cost was high.

The kids made their own choices later and you went along with the decisions, soul-crushing as it was. No matter what people say, there are some wounds that time doesn't heal. But, you've always left a door open for them, and the promise to be there for them. One has chosen to close that door, and you know you'll still do what you can, despite the pain.

The second marriage was short-lived, though the relationship started much earlier. When it became obvious it was over, you forgave all transgressions and accepted the full blame, signing away the years without harsh words or complex clauses. Even with nothing left to give, you cared enough to close that door gently.

Life moved on, and you found the one you'd been meant to be with. Someone who'd balance the scales of caring and has been the solid foundation under us all these years. Someone who understands your need to give and has supported the decisions you've made based on it. From Wyoming to Oregon, to California, where your daughter “needed her dad,” she's stood by us.

She pulled up stakes in a place you both loved and followed you. For the next 6 years, she pitched in and helped make a life there, with room for family who demanded your time. She took a back seat too many times, and it went unnoticed all too often. When the need for you there waned, she followed you to Texas, because your family needed you. And here we are, you and she and me.

How much time and effort was expended on your artists' support group? Yeah, it was a great idea and it could have made a difference, if anyone else in the group had been willing to put some serious effort into it. Meanwhile, you and your wife poured all our time and a portion of our finances into a gallery whose owner would end up leaving the resident artists high and dry, not to mention unpaid.

Don't get me wrong; it's not that I resent any of it. I can't say I don't regret plenty of it.

The fact is, we no longer have the energy. Life is complicated enough just taking care of us. Frankly, that hasn't been going well lately, and I can't allow you to steer me to another someone in crisis. We're walking a pretty thin line these days. It's time to focus our efforts on home, and I know you can't maintain that when there's a world full of needy individuals looking for a hero. You're not wired to ignore them. I get it. Unfortunately, I can no longer allow it.

So, my dear, outgoing, giving, caring self, I will be taking the nearest exit from the freeway of friends in need and finding the fastest route back to hearth and home. You are still a deeply rooted part of all that is me and I will continue to nurture you, or perhaps “let you nurture us” is more accurate.

We can work together. We just need to focus on self-care and stop trying to save the world. There's plenty of work to be done, but there's time, too. Meanwhile, we don't have to abandon friends and family. We simply need to temper the urge to run to their aid long enough to weigh the personal cost. Yes, of course, they're worth it. So are we. Let's explore that idea and see where it takes us.

With much love,

Self-Preservation