Until then, I never thought life could be different, without the constant routine of home, shopping, laundry to do, meals to prepare, and silences to endure.
Since I was a child, I was taught that the most important thing for a woman was to settle down, get married, have children and stay with the family.
Don't contradict. Don't argue. Don't complain.
And if you dream, do it quietly, because dreaming is useless.
Got married young and had two sons
I was a mother a wife a housewife Washed, ironed, cooked and ran all day.
My husband was at work. He came back tired, he ate in silence and sat in front of the TV. Then he started to criticize me: that I was boring, that I had left myself alone for too long, that I had nothing to say anymore.
He was telling me that with women like me you don't live, you just survive.
And what did I do?
Me callaba.
Because "the family is sacred."
Because "you have to have patience."
Because my mom always said, "Be patient." You're a wife, you're a mother.”
And so I had patience.
I waited for the day when my kids were older, independent, and then maybe my life could start.
Then one day he's gone.
No scenes, no explanations.
He packed a suitcase and didn't return.
I was left by myself .
And strangely enough, the first thing I felt wasn't pain.
It was quiet.
A true silence, deep and unknown; and yet in that silence, for the first time, I heard myself.
I was lost, at first.
I didn't know who it was anymore.
I couldn't remember what I liked or what I wanted.
Walked into my own house like a guest.
I wondered when was the last time I really laughed, or woke up without running to the kitchen to make coffee for everyone.
One morning I woke up and didn't make my bed.
Made coffee all by myself and sat on the balcony.
I watched the sunlight sneak through the curtains.
A little, simple thing... and still, I looked at her in amazement.
Because it was mine.
That day something changed in me.
I signed up for a language course simply because I wanted to.
Learned how to use the mobile phone to buy a train ticket.
I took a road trip. Alone. First time in my life.
Then I went even further.
I saw the sea in winter, the real sea, not the one in the photos.
Smells like salt, intense and alive. That day I understood freedom.
I took my shoes off, sat in the wet sand and thought:
“Why did I wait so long?” ”
A neighbor asked me: "Have you lost your mind?" Traveling alone at almost sixty years old? ”
Sonreí.
Because maybe, in the end, she wasn't lost anymore. He had found me.
Now I live alone.
Not because nobody loves me,
But because, for the first time, I love myself.
I don't have schedules anymore, just choices.
I don't spend my days in the kitchen anymore.
Now I spend hours in museums, on regional trains, in bookstores or curled up under a blanket with a novel I left intact for years because I "never had time."
Sometimes I look in the mirror. The wrinkles are still there.
But my eyes are different.
There's a new light in them.
Because at 58 I stopped surviving.
And I started to live.
Hellen Mirren
La Casa del Saber
Don't contradict. Don't argue. Don't complain.
And if you dream, do it quietly, because dreaming is useless.
Got married young and had two sons
I was a mother a wife a housewife Washed, ironed, cooked and ran all day.
My husband was at work. He came back tired, he ate in silence and sat in front of the TV. Then he started to criticize me: that I was boring, that I had left myself alone for too long, that I had nothing to say anymore.
He was telling me that with women like me you don't live, you just survive.
And what did I do?
Me callaba.
Because "the family is sacred."
Because "you have to have patience."
Because my mom always said, "Be patient." You're a wife, you're a mother.”
And so I had patience.
I waited for the day when my kids were older, independent, and then maybe my life could start.
Then one day he's gone.
No scenes, no explanations.
He packed a suitcase and didn't return.
I was left by myself .
And strangely enough, the first thing I felt wasn't pain.
It was quiet.
A true silence, deep and unknown; and yet in that silence, for the first time, I heard myself.
I was lost, at first.
I didn't know who it was anymore.
I couldn't remember what I liked or what I wanted.
Walked into my own house like a guest.
I wondered when was the last time I really laughed, or woke up without running to the kitchen to make coffee for everyone.
One morning I woke up and didn't make my bed.
Made coffee all by myself and sat on the balcony.
I watched the sunlight sneak through the curtains.
A little, simple thing... and still, I looked at her in amazement.
Because it was mine.
That day something changed in me.
I signed up for a language course simply because I wanted to.
Learned how to use the mobile phone to buy a train ticket.
I took a road trip. Alone. First time in my life.
Then I went even further.
I saw the sea in winter, the real sea, not the one in the photos.
Smells like salt, intense and alive. That day I understood freedom.
I took my shoes off, sat in the wet sand and thought:
“Why did I wait so long?” ”
A neighbor asked me: "Have you lost your mind?" Traveling alone at almost sixty years old? ”
Sonreí.
Because maybe, in the end, she wasn't lost anymore. He had found me.
Now I live alone.
Not because nobody loves me,
But because, for the first time, I love myself.
I don't have schedules anymore, just choices.
I don't spend my days in the kitchen anymore.
Now I spend hours in museums, on regional trains, in bookstores or curled up under a blanket with a novel I left intact for years because I "never had time."
Sometimes I look in the mirror. The wrinkles are still there.
But my eyes are different.
There's a new light in them.
Because at 58 I stopped surviving.
And I started to live.
Hellen Mirren
La Casa del Saber
