Vulnerable
Whether it’s the time of year or simply the passing of time, somehow the realization of how vulnerable I am has been pressing in on me more and more. I literally have nothing to complain about, so what is it that makes me feel so vulnerable nonetheless? In this blog, I try to formulate an answer to that question for myself. Beyond that answer, I also search for a way to put that feeling to positive use — for myself, but also for others.
There are three areas in my life in which I feel increasingly vulnerable: my health, my relationships, and my finances. And in a way, that makes no sense at all. I am in good physical and mental health. I have a healthy and happy relationship with my wife, my children, my loved ones, and my surroundings. And as far as finances are concerned, that is the last thing I really need to worry about. So how is it possible that I feel increasingly vulnerable in all three of these areas?
Health
When it comes to my health, the roots of this feeling lie largely in my education. I was trained as a nurse and later became a health scientist. With all due modesty, I think I have, on average, somewhat more knowledge about health in general — and my own health in particular — than the average person. That extra knowledge is both a blessing and a curse. After all, greater knowledge about what promotes or threatens your health can make you stronger, but it can also make you feel more vulnerable.
Relationships
The feeling of vulnerability in relationships stems partly from my childhood and my search for my sexual identity. In addition, I sustained a deep emotional wound in a previous relationship due to an unfaithful partner. Even though I now have a very loving relationship with my wife, the fear of being betrayed again has never fully disappeared. It is not a fear that troubles me on a daily basis, but from time to time these feelings still resurface.
Finances
When our first child was six months old, I traded my paid job for the unpaid life of a stay-at-home father, supplemented with various forms of volunteer work. That was by no means a lighthearted decision. However, given the circumstances we were in at the time, it was a very logical choice. My wife was able to continue working full-time. Our children did not have to go to daycare. And geographically speaking, we did not have the luxury of grandparents who could help out one day a week. The money we would have spent if I had kept working — both of us reducing our hours and arranging childcare — would, when calculated, have amounted to almost my entire monthly salary.
When My Time Comes
Back to the theme of health. Sooner or later, everyone seems to get ill, and since becoming a father I have wanted to postpone that moment for as long as possible. Even before I became a father, I was very aware of my own health, but over the past years I have tightened the reins considerably. I am a perfectionist, and that trait helps me get the most out of everything that promotes my health. I also have a strong sense of responsibility. As a result, I find it difficult to live recklessly or “just go with the flow.”
And yet, despite doing everything I can to stay healthy, I still feel vulnerable. That is mainly because, despite my somewhat compulsive control over my health, I do not get to decide when my time will come. I sometimes find that realization hard to accept. At the same time, that is also the mystery of life — and what makes it so precious.
Division of Roles
The feeling of vulnerability, both in relational and financial terms, is connected in a certain way. Not having a paid job means that, financially, I am dependent on my wife. That dependency is inherent in the choice we made twelve years ago regarding our division of roles. The fact that I do not contribute financially to our household is something I can live with quite well. What does make me feel vulnerable, however, is that I have also not built up any pension rights for twelve years. That creates a serious gap in my future retirement income. As long as my wife and I remain together after I retire, that is not a problem. But what if life turns out differently?
Which brings me, once again, to my quiet wish: to generate a passive income through writing. I have a very good and happy life, but that would truly complete the picture for me. Having an income of my own would probably make me feel less vulnerable. That would undeniably have positive effects on my (mental) health, my relationship, and my financial position.
Disclaimer
This is not a complaint, but an attempt to give words to a feeling that surfaces when everything seems to be in order.