A quiet Sunday and the courage to love again

Robyn Patton
Jun 8
3 min read

It's Sunday morning, I’m home alone and it’s quiet. No dog (he died a couple of years ago), no kids (they live in the city), no husband (more on him in a minute).

It’s so far from my life a few short years ago, full of noise and movement, the milestones and everyday routines of family life.

Until I did something completely unexpected. I ended my 'perfectly fine' marriage. It was the most scared I’ve ever been, but once I knew it I couldn't unknow it.

But there was one thing I was absolutely clear on.

I wasn't done. I wanted another relationship. Not any ol' relationship. I wanted something conscious, grounded. I wanted to feel loved.

I'm a bit of a weirdo, hear me out.

Finding my next relationship became a project. But like any longterm project, it required committment.

I worked bloody hard, years of self-reflection, tears, therapy, bodywork, energy work, and deep rest.

After one particularly painful breakup, I made a pledge to myself - pause the dating, focus on healing.

I remember asking my kinesiologist, “Am I ready to get back out there?” She’d shake her head gently. “Not yet.”

So I waited and journalled, getting clearer with each page...on what I was seeking in a partner and, more importantly, in myself.

I wrote about how I wanted to feel, the qualities that mattered, the kind of life I wanted to co-create.

There was never doubt in my mind as I kept putting myself out there. Each date, each connection - regardless of how long it lasted - bringing me clarity.

I was 50 when Goetz and I met, and within months I was re-reading an earlier journal entry that perfectly described the person I was with and the relationship that was unfolding.

Right now I’m reading Elderhood by Louise Aronson. She reminds us that the key to a happy, healthy life lies in good quality relationships. And I feel that truth in my bones.

Goetz is away this weekend, staffing a ManKind Project training. He’s deeply committed to his own healing, and to supporting other men in theirs.

This is what I was searching for and journalling about. A man who’s willing to go deep, who chooses growth both for himself, me and the relationship. Who loves me and challenges me in equal measure.

Life still brings its share of stressors. By midlife, most of us carry hidden scars - grief, trauma, unresolved pain. Things we rarely talk about but quietly carry.

What I learnt over the last decade is courage doesn't live in the big moments. It exists in small moments.

When we choose to listen and trust our inner wisdom.

When we soften and allow our truth.

When we commit to ourselves, for the first time and the hundredth time.

It thrives in our connection to others. It asks us to be vulnerable, deeply vulnerable.

And sometimes, it looks like sitting alone on a quiet Sunday morning, reflecting on how far you’ve come.

Maybe you're in a season of healing. Maybe you're figuring out what comes next. Wherever you are, please remember - you are not alone. And courage lives here too.