space

I have realized with great clarity over the last year that I need space. I need space that is mine, a safe place to retreat that belongs only to me. I’m not sure how this bodes for future relationships. I think maybe, only maybe, I could live with someone if I had a true space of my own, like a guest house, or “mother in law suite,” a place to hide out undisturbed to recharge.

If I don’t have my own safe space to be alone, I get anxious. I don’t sleep well. My temper gets shorter than usual. I get hard to be around.

I do like waking up with a romantic loved one, having breakfast, all that stuff, but not all the time. I do like vacations with a loved one and road trips, too, but I have realized, somewhat by the accidental turn of events, that I like being alone a lot and that I really need time to retreat to be my best self. To have that deep well of kindness for others, to be well rested and happy, I require solitude.

I have been trying to smush my introverted self into the norms of cohabitation for most of my adult life, and while there’s a host of reasons why it didn’t fly time after time, at least one contributing factor is my need to be alone. Sometimes that would manifest itself in me being so grouchy no one wanted to be around me, so I got to be alone, if only because I was acting like a crazy bitch; other times, I’d go out for a drive and end up driving to another state just to have time with my thoughts. When my kiddo visits her dad’s house, it’s not unusual for me to spend that entire time at home alone.

My maternal grandparents didn’t share a residence. I think they might have been on to something there…they loved each other and had dinner together often, but each had their own space to call home. I’m not sure how this will fly for my future; a man would have to be super secure with my love for him to understand that my need to be alone is not a rejection of him, not in the slightest.

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