My room

My husband started sleeping in the guest room several weeks ago. He said he would move his things out, and he has been…slowly. Clothes that get washed are put away in the room where he sleeps. However, the room I am sleeping in, our room, felt very much like “our room.” Pictures of the two of us as a happy couple, inside jokes, his nightstand with his things still scattered across the top.

So I rearranged it. I took down our pictures. I moved the bed into the corner. I took out his nightstand. I replaced the set of lamps with one lamp from the living room that I have always loved. I put up a painting that I have had for years that didn’t quite belong in “our room” or even “our house;” but it fits perfectly in MY room.

I have yet to sign the divorce mediation contract. It feels too big. But I had to take a step; to feel like this was real and still actually happening. After all, the only thing that has really changed is that he is sleeping in another room. Couples fight all the time and sleep apart for a few nights. We didn’t, but that is a thing that people do. Unless something changed, this could all just be a situation like that. So I turned our room into my room.

It didn’t seem like such a big deal when I first started pushing around furniture. But now that I am finished, typing away on top of my bed, surrounded by things that speak to me, that center me, and make me happy…it feels significant. It isn’t just rearranging some furniture. It is a reclamation of my individual identity.