On My Own

This prompt from Mama Kat caught my eye this week:

Write about what it was like to live on your own for the first time.

I’m sure that a lot of those who choose this prompt will write about their twenty year old selves but I guess that I’m a “late bloomer”.  I lived with my parents until I was twenty and then moved in with the man who would later become my husband.  I always had a safety net; someone who could pick up the slack if I was sick or between jobs.

This changed completely when, at the age of thirty four, I left my husband.  All of a sudden, I had my own place; MY VERY OWN!  The lease and all of the bills had only my name; I was responsible for everything and, quite frankly, it was exhilarating.  Please note that the last year or two of my marriage had been so stressful and painful and just the fact that I wasn’t trying to hold together a crumbling marriage anymore was enough for me to hear angels singing in the background.

When I left him, I cashed in an investment and went out and bought all new things.  I bought dishes, pots and pans, towels, furniture, sheets and a dozen other things that I could go on listing.  I took very little from the house when I left for two reasons:  first, I couldn’t clean out the house since our kids would still be living there half the time and, second, I truly wanted a fresh start.  As a matter of fact, when he saw my new pot set he was a little envious and offered to “take it off my hands” if I wanted the set we already had.  No way Bud!

I fell in love with my new place…… MY place…… because it represented a new chapter in my life.  I was no longer this sad, broken person whose kids saw her cry far too often, who was in a downward spiral that she had such a hard time breaking away from.  I’ve had some tough times, financially, but seem to have things pretty much under control these days.  I still have a “lean” week now and then but I’m definitely swimming more often than sinking and I’m very proud of that.  My kids have a hard-working mother who supports herself and them, giving the three of us a pretty decent life.  In this respect, at least, I am definitely a positive role model.

 

I have always been a bit of a homebody but I’ve gotten worse in the last ten years.  I don’t know if it’s because I love my apartment or if I’m just getting old.  Maybe I won’t explore that question too deeply…..

I have come to enjoy having my own space so much that I’m not sure what I’ll do when Mr. Right finally emerges from the vast sea of Mr. Wrongs and wants to be let in.  I guess that I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.  

Kathy