My Post-Divorce Bedroom

I had an epiphany today. A big one.

I’m ten years post-divorce. The financial ride alone would have made Six Flags’ scariest coaster look like a kiddie ride. Up, down, further down, back up a bit. A twist here, upside-down there. Oh look, it’s blue sky! Nope! CRASH! That’s just me under water again. As a single mom, the responsibility of putting kids through college, feeding them, housing them, clothing them, transporting them and making sure all their needs were met, was a challenge to put it mildly.  

So to say that my bedroom for the last decade was the last thing on my list of concerns is an understatement. For some of those years, my ‘bedroom’ was actually a couch in the living room and two drawers in my son’s dresser. In my mind, my kids needed the privacy more than I did so when it came time to allocate space in my post-divorce two bedroom apartment, the bedrooms went to my college aged son and daughter. After all, it wasn’t their fault that their parents couldn’t make it work. I was determined not to punish them for our bad choices.

Now that I’m enjoying some financial stability, I’ve come to focus on my sleeping quarters. With my daughter out on her own and my son and I in our own little apartment, for the first time in my life I’d been thinking more and more about having a space of my own. I never had a room of my own growing up and being first gen in a post-war, Polish-American, PTSD stricken family, a bedroom meant a safe place to sleep. Nothing more, nothing less. Four walls, a dresser, and beds. Decorating was considered sinful in our home.

So, piece by piece, I searched online for used furniture and giveaways for my new bedroom. A nightstand here, a lamp there and expensive looking Goodwill finds made me feel like I had hit the lottery.

Then last week it was complete. My bedroom was fully decorated. Any more would be too much. As I looked around, my heart full of gratitude and excitement at my new oasis, I wept. I could meditate, sing, laugh, cry, dance, stretch, read, write – all in the comfort of my beautifully decorated and very private space. A long missing piece to my life puzzle had fallen into place.

Then this morning the epiphany – one that made me even more grateful. As I looked around my room it occurred to me that my room was filled with white. A white painted desk, a white-washed secretary with frilly, floral applique, a white-washed nightstand, a white and gold mandala wall tapestry. It was all new to me but somehow also familiar.

It dawned on me. I had created my teenage dream bedroom. The bedroom that I had so longed for after visiting friends’ homes in my youth or seeing pictures in magazines or watching commercials on TV. I had subconsciously designed the room that eluded me in my childhood.

You would think that upon this discovery I would have been less proud of my room – embarrassed even. That I might somehow need to immediately bring the room into better alignment with my mid-50 year old self. On the contrary. I was even happier than I was before I realized what I had done.

I had inadvertently given myself a gift. I gave myself a space to heal the spots in my heart and soul that felt cheated, or even undeserving, in my youth. My adult self now understands that to have a bedroom at all is something to be grateful for…many children today would give anything to have what I had as a child. But my inner child, the part that was so sad and so envious of what my wealthier friends had, is healing in this room.

I’m saving for a house. Someday soon I will have a home of my own. Until then I’ve decided to use my apartment as a place of growth and healing. A place to explore my past, discover who I am now and grow into who I want to be. Who knows? Maybe I bring my white teenage furniture with me. Or maybe I create a room for the woman that I’ll have grown to become…

…I can’t wait to meet her.