I was married for almost two decades, and lived with my (now) ex-husband for three years before that. We always shared a cozy bed, and I never remember one of us taking to the sofa for any reason. I always slept really well with him next to me, and while all my friends were saying a king-sized bed changed their marriage, I was fine with our queen.
When he moved out I discovered something — sleeping like a starfish in the middle of my bed was delightful
I loved taking all the pillows and having them surround me, and there was no one there to wake me up with their midnight pee calling.
Being able to roll about and change positions without worrying about disturbing him was freeing, and my fear that I’d have a hard time sleeping without him slipped away. I started sleeping better than I had my entire life.
The excitement didn’t last, though. Before I started dating again, I would lie on my side and pull the covers around my shoulders as tightly as I could, hoping it would ease the void from not being touched in so long. I couldn't wait to spoon again. I longed to be touched and wake up next to someone.
But then I don't know what happened to the part of me that longed to be hugged and cuddled at night while I fell asleep — but she was gone. There were a few men who spent the night during the next year or so, and I always found myself wanting them to just leave so I could sprawl out and not have to share any space.
I wanted space, I didn’t want to talk, and most of all, I wanted to be alone
I chalked it up to not being ready to commit to anyone, and I knew when I met "him," my feelings would change and I would never want him to leave my bed.
It took a few years to find that someone, but three years after my divorce, I did. He is wonderful and I’m deeply in love with him. Yet, my fantasies of snuggling on a Sunday morning and falling into bed with someone after an exhausting Monday night have been replaced with another fantasy:
I want to have sex, then have my partner leave so I can sprawl out and sleep in peace.
I want the bed to myself. Hell, I want the whole damn room to myself
I don’t want to see any glasses that aren’t mine on the bedside table. I don’t want to listen to snoring or loud breathing. No one stealing the blankets or kicking in their sleep or babbling has become the way I like to catch my z's.
I’ve struggled with this, though, and I’m not sure I can tell him how I feel just yet. I’m not sure how I would handle it if someone said to me, “I’d sleep better if you weren’t here,” especially if I didn’t already have these feelings of wanting to sleep solo.
My divorce, and being single, has made me realize how much I love and need my own space
I want to pick out the sheets and the color of my walls.
I don’t want bottles of sleeping pills and nose spray and tissues about. I don’t want to see dirty socks on the floor when I wake up. And I really don’t want to share a closet with anyone after having it all to myself for so long.
And for the love of God, I want to stay up late and read if I want instead of listening to whatever sports channel he needs to fall asleep to.
I love my partner so much. I love being intimate with him.
I love having him with me. I just want my own room
And that doesn’t mean I love him any less or I’m selfish. It means I need something that’s just mine.
