Virginia Woolf certainly wasn't writing about me when she penned A Room of One's Own in 1929, but she very well could have. I have desperately sought my own "room" throughout my life. A retreat. A haven. A place where I can be alone, and thus my self. In a world where we are given so many labels - mom, sister, wife, teacher, christian, atheist, CEO, salewoman - I often feel that I lose myself. It is only in the room of my own that I take the opportunity to rediscover who I am.
I am sure many women struggle to find this precious time for self. We don't want to appear selfish, neglectful of our duties, our family, our many obligations. Yet, we forget that taking care of ourselves is also our obligation.
When I first got married, "I" quickly became a "we". I shared a bed, a shower, a table - everything. I moved into my new home with virtually nothing but my books. All my college apartment furnishings were just that - fit for a dorm room. So I passed along all my belongings in a garage sale before moving in with my soon-to-be-husband. I had failed to realize that there was a certain emotional connection between myself and my things, shabby as they were. I moved into a nice home well-furnished. Yet, I struggled to find my place in it. It felt very much Kyle's and very little mine. I would try for months to find ways to make it feel like mine, but somehow it just never did. Kyle has a good sense of style and taste. But it isn't my style and taste. And for fear of seeming ungrateful and bratty, I lacked the ability to express my own desires.
This began to change when I realized how depressed I was feeling about the house in general. I didn't feel at home. Part of this made me crazy - this is certainly the nicest and most well-furnished home I have ever had. I thought I must be downright silly to not appreciate it. Then I realized that I did appreciate it. I just needed to have a voice in it in order to help make it mine. I needed to see my own touches. My own favorite colors. My own favorite fabrics. And most of all, I needed my own space.
I am stereotyping here, but I firmly believe that women have a little bit greater need to have a room of their own than do most men. When I spoke of this need, Kyle seemed almost hurt, even abandoned. As if I wanted to get away from him, rather than simply needing to know myself again. I had to repeatedly confirm that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with my need for me space.
I am extremely introverted, and I need a great deal of me time to re-energize enough to be pleasant around others. I especially need some space of my own, where objects remain organized and stay in the last place I put them. I had my own desk, and that was a good start. I don't believe I could ever share a desk with someone. But I yearned for more. I yearned for space that was distinctly and especially mine.
Eventually last year I found it. Whether it was a moment of inspiration or a manic episode I will never know, but suddenly I revisioned our spare room (which has slept a sum total of 1 persons in the four years we have been married). I was going to claim the space as my own. I had a lovely shade of lavender paint left from an earlier inspiration to redo our spare bathroom. I had some beautiful white, magnetic butterflies from Target that I had been saving for some special unknown purpose. I started hauling all the old stuff out and placing painters tape along the trim. Kyle wisely stayed down in the basement and out of the way of my flurry of redecorating.
Before long I had a lovely purple room decorated with whimsical butterflies and filled with warm and inviting rich chocolate browns. It still holds our spare bed, but the closet is filled with my clothes, the dresser with my items, and my vanity sits in the corner. It is my own giant walk-in closet. I use the "spare" bathroom as my own now, and as such, have my own area to prepare for the day. It is wonderful!
I believe that a happy marriage must entail a little room of one's own for both the man and the woman. Many men talk of the man-cave, be it in the garage or the basement. In an ideal world, my room would be flooded with sunshine and the whispy lace curtains would flutter in a soft breeze flowing through an open window. Unfortunately, the room is smack in the middle of the house and has very little natural light. I am still deeply grateful, thought, for a room of my own.
I've seen pictures of beautiful writing and crafting studios made out of sheds, and Kyle and I have actually discussed this many times. Do I want to give up some of my lovely backyard space for a writing/dreaming/napping/sanity-saving girl cave? Or can I be content with what I have? The jury is still out. For now, my solitary, tiny table in the corner of the sunroom and next the the window will suffice as my writing and painting "studio".
The point is, we all have to find and claim our own little space in the world. It makes us so much more content. And it makes us more productive. Whether it's a room, a table or even a square of carpet, having room of one's own is essential.
No comments:
Post a Comment