I have bruises on my hips because I’m adjusting to walking around my new and unfamiliar bedroom around a bed I haven’t slept in over two years. This bed was the first grown up purchase I made for myself and it has a foot board. We tucked this bed away in the guestroom and I’ve missed the soft mattress. Now, I keep walking into that foot board and the corners mercilessly align with my hips. I know that with time my disorientation will dissipate and I will learn to avoid those sharp corners. I still wake up with a dull chest ache and go to bed with a dull ache. But since I’ve moved out, I haven’t overheard or seen a football game. I have seen countless episodes of Ally McBeal and aside from one Friendsgiving potluck, I haven’t had to worry about cooking for or feeding someone else.
I get it from my mom, my nurturing gene. In relationships, I put the needs of others equal to or above my own. Their entertainment, their appointments, their living conditions, their health, I take on as my responsibilities. For the first time in almost six years, I’m my only responsibility.
And it feels liberating.