My Couch. My House.

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It has been almost two years since the Monkey and I have been on our own. We have lived in this house for almost two years just me and him. Before that we lived with my folks for almost three years and before that I have lived with a series of people; roommates, boyfriends and relatives. When I finally had my own space it was like I had been holding my breath for the last ten years of being a grown-up.

Living in this house has been good for me. I started my comeback and found a way to balance being the Monkey Mama and being a single Mama. The tough part was always feeling like I never again wanted to share my space with anyone. And by anyone I mean boys. Boys in my space felt weird. Like how could I relinquish my space when I had spent most of my adult like sharing space with people, and now that I had my own piece of heaven why would I let anyone into muck it up with there boyness.

To be honest, I’ve let men-folk stay in my house. Spend the night and so forth. But not for long. As one friend of mine (and a few others) compared me to a bartender at last call. I even dated one guy who didn’t even know there was a bathroom in my bedroom. BAM. Keep it moving boys. My therapist attributed it to fear and protection instincts. Like a lioness I pace around my den warding off anyone who might try to eat my young…my independence of course metaphorically being ‘my young’…and she was right. Past experiences have seen the Mama change who she is and adapt to suit those in my life and therefore losing my independence. Losing site of what’s important in my life…me.

Then I met someone who didn’t threaten the me I have worked so hard to build over the last two years after the recovery period. The rebuilding period. Like post-World War II Europe, I grabbed my boot straps and pitched all hands on deck to re-create the historically awesome lady that was me back pre-Bio. And as I emerged from the clouds of dust around my feet, I promised I would never let another man compromise my shores. Enter the Boyfriend. My misery with dating has been simply a product of dating the wrong kind of man. Dating scores of men who weren’t looking for a woman like me. Certainly, I’m a wicked enticing package of adorableness but when push comes to shove I need a man who is his own person and doesn’t depend on me to stand on his own two feet. Firmly planted in his own world, we compliment each other’s amazing abilities. Simple.

Who would have thought it could be so easy? Not me. Truth. But here I am writing and not being the least bit afraid to write it. There is no maybe here. I am happy. I used to think that discord was part of life. I used to think that challenges in relationships made you stronger. I used to smoke two packs a day and rip the filters off my smokes but I kicked that habit, so yeah I have also kicked that thinking too.

This moment right now is happiness. Working on my shit with the Boyfriend here next to me working on his shit…on my couch….in my house…

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