Blarch #3 - The Art of Being Alone

Good morning, kids!

Ugh, I really need to call my subscribers something else. 'Kids' is a bit insulting. It's a figure of speech, but still...we need something more proper. 

Tashers? Spotters? Ew no...Tashers! How about that?? Leave a comment below. I'm open to suggestions. 

So today's blog is sponsored by the letter A. As in the Art of Being Alone. 

Growing up, I was the definition of a wallflower. I was that kid that stood in the corner, only speaking when spoken to, giving one word answers. My mother raised me with an iron fist. If I ever said anything she didn't like, there was hell to pay, and my bank account was always empty. 

Year after year, I spent countless hours alone in my bedroom on the southside of Chicago. Dancing to Duran Duran records, reading, writing in my journal, watching shows on my 12 inch black and white TV, wishing for something bigger. Better. Far away from there. I was often alone, but never lonely. Savvy?

I had close friends back then. We would house-hop all the time. We all knew each other's parents, siblings, pets and so on. I'll never forget those childhood moments. And actually, I'm still friends with most of them to this day. Social media is the tits. 

I've never lived completely by myself until the age of 48. Crazy to admit, but true. 

Wait. I just lied. Let me explain. 

All through school, including college, I lived at home. This decision was made mostly for financial reasons. I had a choice - get my own place or get an education. I chose education. And I don't regret a single second of that choice. 

After college, I bounced from roommate to boyfriend, whom eventually turned into husband, spent a decade living all over the country with said husband, eventually adding a baby to the mix, to eventually land in divorce court, to eventually coming back home to Chicago, picking up the pieces. All alone. With a baby. I was 33 years old. 

What the fuck just happened?!?! 

6 months later, I found a small one bedroom I could afford, Little Woman and I sharing space. So technically, no. I've never really lived alone. And thank the heavens I had her back then. She literally was my only reason for living. But that's for another blog...

Shortly after moving into that small apartment, my sister was over one night. I said to her "Shhhh, listen". She gave me side eye and said listen to what?? Exactly. Complete silence. My house was peaceful, for the first time in over a decade. Being married to an abusive, narcissistic man takes its tole.

So what did I do shortly after that? Yep, found another unstable, controlling man and moved in with him. And so began another cycle of abuse. There was never a calm, quiet moment in that house. Add another baby to the mix and yea, of course it got noisy. But I now had 2 kids, that was to be expected. What I didn't expect was so much ear-bleeding noise from the grown child. It had to end. 

Fast forward to now. Divorced, again, now living in a beautiful Victorian with Dude, alone only on the weekends. And loving every single silent moment. Being alone a lot is hard for some people, but for me it's welcome. Maybe it's the fact now that I'm in my 50's, I'm comfortable in my own skin and am at peace in my soul. Still figuring that out.

How about you? Are you comfortable being alone? Share in the comments and be sure to subscribe.