Last night my partner finished putting together the new bookshelf he bought me for our bedroom. It’s a really beautiful case. It’s simple and kind of matches my desk, too, which is an added bonus. Excited to fill it with books, I started bringing all of my books of poetry into the bedroom. They filled six of the shelves. I had six more to fill. I ended up bringing almost the entirety of my living room books into the bedroom. And later today, I’ll be going to my storage unit to pick up a big haul of books to bring back, and also some to ship out to people who’ve purchased them. Downsizing my book collection has been a heavy endeavor, indeed. But it’s also been rewarding to see the books go to people who are excited to take them.

I’ve never had a home that was really mine. Or at least, it’s been many years since I did. My ex’s and my first apartment was small, but it was very much our space. It wasn’t fancy and pretty much all of our furniture was handed down from other people, but it was a space that we knew we could build into something of our own. But we were only there for a year. Rent increased and we couldn’t afford to stay, so we moved to the country to rent out a house from my former in-laws. But even that home wasn’t really ours/mine. It was filled with junk that my in-laws hadn’t yet removed. It was dirty. It was falling apart. It smelled horrible and nothing we could do would eliminate the smell, not even shampooing the carpets.

Then we moved to the triplex my ex bought. It was so horribly tiny. There was a downstairs which consisted of a hardly existent kitchen, living area, and a hardly finished half-bathroom. Upstairs was a loft-style bedroom with a full bathroom, but it was also so incredibly small, that there was barely enough room for our bed, dresser, and my two bookshelves. It was horrible. I hated living there, but it was, at least, not falling apart like my in-laws house. We talked about expanding it, remodeling it, getting new furniture, and doing what we could to make it a livable space, but it never went beyond talk. I’m starting to think my ex was mostly just humoring me with conversation and no real plans to change anything.

Since then, I’ve lived with other people and not had the space or the funds or the freedom to really make it my own. Until now. My partner has welcomed me completely into the condo he purchased before we were together. And he continues to find ways of making me feel at home, often to his own inconvenience. It’s not something I’m used to, being genuinely invited in and welcomed. No other living arrangement has been this open, this welcoming, to me. There’s always been a kind of distance enforced. But my partner has made it clear he genuinely wants me in his life and shows it in so many ways. And while the condo isn’t large, it is a space that we are consistently working to make our own. I feel so incredibly blessed.

And it really does change my state of mind, knowing that I am genuinely wanted and welcome, rather than feeling like an imposition. Even in my marriage, I never felt wanted. I never felt accepted. It’s one of many reasons I left my ex. And it’s something I will continue to do throughout my life: leave behind the situations and the people who make me feel unwanted. Life is too long to spend it kowtowing to people whose love and compassion are conditional. I will, therefore, continue to make this place a home I can be proud of. For the first time in my life, I genuinely feel like I belong exactly where I am and with the person I’m with. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It’s a kind of happiness and joy that permeates everything.

I’m still not used to being this taken care of.