Growing Up (A Story of Space)
About the time I turned two years old, my mom and I moved in with her parents, at their apartment in Secaucus, New Jersey. Two years later, my parents divorced, and my grandparents bought a five room, three bedroom ranch in Connecticut. Mom and I shared one room in that house for the better part of the next ten years.
For 14 months of that stretch, I went to live with my mom and her new husband in an apartment in Delaware. It was the first time I'd ever had a room that was mine! The experience was short-lived, though. Soon, we were back in my grandparents house, sharing one of the three bedrooms.
I remember, as a teen, asking if I could have the "spare room" to use as my bedroom. It held an old fashioned bar, a sewing machine cabinet, and a desk that was supposed to be mine, but that my mom used to "put her face on." My grandmother told me "no." In retrospect, I no longer blame my grandmother. After all, she did house us for many years - and I'm guessing that's not how she imagined her life going. The least she might wish for was a single room for her extra "stuff." Still, it rankled as a teen.
After my grandmother's decree, I often chose to sleep on the living room sofa. Waking up in bed, next to my mom, when she'd fallen asleep with a cigarette again, and again, just became too miserable. I longed for my own space, sheets without burn holes, and a box spring that hadn't been set on fire in the night.
Two years after her husband died, my grandmother relocated to a one bedroom apartment in a senior living complex. She was thrilled, though it left me and my mom without a home or sufficient funds to secure one (Mom's schizophrenia made steady employment a challenge). To help, my Aunt Joanne offered us her semi-finished basement. While the basement measured double the size of our previously shared bedroom, it was entirely underground. In that space, my mom went just a little bit crazier - enough so that her sister had her arrested for disturbing the peace, when I attended a sleep over.
My mom refused to go back to my aunt's house. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, and I'd just turned 15 years old. With the exception of my mother, the adults in my family viewed me as a bit of a burden and not particularly resourceful. Ironically, this meant no one collected my key to the, now empty, house I'd grown up in.
The house sat vacant, in the limbo between the old residents moving out and the new owners taking legal possession. With key in hand, I encouraged my mom to park her sky blue Pinto in the back yard, and we stole in through the back door. For the next couple of weeks, we spread the contents of a garbage bag, filled with old curtains left behind by my grandmother, as a makeshift bed on the kitchen floor. We chose the kitchen, because it was at the back of the house. This comprised our attempt at stealth - hoping someone driving by wouldn't see the lights on.
While in residence, the septic system backed up. Evidently, it had never been cleaned in my grandparents decade of tenure, and during our short window of subterfuge, it failed - leaving us without a way to shower (me going to school with greasy hair - yuck!), and using public restrooms. Reflecting back, it was quite awful - and perhaps the worst thing - we couldn't stay. Despite the conditions, I loved having so much space. I could do homework or write in my journal in a room - by myself - by the light of a candle, because there were all these empty rooms, and no one to tell me I couldn't use them.
Ultimately, my grandmother gifted my mom enough money for us to get started in an apartment of our own. It was a one bedroom unit, but there was an area for me to call my own. Despite being quite public - having only three walls, no door, and no legitimate bed - I was delighted. Until that, too, became just too small a space for all the crazy.
At 18, I moved to Massachusetts with a friend from high school. We could almost afford a one bedroom apartment in East Boston; she got the bedroom, I got the couch. When she moved in with a work-mate in the city, I could no longer manage that rent independently. Highly motivated, I found a one bedroom apartment - just for me! How amazing was it to have the whole place to myself?! Well, except for the roaches, the stained shag carpeting, and the Sumner tunnel right behind my building, but at least the heat was exorbitantly expensive! And yes, all of those things were kind of wretched and challenging, but I had space that was just mine, for nearly a whole year.
Thus began the mobile part of my life, when I moved ten times in ten years. Some places I stayed only a few months, but I always had some space to myself, until I moved in with the man I now call husband. In the 23 years we've lived together, I had no space to call exclusively my own - save a closet for a short while - until nearly five years ago, when I got my very own bathroom. True, it's the tiniest room in our house, but it was mine!
I still felt claustrophobic, though. Somehow, my husband, Mark, seemed to spread throughout the house from the garage to the basement and beyond, marking his territory like a cat. Distraught as I was, we agreed he'd move from the office we shared (the smallest room in the house that wasn't a bathroom); it became my exclusive space. I found the new arrangement highly satisfying... until that cramped experience overtook me again.
Listening, and truly wanting me to be happy, Mark and I switched things around in our house, yet again. I now have the 2nd biggest bedroom in the house as my personal and exclusive office...well, except for a very shy cat we adopted about that same time. So, while it is my home office, we often refer to it as "Gracie's Room."
Just before we made the latest switcheroo at home, an opportunity arose. For the past seven years, I've rented an office in a professional suite, enabling me to meet clients outside of my home. The owner, moving to Ohio, invited me to purchase the entire suite. I wanted that WHOLE office - tremendously - but did it really make sense?
My husband, with a spirit of generosity and vision said, "I think you should do it! We'll make it work; and who knows how it might expand your business, just by having more space." Can you see why I love this man? He supports my dreams!
For most of my life, I sought to squeeze out space to call my own. True, many of those years included Mark, yet as he's come to see both the importance and value space has for me, he chooses to participate. We do this for each other in different ways - recognizing what matters, and finding a way to contribute freely, without a sense of obligation or scarcity.
This way of being seen, and allowing there to be abundance, instead of stuck in the construct of "never enough" - in which I was raised - is quite miraculous. It's taken me years to allow myself to accept: I matter enough to take up space - to be treated equally - even when someone else doesn't see it that way. It's quite a gift to be with a partner who strives to honor the importance of this. But the truth is, I had to see me first, otherwise, I was not open to receiving from another.
On July 17th, we closed on my new office! Me, who wasn't allowed a room of my own, now owns half a house, all of my car, and a roomy office suite in a dignified building. With help, the space is getting buffed, polished, and infused with my energy. Soon, I'll be offering a lovely space within this suite for rent; because there is plenty to go around. Growing up, I never knew life could be so abundant.
I share all of this, because I believe the milestones of our history matter. To reflect upon, and witness the growth and changes we've participated in, buoys the spirit, allowing us to face and move through the next round of challenges and stretches before us. Each time we see the leaps of faith we've taken before, we remember that was the path to where we are now.
Whatever leap of faith confronts you in the moment, bring awareness to how far you've come. I absolutely believe in your ability to make the next jump. It's okay if you fall! Stumbling is how we learn how to get back up. I have no idea how long I'll own this property. It may not work out the way I imagine, and while that frightens me, I'm trusting and taking the leap. Perhaps I'll land in a better space than I could have possibly imagined. Take the leap, and perhaps you will, too!
With love and a leap,
Joanne Lutz