A Space Of My Own

I’ve got a bit of a headache right now, which is clinging to me in spite of having taken a couple of ibuprofen earlier.

Worth it.

I’d brought up to my husband that I had a solution to our sleeping arrangements. Not a great solution, but a solution. The boys weren’t using their walk in closet as a closet – it was being used for storage and books – so I could clean it out and I could put my mattress in there and have a tiny bedroom of my own.

My husband did not approve. First he tried to claim it would be a disservice to the boys, as they needed the privacy of their bedroom to help them deal with the divorce. Then he said we should stay in the master suite together to help things seem normal to the kids. Honestly, I could tell what he said about the kids was an excuse. What he wanted was for me to stay in the master suite with him, which I can only assume has to do with access and control.

He won’t be able to be passive-aggressive and punish me by keeping the TV on late at night if I’m not in the room with him. He won’t be able to come in, shut the door, and tell me what’s what out of sight of the kids. I’m sure part of it, too, is the unhealthy attachment he still exhibits.

I did agree I would ask for permission rather than simply inform them that I’d be moving into their closet. I held off for a few days, intending to ask today, but that changed. Friday night I went out for a late night drive. I wanted to be good and tired so that I could sleep. When I got back at midnight, my husband was still awake. Midnight is already an extra hour of TV for him, but he ended up watching TV until 1am. I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep with the TV on.

And that was it. He cost me an entire hour of sleep because he’s pissed I can walk out the door and leave and he doesn’t get to control or know where I’m going.

The next afternoon I asked my sons about my idea, and received permission as soon as my oldest was assured he wasn’t required to help move the books and shelves out of the closet. When my husband got up from his nap and found out it was already decided he was pissed. Claimed he was supposed to be there when I talked to them. I didn’t recall any such arrangement, so I gave him a look and walked away. It was late in the day and I didn’t want to get started on a big project so I held off.

Anxiety was spiking, though, over the idea of having to spend another night in the same room with him, so when it got to be about 11:30 and all but one of the kids had gone to bed, I got my sheet, blanket & pillows and settled in on the futon. I was woken up twice by my husband and younger son B coming out into the living area, but after B went to bed I slept pretty well, in spite of the futon not being terribly comfortable.

This morning my husband headed out to the cat cafe with B, N & C, leaving V with me (V is generally not interested in losing game time in favor of cats.) I decided that was a perfect opportunity to get started on my project. By the time they got home 2 1/2 hours later, I’d already moved all the bookshelves and the books out of the closet and set them up in the master suite where my mattress had been, as well as moving my mattress to the futon temporarily and dismantling the cube system we use for a dresser so I could take the half with my clothes.

My husband was, as I knew he would be, furious. I figure if I’m going to get shit from him no matter what, I’ll at least get shit on my terms. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though. He quietly hissed at me that we were supposed to do it together on Monday, when the kids were at school so they wouldn’t have to be involved, implying that they’d be sad to see things disrupted and me moving into my own space.

The opposite was true. My girls were both excited I was getting a new, tiny bedroom and they asked – pretty much insisted – on helping me move into it, including the reassembly of my portion of the cube system. The boys weren’t offering to help and were instead cheerfully roughhousing and getting in my way, but they didn’t seem to be upset at all, either.

I guess the entire situation was such that the only way my husband felt he could have some control and vent spleen was to passive-aggressively help move his things out of the walk-in closet and to the master suite and insist that all of my things be moved out of the master suite, even my books. When I proved to be slower than he wanted with the latter, he moved the entire shelf still full of books out of the master suite.

I suspect it’s getting under my husband’s skin that the kids have been taking this so calmly in the time after we told them. The first day was rough and involved tears, but since then there’s been nothing more than a little bit of behavior here and there that seems to arise from the stress of what’s happening. Most of the time they’re cheerful and acting normally. When we had their therapy appointments Saturday morning, their therapist didn’t even need to have a special session with us or tell us to watch out for anything concerning.

I think he was hoping there’d be more drama and painful emotional displays that would punish me for choosing divorce.

Ah well. Tonight I get to sleep on the opposite side of the apartment with closed doors between us, and that makes me happy. I hope my experimental bedroom works. Better and longer sleep would be wonderful.