I slept in the same bed as my brother when I was little. If my mother tried to separate us, I’d throw a tantrum until I was settled next to him again. Then we got really amazing bunk beds and created forts. Eventually I slept by myself. I hated sleeping alone because by that time I was unprotected and fending for myself.
When I got married, I was so grateful to have him in my bed. We had a small bed. We were smooshed together and ended up tangled in each other’s space. But he hates being touched while he sleeps. So I trained myself not to touch him and only cuddle when he wasn’t hot. Over the years we upgraded our bed from full to queen to king. As the bed got bigger, we drifted further apart adding more children and pets. By the time he left I’d trained myself to occupy only a tiny bit of the king sized bed.
When my former Sir moved in, I knew he hated touch. I had to ask permission to cuddle. More often than not, I would occupy my side of the bed alone. I distinctly remember he came over to cuddle with me one night and I was so shocked, I cried. Then he moved out and I got sick.
The Youngest slept in my bed with me, keeping an eye out. On the rare nights that she slept in her own bed, my Middle would take her place. Careful and quietly watching over me on my side.
Then my Ex Daddy occupied my bed more often than not. He seemed to engulf the entire bed. We spooned in the center of the bed. We fucked diagonally. But we slept on our respective sides.
Now the girls prefer to sleep in their own beds and I’m in mine. There is no one else to consider.
I purchased a bed no one else has ever slept on, recently. No one has had sex in this bed. No one had laid with me having long conversations about life and everything. This bed is mine. There are no rules. No one complaining I’m too hot or too horny. No one bothered by my snores. No distance purposely created or taken away.
But I’m so used to sleeping with someone that it feels foreign to sleep anywhere but on “my side”.
Recently the pain in my body has gotten worse. I find myself tossing and turning to get comfortable.
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed several mornings recently. The bedsheets tangled up around my hips. At first it felt wrong. I was intruding on an imaginary person’s side of the bed. That action, however innocent, left me feeling lonely and empty.
But as with all personal growth and painful realizations, I soon settled into the middle of the bed. I defiantly arrange my pillows so I sleep in the center of the bed. I like this about myself.
Isn’t that wonderful?