I’ve found a love that feels unlike any I’ve experienced before, which is saying something given my previous long marriage. I know what healthy love is supposed to feel like, but I also recognize the pain of betrayal — a mix of feelings that can exist with the same person, and I certainly encountered that.
After my divorce, I took the time to heal and mend my heart, allowing myself to open up to love once more. I never thought I’d be here, but I am. I’m ready to share my life with a man and his child, as well as introduce my kids to him.
However, there’s one thing I’m not prepared to do again: live together.
Recently, I spent a lovely weekend with my boyfriend and his daughter while my kids were with their father. It wasn’t our first time together, and each visit fills me with anticipation, much like a child on Christmas Eve. Waking up next to him is bliss; I cherish being cuddled at night. Dining out with him and his daughter is delightful, just shy of having my own children around.
We enjoyed grocery shopping together, holding hands as we picked out new bedding. We shared meals with friends, indulging in comfort food while snow gently fell outside. When it was time to leave after three wonderful days, I found myself teary-eyed, reluctant to drive away. When I initially fell for him months ago, I thought my feelings were puzzling, but they make sense now; my understanding of sharing a life has shifted since my divorce.
Returning to my own home was comforting. It’s a place where I can keep the toilet seat down, adjust the thermostat to my liking, and enjoy my favorite shows without distractions. My space is mine, free from stray hairs in the sink (seriously, why do men leave them everywhere?).
I take pleasure in dining with him, but I also value the solitude of eating alone. There’s something liberating about quickly snacking in the kitchen without worrying about appearances. I relish the quiet moments, taking my time without feeling rushed.
I adore the intimacy we share, yet I equally enjoy my own bed. I love the cuddling and the connection, but I also appreciate sprawling out diagonally on my own, watching a cheesy movie while drifting off to sleep without concern for disturbing someone else.
His home is cozy, filled with oversized furniture and dark curtains that block the sun. But I adore my own decor, the way sunlight floods my room in the mornings, and the colors I’ve chosen.
Before leaving, we shared a passionate kiss in his car, and he jokingly mentioned wanting me to move in with him. We both laughed, but on my drive home, I pondered the possibility. I could imagine it—but I don’t want to.
The vision I had of my life—a partner, cohabitation, shared finances—has transformed. I’ve learned I’m entirely capable of managing my home and finances as a single parent. Right now, that’s my preference. I enjoy living life on my terms and at my pace.
I cherish the time spent with my boyfriend, yet I’m not ready to let go of my independence. I currently feel I have the best of both worlds. I’ve learned that taking care of myself is paramount; no one else can do it for me. Relying on others, even the wonderful ones, can lead to unmet expectations.
I can do what I want, when I want. That includes late dinners, being carefree in my home, and making decisions without needing anyone’s input. I’m self-reliant, and that’s empowering.
Moreover, I have a partner who knows how to make me feel cherished. He brings joy to my life, supports me in my parenting, and appreciates the woman I become after some drinks. He encourages my happiness and navigates misunderstandings with grace, making me feel lucky to have him.
I don’t want to risk losing the magic of our relationship by becoming roommates. I’m not ready to share finances or discuss mundane matters like cable bills or decor choices. Perhaps in the future, but not just yet.
This grounded feeling is too precious. I’ve managed on my own for years and am proud of that. I take joy in paying my bills and living independently. I’m happy without needing a partner to share a roof with me.
I want to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can. It’s something my younger self wouldn’t understand, and something my thirty-something self would have feared. Now, in my forties, I cherish my life—my unique, fulfilling life without a partner. My desires have changed, and while this may not conform to societal expectations, I refuse to alter my mindset.
I truly love my current situation and plan to embrace this happiness indefinitely. And that sense of empowerment is incredibly liberating.
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Summary
The author describes their newfound love while expressing a strong desire to maintain independence and avoid cohabitation. They reflect on the joys of their relationship and the fulfillment of living alone, emphasizing the importance of self-reliance and personal happiness in their current life stage.