I have a very small bedroom. There’s room for my bed, a wardrobe, a chair, my clarinet, a small space on the floor to sit on, some room under the bed for my stuff, and that’s about it.
I’ve always felt trapped, in this small space. There’s no room to breathe, to be, to create, to live. It makes it feel like a prison, with no way out. And my bedroom at university didn’t help. I got a taste of a large bedroom, and really liked it, and now am sad I can’t have something similar, squished into a small space.
And it gets me down sometimes. Its a constant battle for space, always a war to fit things in, especially with presents. Its a one in, one out system, and it just about works. It makes me feel like I can never spread out, or take up space. In there, or in general. And when I do, I feel guilty, even if I need the space.
I recently got a new space, downstairs. I needed somewhere to work, when my roles turned remote. So I fought for a desk space, for a room full of junk to be cleared. And now I do have that space, even if the table includes a dollhouse. And its been great. Its quiet, with room for me. I can do work, and writing retreats without constant back or leg pain. I have felt free; to be, to work, to create. I can do my meetings with comfort and ease, even walk across the room when I get restless.
Its not perfect. But perhaps one day, I will earn enough money to find my own place, with slightly larger rooms. Until then, I will have to make do with small spaces.
