In a few days, I’ll go from living alone to living with a husband, a baby and a dog.
Today I took a bath, then laid on my bed in a towel staring at the ceiling for half an hour. I’m realizing my days of doing that are officially numbered.
I moved to Toronto for film school when I was 17. I lived with roommates for the first few years, but have lived alone, in a one-bedroom apartment, for nearly a decade now.
I eat when I want. I shower when I want. I watch TV when I want. I lip sync to Michael Jackson in the mirror when I want. I cry when I want.
Even though I’m alone, I rarely feel lonely. I’m used to being a party of one. Used to making constant stops while lugging grocery bags home so the plastic doesn’t cut off the circulation to my hands. Used to coming home to no one.
I’m probably too used to it.
The Dangers of Living Alone
I’ve struggled with an eating disorder since high school.
Since it’s often been my job to play a confident, optimistic version of myself on TV, most people wouldn’t suspect I’ve spent endless nights binging and purging until my eyes are bloodshot and nearly fainting from exhaustion at the gym.
For some, it’s about body image. For me, it was about control. When things felt overwhelming, food was something I could take the reins on and distract myself from the things I couldn’t.
I did it because I could. It was my secret. No one was there to tell me to stop. No one was outside the door, waiting for the bathroom. No one really knew.
A few summers ago, after my four-year relationship crumbled to the ground because I was so caught up with the demons whispering in my ear all the time, I decided to get help. I went into an intensive group treatment program to silence those assholes once and for all.
And I’m so grateful I did.
But, it’s still a part of me. I’m in control of it, but it’s still a mental struggle. Not living alone will prevent me from slipping back into my old rituals. It will be the accountability I’ve been craving and preparing for.
First Dose of Married Life
Even though I’m married, my husband Devin and I have been living apart since our immigration paperwork hasn’t been approved yet.
For the next four months, we’ll be renting a big, old house in my hometown. It will be the first time we’ve lived together for more than a week or two.
I moved in last weekend and Devin and his dog Lando will join me this weekend. Our baby is due on October 25th. That will give us two short weeks to experience life as a married couple…unless of course baby comes early.
And a medium predicted she will.
Though it will be a serious adjustment (I’ve never lived with any guy before), I’m looking forward to having a partner.
Someone waiting outside the bathroom door. Someone to look over at and roll my eyes during a stupid part of a movie. Someone to hold my hand while I sleep. Someone to help me with those dang grocery bags!
I want to learn how to be a strong, kind, loving equal other half in this equation. That’s the new thing I want to take the reins on. Especially since we’ll soon be a party of three.
Staying strong for her
Technically, since the moment I found out I was pregnant I haven’t been alone. I’ve been carrying around this little life inside of me. A flip instantly switched in my brain.
I haven’t been living for myself. I’ve been living for my baby girl. Eating for her. Singing for her. Staying healthy for her.
I can’t imagine hurting myself, because I would be hurting her. I never want to do that.
I’m looking forward to having her depend on me for years to come. I’m done just living for myself.
I finally feel ready to say goodbye to my alone time. I’m ready to share my life with the two people I’ve been praying for since I was little girl.
Bring on the permanent roommates!
