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Your Bedroom Should Be Your Sanctuary

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Ever since I was a little girl, I always felt so cozy and safe in my room. I didn’t like sharing it with my sister, but when she wasn’t around, I was peaceful and serene in my little part of the world. When I was about sixteen, I moved down into the basement. It was paneled, and I decorated it with all my favorite things. I had a nice queen sized bed, a television, and all my little knick knacks I had gathered over the years. What once had been the home for playing with my dolls, was now a teenager’s haven. I could talk on my phone without anyone hearing me, or my dad yelling at me to get off. I didn’t have to deal with watching football or baseball on our family TV. I didn’t have to engage in arguments with my dad, or brothers and sister.


Yes, I was quite content in my humble abode. The only bad thing that happened was one morning when I went to put my slipper on, my foot wouldn’t go in. I reached my hand up into the slipper, and a mouse was sleeping soundly. Not after I screamed, however. He ran off, I ran upstairs, and when I came home that day and went into the boiler room to check something, my sleeping buddy was on the floor, stiff as a board. My mother said i had given it a heart attack with my screams. 


I knew what I did and how I felt in my corner of the universe. I knew I prayed, and slept, and had dreams and thought, and tried to figure problems out, and daydreamed. Having time alone helps us get to know ourselves. I vowed that when I had kids, I would try to do the same for their rooms. That day came, and I kept my word to myself. My kids’ rooms were always comfortable and inviting. I knew they, too, dreamt and slept and thought in their rooms, even as youngsters. I had a cassette player in each room and peaceful music for them to listen to while trying to go to sleep. They seemed to love their rooms, never knowing what had gone on in mommy’s mind about those rooms, for years. I had shelves and toy boxes for their toys, and my tidy brain. My room was comfortable, but it was purely functional for many years when my kids were young.


I never thought they’d grow up, and now I can’t believe they have. Their rooms are semi comfortable, but at sixteen, nineteen, and twenty one, it usually takes friends coming over before they’ll “straighten up.” I no longer go in their rooms! I think my kids benefited from the security and individualization they each experienced having their own space. It’s always appeared that way to me.


Now, it was time for mom. I had a big master bedroom. When my partner moved in, he put up a wall and a door going into a square, where my bed belongs. I have a nice sitting room when you walk in, and a door that goes through to all my thoughts and fears and dreams and loneliness. My little cubby. I have decorated it the way I want, with Native American Indian pottery and two Indian dolls, several angels, crystals and stones with healing properties. Earrings with healing properties in their stones as well, a wooden statue of the Blessed Mother from the olive trees lining the path Jesus walked in Jerusalem. I have a wooden angel from Bethlehem, made from an olive tree as well, and my own TV where I can watch whatever I want, and no one owns the remote but me!


I have a master bath with a Jacuzzi. And I had a walk in closet that my partner just tore apart, and built back to my needs. I wanted shelves to put my clothes on, not drawers, where you can’t find anything you’re looking for. I printed out pictures from the Internet that match the colors in my comforter, and just put them in those plastic sleeves they sell, and taped them on the walls. My three windows have a view of the front lawn and the beautiful mountains of Pennsylvania on the horizon. I asked for a down comforter for Christmas, a featherbed for my birthday, and another featherbed just because. My partner also bought me down pillows. This is my spot to relax and think and figure things out. And to pray and speak out loud to my angels and spirit guides and Higher Power, which are all very personal to me.


When I sit or lay in my bed, I feel like I’m in what I imagine Heaven would be. I sit back on my duck or goose feathers, watch TV, and say to myself, “After fifty years of crap, I deserve this.”

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