I always had my own room as a kid. I was pretty lucky in that way that I didn’t have to share it with a sibling as some people did. It was really nice to have a place in my house that I could really call my own and that I had a lot of control over. The rest of the house was definitely my family’s house and the spaces were shared with other people and others dictated the rules surrounding it but in my room I was in charge. Well, as long as I kept it clean enough that my parents didn’t have to step in that is.
As I grew up, this space became an extension of my own identity. I organized it the way I wanted, I decorated it with pictures and posters and my favorite things. It was a place where I could retreat if I wanted to be alone, a place I could go with friends where we wouldn’t be interrupted. I place that I could share with whomever I wanted and keep away from those I didn’t.
This pattern continued, as I got older and moved out of my parents home. Now the house was an apartment and was shared with roommates and friends instead of family but my room was still my own. I could decorate it as I liked without having to negotiate with others and people only came in if I wanted them to. It was still my place, where I could be me and no one could tell me different. Continue reading