Do Something. New. Today

I am both mourning and celebrating my bedroom. It’s said that when a woman divorces, the first room she redecorates is the bedroom because that is usually where the most intimate pain has occurred. I, however much I dislike being like anyone else, was no exception.

Three years ago, I got rid of the heavy and dark curtains with extra sheers and blinds that blocked out any hint of light and i replaced the bed cave with a light and airy sanctuary. I kept the furniture–my ex hadn’t wanted the bedroom suite, which was damaged–but I rearranged drastically. I made the room very special, adding sparkling touches of new and grounding it with some of my grandmother’s antiques.

I had big plans for this room. This room would be my safe place and my romantic retreat. But in three years, I never brought a man into this bed. I’ve held onto the décor of this room because I’ve imagined this as my lovers’ nest. I’ve refrained from changing anything because I felt it needed to fulfill the purpose I had in mind three years ago, no matter how long it had to wait for the right man.

I’m making big changes in the room now, moving on to a new energy, but sad to say goodbye to the old design of three years. Then again, many marriages don’t last three years so it’s been a good run, I suppose, and i’ve loved the look and structure of this intimate arrangement.

I’ve rearranged the furniture again. Out goes the clutter, but more notably, out goes all the stuff that’s ***broken.***

The plastic treasure chest jewelry box my mom gave me thirty years ago, a prize for buying cosmetics or perfume. It’s followed me through high school, college, two apartments, three houses, several boyfriends, one husband, and two children. The leg’s been broken since high school. I haven’t used it for jewelry in the past decade.

The two antique straight chairs I found at a local shop. Pretty to admire but not comfy for ‘romantic’ sitting. They’ll become chairs for the office work table and i’ll replace them here with two chairs suitable for sitting with a lover and a glass of wine or with a daughter and a cup of tea.

My grandma’s old floral chair, special but a little worn in places, is moving to the living room where the girls can enjoy it more.

With great sadness, I have to admit that the antique round lamp table is not salvageable. I’ve babied it, oiled it, been told it’s beyond restoring. I can use it only if covered, and the top is rickety. I have not wanted to let it go because it was my grandma’s, but I need to remember that Granddaddy stored it in a shed in the southern heat and humidity, and the damage is from the times it was rained on. It’s had better care with me over the past twleve years with me than it did in the two decades before.

With no sadness at all, I am finally relinquishing my broken bed, the one that was broken well before my divorce but well after our marriage. I still don’t understand how the spindles got broken but i’ve found a new frame I like, in cherry wood and a close match to the dresser and chests. When I get into another committed relationship, the current furniture will likely move to the guest room to make room for something we pick out together. That’s a nice idea to keep in the back of my mind for when that time comes.

The biggest surprise in decluttering my bedroom was not the clutter but how much of the old stuff I’d kept–the familiar stuff–that was broken. Maybe it’s a good thing I never brought a new relationship into this chamber with all its broken structures from the past.