It takes work to be alone

Solitude is maddening for some and therapeutic for others. For me, solitude can be both. 

When I was younger, still living under my parent's roof, solitude was a luxury. I didn't grow up in a house full of siblings or strangers or animals. But I did grow up with a sick mom, identifying the type of sick has changed over the years. At home, free time for me was free time for Mom. She liked when I did homework at the kitchen table so she could talk to me about her day. She liked when I did homework at the desk in my bedroom so she could rest while I studied. When homework was done, she wanted us to exercise, sometimes at her all-women's gym because she didn't like when men stared at her. Sometimes we walked 5 miles around a track at a local middle school. Opting out of exercise was never an option. She had to keep her heart healthy, and I had to lose weight, she said. 

Late into the night, when my day would have been coming to an end, my mom's was only just beginning. Full of energy after our late night workouts, my mom wanted to spend more time with me. She wanted to rent a movie from Blockbuster or have me drive her to her secret mailbox where she received letters from her more often than not incarcerated boyfriend. I'd sit with my mom by our living room fireplace as she read her letters with a magnifying glass, her vision was deteriorating each year she said. Then she'd ask me to help her burn the evidence. Hours before sunrise, I'd nod off in the living room, tapped awake when it was time for me to get ready for school and Mom to get ready for bed.

I'd drive to school, not yet taken over by caffeine fixes, hoping my loud music would somehow infuse adrenaline into my bloodstream. I remember once nodding off in my high school U.S. History class. My teacher, a tall. middle-aged, gray haired woman with glasses stood over my desk. I'm not sure if I woke up by the instinct of someone staring so intently at me or if she motioned me awake. When my eyes met hers, she took my nodding off in her class as a direct reflection of her teaching ability and my lack of respect for the subject. She said something along the lines of maybe your time would be better spent in the principal's office. I was 15 years old, a former honors student, a former athlete, a full-time fast-food worker, volunteer coach for my brother's basketball league, and the daughter of sick mother. My teacher hadn't outright known those things about me, but I wonder how much of her perception might have changed had she known it wasn't my intention to fall asleep in history class. I loved history. 

There were times where I managed to escape to my room before Mom convinced me to stay up with her. The few moments before I dropped into dreamland, I claimed those quiet moments for me. I knew I couldn't 'escape' two nights in a row so often my uninterrupted thoughts focused on what tomorrow would bring. It was nearly impossible to stay in the moment. I was always on alert. If I heard footsteps shuffling down the hallway toward my bedroom door, I'd do my best to fake already being asleep. Sometimes my mom would get fed up after calling my name while standing in the doorway. Then she would close my door and continue her night. Other times, she'd rock my body back and forth until I opened my eyes. "Are you going to sleep for the rest of the night?" She might ask.  If I said yes, I was relegated to my room for the rest of the night. If I said yes, I was relegated to whatever plans Mom had in mind. I'd come to love the 40 minute commute to school. Before I could drive, my Papa drove me. He was a man of few words and when he did talk it was often a joke which made socializing with him easy. Once I could drive, the 40 minute commutes to and from school were for me. My car became my sanctuary, a place of uninterrupted me time. 

Once my mother decided I needed to go to law school, I had a chance to be alone for the first time. My undergrad was too close to home, so I never experienced on campus or close campus living, away from my parents. But my law school was across the country. Mom stayed as long as she could in my new east coast apartment before departing back to our home in California with my brother. I had more free time than ever and I had no idea what to do with it. I spent a lot of my free time feeling guilty, feeling lonely, feeling sad, feeling alone. I was obedient and studious the first few weeks of law school. I arrived to classes 15-20 minutes ahead of time, well rested, and alert. I learned how to navigate the law library and how to use the legal database search engine. I didn't socialize or venture into the onsite student cafe. I didn't stay to study in the building. I went to my classes and promptly returned home where I studied for a bit, microwaved my dinner, and waited for my mom's phone call. We talked every night for 2-3 hours and then I'd go to sleep and repeat the same routine the next day.

That is, until I met Em.