My Space by Nannette Croce

I love my space. No, not MySpace, though I like that too. I’m talking about my converted bedroom office with the soothing peach-color walls decorated with my favorite photos, paintings, and posters, and behind me, my bookshelves.

My space was a long time in coming. Growing up I shared a room with my older sister, but that wasn’t the half of it, so to speak, because in our home my Mom owned every room. She chose the furniture and where it would go, the bedspreads, the rug. She had strict rules on wall hangings, and everything had to be stowed away when I left for school or I was liable to find my Rolling Stones’ Album in the Abbey Road cover and without the paper sleeve that probably ended up in the trash.

When I married, 30 years ago, we had a small apartment and then a small house. In those days men got dens and women got sewing rooms, and since I didn’t sew, I got nothing. The rest was common area, except for my bathroom, and when we added a kid, I lost that too.

We moved into our current home mainly because my husband needed a large office for his home-based business, but this time I insisted on having my own space too. Originally, it was just a place to keep my books and read, away from the blare of the TV. That was when one computer serviced our entire family. Eventually I added a desk, a laptop, a printer, reference books for my writing, a file cabinet.

It isn’t messy, but it isn’t neat either. At least not to my Mom’s standards.

It’s my space, and I can do exactly what I want with it.