I blew up the air mattress.
A familiar scene.
When was the last time I did that?
With my best friend. We were on our road trip from LA to Colorado. We were in Utah camping along the Virgin River in Zion National Park. Her husband and brothers were on the floor of the tent. Ellen and I were huddled together on an air mattress trying to stay warm during the frigid night.
And before that?
I was sleeping alone in the office of our apartment in Nashville. I was told that my furniture had bad energy because of my affair, and I wasn't allowed to sleep in our bed. So I cried on a twin-sized air mattress in our office for two weeks. Michael had left and wasn't allowed to be near me while I stayed in the apartment because of my energy. I felt the most alone in my entire life.
And now?
I'm blowing up the air mattress in my first apartment. Ever in my life. A place filled with things that make me happy. A place that shows how far I've come. A place all to myself. A place that represents my freedom and healing. My safe haven. That really needs a real bed.
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