When I decided to end my marriage, I had to move before my husband returned from deployment. My logic was two-fold. For one, it genuinely felt like the kindest thing to do was leave as soon possible. If the bulk of my life was already gone, he wouldn’t have to watch me clean, and pack, and hauling carload after carload of my world permanently away from his.
Secondly, I needed my own space, because otherwise, I might be tempted to stay. My husband would come back, and we would have the same conversation we’ve had (more and more frequently) over the past few years–about how we aren’t working as is, and how we will work to be better and change–but nothing had changed. I just felt more and more alone. After the difficult realization that I didn’t feel comfortable in my own home, I moved out.
In the middle of a North Dakota winter, I hauled box after box to my new place. My new place. My face, wrists, and hands freezing while the rest of my body was over heating and sweating from winter clothes and physical exertion. Even with positive and necessary change, my highly-sensitive nature makes any change hard. A few times I just sat on the floor of my unremarkable boxy standard apartment (that I loved because it was mine) and cried. I was scared. I was lonely. I was sad. I was hopeful. I was feeling everything in a very indecipherable way.
My apartment (and subsequent apartments) became my sanctuary. I know that’s super cliche. But after losing myself entirely in another person’s space. After years of being unaware of my own boundaries, and making a consistent daily attempts to please someone else–making my space my own was hugely important to me. I wanted my apartment to bring me joy and a sense of peace. I wanted to feel like I was living in art.
Apartment no. 204 (Grand Forks, ND): Two bedroom/Two bathroom w/ balcony • 1200 sq. ft.
Apartment no. 204 (Minneapolis, MN): One bedroom • 400 sq. ft.
Apartment no. 4 (Saint Paul, MN): One bedroom • 1000 sq. ft.
Carly Swenson | Intuitive Painter 
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