When I was 15, the walls of my bedroom were covered.
I had a compulsion to hold on to every note, photograph, magazine clipping and card that meant anything to me. And everything went up on my walls.
My room was my sanctuary in that house full of brothers. By that time, my sister had abandoned me to serve a mission in Argentina for our church. I had my radio, a tiny TV with a VCR, my clothes, my makeup, and my walls.
I needed every inch of those walls. I had so much that I wanted to look at. Each scrap of paper reminded me of something that made me happy. I had curated a 'best of your life' art show right there on my walls. Nothing in a frame; everything blending together to cover any white, boring wall that might be peeking through.
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Seriously, the universe combined its forces to make us friends. I had a bedroom in our attic that had a sloping ceiling, and on the ceiling over my desk I'd pinned every memento, picture, and postcard I could think of to make a collage. I spent HOURS daydreaming, reading, writing, journaling, and listening to music in what I called my "haven." It was such a peaceful, cosy little nook to escape to (and I didn't even have brothers to escape from!). I always had a collection of perfumes, too, so my room always smelled nice. My mom says for months after I left for college, she'd go into my room and sit quietly and just breathe. She'd report, "It still smells like YOU!" My parents always laugh when I come home to my little bedroom in the attic, that by the time I leave the smell of my "lotions and potions" always lingers and it still feels girly in there. :) I love sharing a life with Karl and my girlies, but I'll confess I still long for the days when I had a tiny little corner of the world all to myself.
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