In the aftermath of my divorce, I decided that I never wanted to sleep with anyone, ever again.
I was on the midlife dating scene, and it was turbulent. I met some nice-enough men, but none that I wanted to be truly intimate with. I did occasionally have sex (I didn’t say I was celibate!), but every night I slept peacefully alone in my own bed. I couldn’t imagine wanting to give that up for anyone.
“I enjoyed sleeping alone so much that I became almost phobic about sharing a bed with another person.”Credit: Shutterstock
There were many challenges to being divorced in midlife, but having my own bedroom for the first time in nearly 20 years was a shining silver lining. I had a queen-sized mattress all to myself, and I could stretch out luxuriously wherever I chose. I could sleep on the left side, or the right, or smack bang in the middle. I could lie like a starfish, arms and legs splayed out, or sleep horizontally across the bed. Hell, I could sleep upside down with my head in the sheets and my feet on the pillow if I so chose! (I didn’t, of course, but it was nice knowing that I could.)
I could stay up reading as long as I wished, without needing to accommodate the sleep schedules of another person. I could sleep soundly all night, unbothered by heavy breathing, or the quake-like movements of a bedmate rolling over. And I could wake up to the soothing sounds of birds chirping outside my window, instead of being startled into consciousness by the vigorous throat-clearing of my spouse.
I enjoyed sleeping alone so much that I became almost phobic about sharing a bed with another person. I have always been baffled by romantic comedies, in which women have one-night stands and fall immediately asleep next to a virtual stranger. I don’t judge them for having sex, but sleep? Next to a person they’ve just met? How absolutely preposterous. I don’t even want to share a bedroom with a close friend on a girls’ weekend away, let alone a man I’ve known for a few hours.
To me, sleep feels like the most intimate thing I can do with another person, more intimate even than sex. It feels easier for me to take my clothes off in front of someone than to fall asleep beside them. After all, plenty of people have seen me naked over the years (several obstetricians, for a start), but almost no one outside my family has ever seen me sleep.
I can snore slightly when I fall asleep on my back, or wake up in a puddle of drool when I’m lying on my side.
And honestly, it is not a sight for the faint-hearted. I am not a pretty sleeper; at least, I am not any more. In my youth, I would drop off to sleep and wake up eight hours later, often in exactly the same position. These days, I can toss and turn for ages before falling asleep, or jerk involuntarily just as I’m drifting off. I can snore slightly when I fall asleep on my back, or wake up in a puddle of drool when I’m lying on my side. I often thrash around with bad dreams, and always wake up at least once or twice during the night to go to the loo.
I like to present my best face to the world, but it’s a little tricky doing that when I’m unconscious.
If I’m not an attractive sleeper, I am even less attractive waking up. In my younger days, I would awake with a gentle stretch and a yawn, my skin glowing and my hair sexily tousled. These days, I either jolt awake with my heart racing, or in the middle of a hot flush, or come to groggily, blinking into consciousness. My face is creased down one side from mashing my face into the pillow, my hair is matted, and there is often a wax earplug tangled in my hair.
Even if I was prepared to share my bed with another person, I couldn’t possibly let him see that.
Except, as it turns out, I can. I met my partner and realised after one lovely evening together that I didn’t want to go home. Falling in love in midlife was unexpected, to say the least, but wanting to sleep with someone was completely shocking.
These days, we sleep together a few nights a week, though we maintain our separate homes. I still believe sleep is the most intimate thing you can share, but when you feel safe enough to be vulnerable, it is incredibly comforting. I’ve learnt that love means never having to say you’re sorry for snoring, or for a bit of drool on the pillowcase. Love means it’s okay not to put your best face forward, but to mash it instead into the pillow. And love means the one who needs the loo during the night gets the side of the bed closest to the door.
I still love having my own bedroom. I believe that everyone deserves a private space. But do I love sharing my bed with my partner? As improbable as it sounds, it’s even better than sleeping alone.
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Falling in love in midlife was unexpected. Wanting to sleep with someone was shocking
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29.11.2023
In the aftermath of my divorce, I decided that I never wanted to sleep with anyone, ever again.
I was on the midlife dating scene, and it was turbulent. I met some nice-enough men, but none that I wanted to be truly intimate with. I did occasionally have sex (I didn’t say I was celibate!), but every night I slept peacefully alone in my own bed. I couldn’t imagine wanting to give that up for anyone.
“I enjoyed sleeping alone so much that I became almost phobic about sharing a bed with another person.”Credit: Shutterstock
There were many challenges to being divorced in midlife, but having my own bedroom for the first time in nearly 20 years was a shining silver lining. I had a queen-sized mattress all to myself, and I could stretch out luxuriously wherever I chose. I could sleep on the left side, or the right, or smack bang in the middle. I could lie like a starfish, arms and legs splayed out, or sleep horizontally across the bed. Hell, I could sleep upside down with my head in the sheets and my feet on the pillow if I so chose! (I didn’t, of course, but it was nice knowing that I could.)
I could stay up reading as long as I wished, without needing to accommodate the sleep schedules of another person. I........
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