The Art of Sleeping Alone by Sophie Fontanel

I picked up The Art of Sleeping Alone by Sophie Fontanel in early 2019, in the early and extremely painful days of separation from my ex-husband. I knew in my bones that my life couldn’t stay the same, that I needed to be out of that marriage, but I had never been truly alone in my adult life. So I read everything I could, desperate to find myself in a book, to get some kind of instruction manual. Sleeping Alone is a memoir about a woman who gave up sex and relationships for over a decade. The lessons were urgent, and while I ultimately did not give up sex or relationships (despite recognizing how happy I am in my lengthy periods of celibacy and singledom – I’m working on it, okay), the most important thing I took from the book, that echoes almost weekly in my mind even six years later, is the idea that my life could be soft and fluffy. Those are Fontanel’s words (or Linda Cloverdale’s translation of them). 

Soft and fluffy, without someone in the bed next to me. 

The past 6 years has not been entirely soft and fluffy, for anyone. But the idea is something I continue to work toward. Despite having two children with complex needs, my house (which I joke is basically an Occupational Therapy office) is cozy, with soft colors. My job, while stressful and sometimes uncertain (when the economy crashes, luxury services are the first to disappear), is something I’ve built on my own. My friends support me. My relationships with my family are stronger. The idea of creating a life that provided me with some shelter from the chaos and hardship outside my door keeps me striving to do better and be better. And to rest, to actually take a real break from the things that drain me.