Why You Need to Have “The Room”

My uncle died on May 14th, 2022.

It’s been just over a year since I lost somebody I’ll love for my whole life and honestly, I don’t think it will ever feel real.

You never accept it. You never truly believe that you won’t see them again in this lifetime. You never stop subconsciously waiting for a birthday card from them or a Friend’s quote on messenger or a surprise visit in your back garden as they burst through the door dressed as a postman (that was his job. He wasn’t just really into Postman Pat).

You never stop waiting for them to come home.

Even though they don’t.

And they won’t.

And home never quite feels the same again.

Which is why you need to find somewhere else to go

A place, not physical or literal but mental and emotional, right there inside your mind. A place to head to when the real world becomes too much, or too little, to handle.

A safe place. Your own space. Unaffected by anything, by everything, no Jehovah’s witnesses knocking on the door, no rowdy neighbours, no bills posted through the letterbox, no burglars or haunted attics or anything whatsoever that makes you feel uneasy.

This place is entirely your own, only a thought away, and it’s mortgage free. And it’s here where you can escape to in any moment, when even your own home aches your heart a little too much.

But to go to this place, you need to make this place. You need to create “your room.”

The room is where the heart is

I’ve always had something like this growing up. When I was little, my “room” would be a tiny ship containing everybody and everything that I loved, stuffed deep inside a cloud. It’d float along above the Earth, far from any earthly issues, and we’d just blissfully watch the world go by. It had several mini fridges installed.

As I got older I developed OCD, and suddenly my brain became a bit of a minefield. Some rooms would contain comfort, other’s would be rigged to explode the second I stepped into them. It was a trickier time to find the right room for me, and perhaps that’s why my OCD spiralled. My home was a hotbed of compulsion and even my own head couldn’t be trusted.

But I got past that and now my room is possibly the most important place in the universe. Here’s what and why it is:

It was the second to last time I’d ever see my uncle

It was the last coherent conversation we’d ever share (and he still found away to make fun of me in front of Ben!). It was me, Ben and my mom in his hospital room surrounding his bed and holding his hand and joking about the Villa, whilst my dad — who had been there for days and nights, non-stop — sat in the waiting room outside.

It was heart-warming. It was heart-breaking. It was life-ending and life-changing.

After we’d spoken our last words to one another, my mom, my Ben and myself went and joined dad in the waiting room.

And it was the loveliest moment of my life.

We laughed. We joked. We reminisced about memories with my Uncle Alan. We sat inside this tiny, sterile seating area inside an overworked hospital during a very sad time — and we were happy.

I was, at least, because there I was with the three most important people in the universe to me, all together in one room in one moment during a time that reminds you just how precious life is.

That’s my room.

My room is a place where the people I love most are, and it’s a reminder of how short and fleeting existence can be. My room is an immortalised memory of somebody I will love longer than he lived, and it’s a tether to a time in which he was still alive and we were all together, at once. My room is there for those moments when a work project is worrying me or a mouldy wall is stressing me out — and it takes me away from them, allows me to see beyond them, and shows me that life is not worth wasting on them.

My room is me.

Your room is where you go to remind you what you already know

Whenever you lose sight of why you’re doing things, whenever you get caught up in trivial matters like emails and waistlines and carpet colours — think of that room. Because in it, there should be something that matters to you. A moment, a memory, a meaning.

In mine is everything that matters to me — my soulmate and my parents — and also it’s a reminder of life — and how it can be lost.

And it doesn’t have to be this static, fixed thing either. I can tweak the details a little if I fancy. I can add a map print on the wall to remind me to travel this Earth whilst it’s available. I can frame photos of all my pets on the table in the middle, so that I remember to help those in need who can’t ask for it. I can add and alter anything that might make the space even more meaningful (and you bet your ass I installed that mini fridge back in).

So you see?

You need a room in your head like you need rest in a bed. It’s healing. It’s safe. It’s somewhere undisturbed by the real world. And it’s all and entirely yours.

A room is like a vision board you can live inside of

But it’s made of pieces of the past and reminders of the present as well as hopes for the future. And sure, it’ll take time to design. That’s okay and normal and expected. Finding “the right room” is a process. You need to learn about yourself to discover what you need in the moment.

Sometimes it changes — as you grow, you outgrow your old room in search of somewhere else. Sometimes you’ll mentally move away from a place that once felt like home, because you’ve found somewhere else you belong.

Just go with it. Trust yourself. Take care of yourself. Give yourself a space to go to when nowhere in the world feels quite right.

Close your eyes, breath deeply and go there for a while. Live there. Find peace there. Talk to those you cannot talk to anymore. Inhabit moments that are now memories. Feel all the feelings and focus on all the details and when you’re done, carry all of that back with you to where you are now.

When life feels too heavy and you don’t know what else to do:

Go to your room.