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When Kevin first moved into my condo, I turned into a troll. Not one of those little smiling ones with florescent hair, either–more like a snarling beast.

We were happy and engaged in a healthy relationship with good communication, a new thing for both of us. Hauling stuff back and forth between apartments was starting to seem silly. I was well aware of his intentions to bring his two guitars and enormous amps into my cozy, two-bedroom condo. It was time.

All Sofas Are Not Created Equal

Yet the anticipation of the great change triggered childishness. Both in our early 30s, each of us enjoyed the expanse of our own two-bedroom abodes. We were used to living by ourselves.

We started getting feisty about furniture decisions. We had a long-standing disagreement about whose sofa was superior and whose mattress should win. This inspired snarky comments about the extraordinary discomfort or putrid color of someone’s couch. Most of these comments came from me–all right, so maybe all of them did.

Bikini-Wax Memories

It wasn’t all snapping. I was excited, and I prepared for the change. For months, I’d dutifully cataloged my possessions and my furniture. I purged; it felt delightful sometimes and a bit harder at others. Did I really need my chair with yellow wax residue from my attempts to give myself a spa treatment before a vacation? Would I ever wear that tiger-print coat again? The decision-making was tougher than the actual purging. I cleaned out a closet for Kevin’s clothes; I emptied a row of drawers in the bathroom.

Two Become One

When Kevin and his guitars actually moved in, I thought it would be a relief. We could stop stressing over the anticipation of change and get to the nitty-gritty. Guess what? It was still hard. I felt a loss of control, like someone was interfering with my business and messing up all my stuff. I felt irritable, and my place didn’t feel like home.

This transformation shocked me. I’m pretty easygoing; transitions don’t often send me over the edge. Why was he always there? Didn’t he have anywhere to go? Who put the ketchup on the second shelf?

Invasion of Love

I felt like I was being invaded, and Kevin felt frustrated trying to squash his entire world into mine. I hated the way I acted about Kevin’s belongings. Similarly, I didn’t understand why I reacted so strongly to what Kevin said about my possessions when I knew, rationally, that it was just stuff. I loved this man, and I was ready for the next step–so why was I being such a brat? And how come nobody warned me about how hard that step would be? Do other couples pop champagne and have blissful decorating parties together?

My Soymilk, Your Soymilk

Five months and many additional trips to Goodwill later, Kevin and I are more peaceful roomies. I think I understand now that the troll phase was a reaction to letting go of my single life. I was saying goodbye to a period when I was responsible only for myself, when only I had control over my environment. That freedom was wonderful but lonely. Although Kevin and I are squished, we are now respectful and working on the transition from “my stuff” to “our stuff.” It’s hard work, but it’s important.

His Grateful Dead coffee table did hit the road, but then again, so did my bikini-wax chair.

[Photo by ||!prliignore0||]