I like to consider myself a generous person. I grew up with three siblings and always shared a bedroom. My mother never brought things home from the grocery store that was just ours, and there were many Christmases when my parents would buy one big gift for us to share.
I just went with it. One of my sisters did not. She used to write her name on all her things, and even found stickers with her name on it that she’d plaster on her possessions too. I guess sharing has a different effect on everyone. Ahem.
Then I had three children, so I guess you could say nothing has ever really been mine: Not my bedroom, not my food, not my body after I had kids, and not my bathroom time.
However, now that they are older and can fend for themselves, there are some things I’ve decided I am not sharing with them any longer, and you bet your ass I’m not sharing them with my partner either.
I should mention, I don’t think not sharing certain things with your partner makes you selfish, rude, or possessive but it really depends on what it is. I once had a neighbor who wasn’t allowed to wear her husbands clothes, hats, or his moisturizer. That’s just being an asshole.
1. Bathroom time
I did this in my first marriage but those days are over — my bathroom time is sacred, and my partner is not allowed to take a dump while I’m in the shower or doing my hair just to spend more time with me. If it’s an emergency with no other free bathroom, of course I will leave so he can do his duty.
I don’t want him coming in to brush his teeth while I’m dropping a brown trout in the toilet, changing my diva cup, or wiping myself.
There were years when I didn’t pee alone, and my kids made comments about everything from my landing strip to the way my pee smelled. I’m done sharing that for the rest of my life.
2. My fries
If I am getting fries with my meal and my man says he’s not ordering them and he’s just going to have a few of mine, I always order some for him even if he tries to tell the waiter or waitress that he doesn’t want any. The truth is, he does want fries, and a “few” fries to him means eating over half my portion. I am not okay with this.
Fries are my go-to comfort food and I don’t want to share them. I want to stuff myself with them until I am bloated and swollen, and I can’t fill that void if I’m trying to share my damn fries with another person. Even if the portion size is called Big Enough To Share, I don’t trust it because whoever wrote that menu doesn’t know me.
Same goes for cake, ice cream, and pie. Get your own. I will fucking buy it for you and offer sexual favors if you don’t take any bites out of mine.
3. My pillow
I need space when I sleep at night. I’m all for a quick cuddle, but then I must retire to my own pillow with my own breathing and head space and no one is allowed to creep into my sleep bubble. Don’t put your head on my pillow unless you want me to freak out because I don’t have enough air, got it?
4. My bank account
After having a joint account with my ex-husband, then having my own, I will always choose my own. I’m all for opening an (extra) joint account where we only put money in there to pay bills, or a joint saving account for emergencies or saving for something special, but I want my own bank account, always.
When you combine them, it’s too easy to track what the other person spends and make judgements. We all have different priorities and spend money on what we think is important (I am guilty of this too). I do not want anyone telling my my Botox is too expensive, I don’t need to stop for three Diet Cokes a day, or that I don’t need to tip so much because yes I do.
I’m not talking about sharing money, treating each other to special things, or picking up the slack when something happens that impacts your income. I’m talking about having one bank account that I share with my partner, and nothing else. That’s never going to happen again.
Other than these four things, I’m open to sharing my tooth brush, socks, underwear, loofah, razor, and pretty much anything else.
I don’t get grossed out about using the same spoon or drinking out of each other’s straws (as long as I get my share, of course). I’ll even discusses poop experiences — but I don’t want my partner witnessing them, nor do I want to be in their presence while they are dropping a load. For me, it keeps some of the magic alive and keeps me feeling like I’m my own person. Like, If I’m brushing my teeth and he’s sitting next to me in a constipated (or a blowout) state, that’s too much sharing.
I’d say I’m a pretty damn good sharer. Just don’t touch my fries unless you want to get stabbed.
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