Refine Your Search

The Joy of Sleeping Separately


1 Minute Read

Sleeping as I get older is a huge thing!!! If I don’t sleep, then I am likely to be grumpy, reactive and extra-feisty. All day. I’m sure you agree.

Sometimes, I don’t sleep when I’m on my own – lots of restless rolling around, hotness despite well post-menopausal – so add into the mix a partner – that really puts the I into Insomnia.

I had been on my own for a decade before I met Asanga. I really thought I could never share a bed again. I loved having a double bed to myself. I liked waking up in the morning than reading or writing poems or both.

But hey, it was amazing to meet a loving, crazy, flamboyant, log-splitting, rock-climbing man when I was 60 and he was 70 in 2013 and then there were the beds and the bed-sharing. We tried. I spent many nights at my place in London and his in Wales rigidly awake. He spent nights listening to me snoring – when I first met him, he was mad enough to say he loved listening to my gentle roar. He’s changed his tune now. He gets up several times a night to go to the loo but that inevitably disturbed me. Sorry, I was never as benign as he was. I never loved the sound of him getting up!!

This painful co-sleeping – the norm for a couple – and we were trying hard to be a ‘normal’ couple in this way, went on for years. Years of misery. I’d often run off to another bed in the middle of the night. Or he would. And then we’d both be super-antagonistic in the morning. I think it’s because we were having a LAT relationship – Living Apart Together with 250 miles between us – that it felt all the more important to share a bed when we were together. It felt shameful somehow to admit this difficulty.

Advantages of Age | The Advantages of Age
Rose Rouse with her partner Asanga for Family.
Photo by Linda Nylind

Actually, on holiday, it seems to work fine. Rajasthan – there were brilliant big beds even in budget hotels. Goa, Bali, Costa Rica – the beds all worked out. I think perhaps I’m a little more relaxed on holiday so that I can actually drop into easy slumber. Last year, just pre-lockdown, we were in Fez for my birthday – I booked an 18th century townhouse in the medina and it had been exquisitely done up. The artisan details all restored, filled with fascinating objets from all over the world and a huge, huge bed. We lapped it all up and slept too. Hallelujah!

However, over the years in our ongoing LAT existence, something more peaceful happened on our stays with each other. I think it probably happened in London first. My main double bed is smaller than his! We settled into a routine, one of us would sleep on the sofa bed in the living room and the other in my bedroom. We’d visit each other in the evening, light a candle, cuddle, talk and then one of us would slip away for a hopefully brilliant night’s sleep. In the morning, there would be another gentle or sexy invitation. There was no routine – just a series of new encounters. It works for us.

In Wales, it was less settled. Asanga has got a bigger bed – the key to non-disturbance for me, plus earplugs for him – and so it makes it more possible to sleep together. But there is always the alternative of the guest bedroom and that can be a godsend.

And we do both like to wake up together and snuggle. Well, that’s before the fire – with logs split by Asanga and often carried in via wheelbarrow by me in my wellies – is lit and the animals fed. In the cold months, at least.

Credit: Elainea Emmott

This winter lockdown has seen me in Wales for a longer stint of country living. I have learnt a lot about types of wood for burning, bill hooks, wheelbarrows and headlights! And we have established a routine. I am in the guest bedroom – it has become my writing/editing/work/Zoom room too – during the week and I migrate into Asanga’s bed at the weekend. Of course, there is the occasional evening visit during the week too. We like to keep some of the spontaneity going!

And I have to tell you mice arrived in the spare room, which saw me leaping into bed with Asanga again.

But it’s a huge relief to out ourselves. There is no more shame about separate sleeping. It means we can be more present, more loving and less likely to be irritable when we are together. And that is beautiful.

When the Wild Adventures Stop and a Real Loving Relationship Begins Later in Life


5 Minute Read

Sometimes he sneaks up behind me when I’m in the kitchen and puts an arm in the small of my back. I take a breath or jump, kitchen knife in hand. Of course, it’s Andrew, however, somehow it hasn’t registered that he’s the person saying hello. So far nobody has been injured, however, there have been lectures on kitchen safety. Yes, I do know we live together and I’m not expecting anyone else but maybe I’m not expecting him either. We’ve lived together for around three years now and I love it. So, why the hell do I react like this almost every time?

I can only surmise that it’s the legacy of living alone for around 16 years. Ok, maybe 17 but however long it’s been, it’s patently obvious it’s had a profound effect on me.

First, you should know, I love living with him. Unequivocally. I was never a serial monogamist and he’s really only the second person I’ve loved. In between the two, there has been a wild series of adventures which, as well as being diversions with all the fun and frustration those bring, only served to make me more aware not just of what I wanted in a man but what I needed as well.

Our meeting was the most serendipitous and I’ve never enjoyed being around someone so much. For one thing, it’s helped to address my cuddle/hug deficit which was in the negatives before he came along. I mean – we are talking serious minus numbers here. I think that subconsciously while I was having those mad affairs in my 40s, I knew I needed hugs but unlike my 20s when I had sex hoping I’d get a cuddle as well, I never expected them. Unless they were the pre or post-sex kind.

Besides living alone, I’d been brought up to be utterly independent. There wasn’t much choice when you were part of a migrant generation in a new country with both parents working and trying to figure out how life worked. At nine, I was taking the tram to Melbourne’s CBD with my sister and buying clothes. At 14, I was doing it by myself and by 15, I could sit in a café with a cappuccino as if it were the most normal thing. I loved travelling alone around Europe in my 20s and while I would have liked some help in making big life decisions, the way things were – I just made them.

Meeting Andrew was huge for me, but then on another level, it was absolutely the right time. The other day, musing about it I said, ‘I was ready to meet you.’ He agreed. And yet when I make a cup of tea, I still don’t ask him if he wants one. Same goes when I raid the chocolate stash on level two of the upper kitchen cupboards. (He could if he wanted to put it on level three out of my reach but he doesn’t.)

He asks me what I’m going to do on a Saturday and I’ll say I’m off to trawl my favourite charity shops. Now I know he likes doing this. I consciously know this however instead of saying: ‘Why don’t we….’ I, well, I still say: ‘I’.

I’ve improved a little bit over time. He does get a hot beverage sometimes, even when he doesn’t want one. And he doesn’t miss out on the important things. If I cook dinner, I do it very much with him in mind. His guitar mates marvel at the compliments I give him just because I say what’s on my mind. They tell me they’d have to work very hard to get anything like that.

When we’re at home, we’re two introverts in a toybox, a world of our own. Sometimes he’ll go off and play guitar but not before checking in and letting me know he’s off to make noise and may not return for some time. I’ve told him he doesn’t need to ask me because that’s just plain wrong. I don’t own him. My mother always told me that. When he tells me, I appreciate him even more, however, I don’t think I’d appreciate him less if he didn’t. I just take it as two adults who understand each other doing what they do. I must be infuriating sometimes.

I’m utterly delighted when he walks in the door even though I might be in the writing zone. I just don’t want to talk right then. I love it when he picks me up from the train. For me, these are moments of excitement. Perhaps, just perhaps, the little girl in me is happy he’s returned and can’t believe it. Because I actually never expected to meet a man I love being with later in life, and I know many readers probably felt or feel the same way. Occasionally, I’d accept the idea that I’d be alone, but the enormity of that didn’t ever register.

And if you’re not going ‘aw shucks’ by now, I will tell you what changed us from being friends into lovers. It was a moment when we were all with our late friend Bob and Andrew was leaving the weekend party early. For some reason, he stopped and said, ‘Behind those passionate eyes is a lost little girl.’ He hugged me then left. Luckily, that was the beginning of a whole new conversation the next day.

Surprise Me

Hear more from us

Subscribe to our newsletter