There are lots of happy statuses on Facebook and Twitter about buzzing Saturday nights. Parties, family celebrations and the like.

My Saturday night was quiet.

My husband’s in London at his sister’s 40th but I couldn’t really afford it. The kids and I got into our PJs early, snuggled on the sofa and then opted for an early night. As is my usual way at the moment, I’ve woken up and can’t sleep.

I remember times when, even in the midst of a marriage, I spent days, weeks and months alone. In my twenties, I’d often come in from work on a Friday night and not speak to a soul until Monday morning when I went back in. When I think about it, I was so, SO lost and incredibly unhappy. And very, VERY lonely.

Right now, you could hear a pin drop, it’s so quiet.

But I’m enjoying this little pocket of peace. Tomorrow will be another crazy family-filled day, and George is home tomorrow night.

It’s lovely to recognise that I don’t feel that desolate loneliness that I used to feel so regularly.

I’m just alone for a bit, and that’s ok.

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