Living apart together... Living together apart.... There are all kinds of ways to make relationships work, whether they're relationships that involve love and affection or relationships built to sustain two people at lower costs than separate houses.

Here's a popular strategy that some couples use in Quebec: The kids get the house. The parents move out.

Of course, not at the same time, because that would leave small Wilbur and precious Joanie to tear up the family home in no time flat.

But what some couples who separate try in order to achieve the least amount of emotional trauma for children is a shared custody arrangement in which the parents are the ones to shift between houses, not the kids.

Here's how it works:

The parents shop for an apartment or second home that they feel they can afford. It has to be a location that both like and feel comfortable living in. They furnish the place and make it viable to live in. Each choose a room to be theirs and set up their personal effects.

Then, one week of two, one of the parents moves out of the main family home into this secondary location. The other parent stays in the family home with the kids. When the week is up, the parent that had moved out moves back into the family home, and the other parent gets a week-long break in the secondary home.

The exchange of household only requires that the parents pack a small bag of personal items. They already have a room set up in either home with clothes in both locations.

The benefits? The kids never have to leave the home they grew to love. They get to stay in one place without suffering an upheaval or leaving behind a house they feel good living in. The kids stay in one familiar location. There's no fear of the unknown, no leaving behind anything and no worries about the future.

"Rake over there!" My ex pointed to a patch about 100 feet from where I'd decided to amuse myself with old leaves. I bristled almost immediately.

"I'll rake where I please," I answered, lifting my chin a little.

It's a backlash effect, a reaction to the way things used to be. There was no reason for me to be upset. My daughter and I had come to the country to have a nice day in the sun with Dad, and we were all in a good mood. My ex hadn't meant for it to sound like an order; he was just telling me which area needed raking the most.

But I can't stand being told what to do. The last eight years of our relationship were full of control and possession, and I'm afraid I wasn't the one running the show.

My ex was extremely controlling. He told me who I could see and when. He would time my outings down to the last minute and explode if I was home late — even when it was just a grocery run or I'd been held up by a slow tractor on the road.

I don't blame him. He operated out of fear of losing control. He knew things were rocky. He loved me, I loved him, but we were so mentally separated from each other that he felt he had no other way to hang onto me.

So he'd rule with an iron fist (thank god not literally) and I would comply to his every wish in the hopes of accomplishing peace and affection. I dropped all my friends. I did what he wanted. I went where he told me. After a while, it became too much trouble to even go out.

For a long time, I lived in fear. He scared me. I felt worn down and beaten. I was tired. I was afraid to leave and needed to leave like the desert needs rain. I thought if I told him I wanted out that he would hurt me.

But I did it and he didn't do it.

Now, we live apart and love together. We're a couple under two roofs. We have our bad times still, but we have good times more often — enough to make it worth it.

All right, I admit it. I'd like to be a drunk. 

I don't honestly mean that, of course, because when you're a lush, you don't have any life at all. You're bankrupt, you're boozing, and you're probably in bad need of a shower.

But boy, I would so like to ditch the responsibilities right now and just feel sorry for myself.

My neighbor called me not long ago. "I think you're having a depression," she ventured carefully. Actually, scratch that. She wasn't careful about it at all.

But no. No depression for me. I wish. I've had six of those depressions and I know exactly what it feels like when they start to creep into your life. It's like you're in a shoebox and the lid is closing slowly down on you.

No, what I'm feeling these days is just rat-tired and sorry for myself. I'm tired of my ex who breezes in once a week to provide daycare to his daughter. I'm tired of my other ex who just breezes in whenever he wants. I'm tired of my kids.

It's been three years and five months since my last (very last) daughter was born. I spent a year and a half nurturing her while clinically depressed and I spent two years getting my feet back under me after leaving my husband.

Now I want to have "me" time. And by this point, I don't think a day will be enough. I want a week. Three weeks. A month.

I just want to ditch all consequences for a while, so I can appreciate what I have in my life once I'm ready to be a single parent again.

Whining? Oh yeah. I'm whining. I'm a woman. Aren't I allowed?

Lately, I'd lost my feeling of being settled and getting into the groove. I felt disjointed, tired, and fed up over my situation.

My mortgage application is still pending approval, and I'm tired and stressed over it. So close, and so far... yet I received some unexpected encouragement.

"You really should congratulate yourself no matter what happens," the bank manager said. I was confused. Congratulate myself on barely qualifying for a mortgage?

"You've come a long way in two years," she went on. "You left your husband. You had to grieve. You were alone with two kids, and you found a place. You built a successful business by yourself."

"Look at you," the woman stressed. "You're back on your feet and doing fine. If it's not this house, it'll be another. You're almost there, and you're on the path back to a healthy life. So congratulate yourself."

She's right.

I was lingering on what could have been instead of focusing on what's to come. So I want to tell other women reading this - the ones who are still in what could have been and who aren't yet ready for what's to come — that there's hope.

It may be hard and it may be long, but it can be done. I've had my ups and downs and my heart-wrenching moments missing being a family, but honestly? I wouldn't trade what I have now for the world.

I made a decision to find something better. It sounds hokey, but there is better out there. Maybe not with someone else or a new partner, but there is a really good life if you can get up the courage to say, "Enough. This far and no further."

So take a deep breath. Start thinking about what's to come. You'll be okay.

I admit it. Some days, my life is a complete mess — and I mean literally.

My house is littered with toys. My home-cooked meals are usually warmed-up leftovers. My laundry baskets overflow. The cats are shedding like mad, and the floors need vacuuming. I'd mention the windows, but they're more like sun filters right now, what with all the residue the outside elements have left on them.

I need a babysitter, a break, and a drink.

Needs aside, my biggest priority has been keeping up appearances that I'm a Good Mother. I've had a few comments from people lately, jokes about how it's hard to walk across the floor or comments about it being 8 pm and how could I possibly just be sitting down to supper?

For all you people that believe single moms have to be Superwoman, read this: I don't care what you think any more.

Here I am, working like a devil to make ends meet so I can pay the bills and have some leftover. I'm coping with dealing with a teen and a toddler at the same time. I'm desperately trying to hang onto a relationship I actually left, and I'm working very hard not to regret having done so.

Regrets? Oh sure, I have them. I have them when I could use that extra support or someone to say, "Hey, I'll take over." I have regrets when I look at my microwave meals and think about how I used to make such beautiful suppers when we were a family. I have regrets that we used to be a double-income household, not a struggling single one.

Relationships shouldn't be about sharing the workload. They should be about sharing affection and time together.

But boy oh boy, I sure wish I had a man around the house some days.

I'm going to buy a house. Not any house, either. I want to buy the duplex I live in.

After extensive talks with my mother about selling the family home, I realized that much of my emotional instability comes from the fact that my current situation is, indeed, unstable.

I rent. I could be thrown out at any time. The monthly payments could shoot up beyond my means. The landlord could sell to someone else who could throw me out or jack up my rent. Where would I go? Back to Mum's? Back to my ex's?

Enough.

I'm going to put my own two feet on the ground and get myself a damned good Plan B. I've called my landlord and asked if they're interested in selling. They are. And the price is right, too.

I've called the bank and listened to them hem and haw about me not being very solvable because I'm self-employed. I have good income, fantastic credit, a nice history... With my heart in my hands, I waited for them to say no.

They said they'd make an exception and lend me the money.

I'm excited and terrified, but I'm thinking logically. The apartment upstairs brings in half the mortgage. My rent would actually go down and we'd be better off financially. We could even move to a better place, rent both apartments out and the place would pay for itself.

We could stay for years. We could renovate a little, put up some more insulation to cut down on heating or finish the basement into a nice room. We could rent the place upstairs out to my Mum. She's been saying she wants an apartment in town.

And if it doesn't work out? I'll stick up a "For Sale" sign and hand the keys back over. No harm, no foul.

I won't get rich. I won't get poorer, either. But most important, I sure as hell won't ever have to depend on someone else's good nature to put me up while I get my feet back on the ground.

A while back, I blogged about how I felt like I had no firm footing in life. I don't own a place to live. I've always depended on others to keep me warm and sheltered. My true Home (with a capital H) belongs to my mother.

She wants to sell.

We've talked. We've pleaded with each other, both approaching the issue from different views. I feel like she's selling my memories. She feels like I'm trapping her from creating new ones.

It's been more than difficult, emotionally, for me to let go of Home. I knew the day was coming and it's here - and I can't turn it around. So, in true Julie style, I embraced the change.

Mum and I have talked at great length about her desires and needs. Where would she like to live? What kind of support and supervision do I need to provide in her senior years? What sort of income does she require? Where would she like to live? What sort of house would she enjoy?

The importance of these questions goes deeper. We've both realized that the situation doesn't just involve my mother. It involves my life and the life of my children, too.

Mum's not getting any younger, and she'll need increasing help, care and supervision. Too spry for the old folk's home, too old for solitary living, and stubborn enough to make us wonder more than once how we'll figure this all out.

I realized that the situation is strange — there's no man involved. She has no husband and I don't have one either. I don't even have boys as children. We'd be four women coming together to tackle this new phase of life.

Separate? Together? We don't know yet. We don't even know if four women under one roof could get along past the first week or whether living apart longer will only add to the difficulties.

But what I feel pretty good about is that we're four women taking decisions for ourselves. We're making calls, gathering info and exploring the options. Men? Who needs them!

I have the opportunity to buy a house — the house I currently rent, in fact. I've been moping about feeling like I have nothing to show for my life yet (except two beautiful girls), and I've been feeling like I'm still not settled enough. I really have nothing to show for over 20 years of work.

So I did some calculating, checked out the online bank information, and figured out that I could — barely — afford to buy my own home. I looked around at the listings and real estate values. I went through the pros and cons. I took a chance and asked my landlord if he'd be interested in selling.

He is — at a fantastic price, too.

I let myself get excited for all of five minutes, and then I called the bank.

"Can you give me the company name of your employer," the woman asked while filling out my application.

"I'm self-employed, actually," I smiled. "I own my own business."

"Oh." The flat tone of that one word said it all. My heart sank. "You don't have any assets, either. We'll need three years of tax returns in that case."

I don't have three years of tax returns. I haven't been in business for three years. And before the business, I only worked a few months. Before that, I was on maternity leave for a year.

It didn't matter that I was self-sufficient now and well able to support three people. It didn't matter that I have an excellent credit rating. It didn't matter that my projected income reports for the next three years looked great. Nothing mattered.

And in the blink of an eye, I felt like I didn't matter. I was just chasing another crazy dream.

But I'm tough and I'm resilient. I grabbed onto my determination. "Well, there's a 50/50 chance, right? I'll take that chance. Let's try anyways."

We did, and I'm waiting for an answer on a mortgage approval — with my heart in my hands.

Recently, someone left a very vicious comment regarding a post I made about feeling pain that my mother wanted to sell the family home and how it had stirred up the realization that I depended very much on other people for survival.

Well, the comment deserves an answer, if only so that I can defend myself.

We at FWW are asked to write on our personal experiences, thoughts and feelings in our journey of separation and divorce. That means that what we write here is, in that definition, stories that are all about us.

The commentator felt very upset that I made no mention of how grateful I am for what others have done or how I should be thankful for kindnesses shown to me through my life.

I make no mention of these things because they are truly deeper feelings than I care to share here with the world in public. Sex? Sure. Divorce? No problem. Kids? Why not? Pain, hurt and tears? Alright. But for me to discuss my feelings of family and my family itself is beyond the mandate of this position and beyond what I wish to share with the world.

Some direct quotes I'd like to address:

"You have no sense of family unity...nowhere in your story do you mention other siblings, which in turn means you're very selfish."

I have four siblings who have all moved either across the country or to another continent. I am the sole child who has chosen to remain within 20 minutes of my mother. If I moved farther, my mother would be alone and see none of her grandchildren at all. Quite the lonely life indeed, so I do what I can to prevent it.

"You have been married twice, divorced twice..."

Sweetheart, it's a blog about divorce. Had I been married once and successful, I wouldn't be here writing. Or putting up with your slander and judgement.

"You have serious mental issues."

I realized last night that I have nothing of my own.

We went for supper at my mother's house, a huge, beautiful home with 36 acres of land. She lives alone there, out in the country, and she's ... well, she's getting old. It's time for her to sell.

But I don't want her to sell the house, because it's the only home I have. I was born and raised there. My childhood memories reside there. Me? I've just been living under other people's roofs for more than 20 years.

I don't own my own home. I owned half a house, once, in my first relationship, but we sold the house when we separated. In my second relationship, my partner owned everything and I was lucky (his words) to be supported by him.

Now I rent a house. I couldn't get a mortgage if I wanted to — my income isn't considered my own, since most of it comes from child support, and the banks don't take that money into account.
Realistically, mum's house is falling apart. It's old and she hasn't had the money to maintain it. She can't afford the upkeep and she's not doing well.

Emotionally, mum's house means everything to me, and I'm racking my brain to come up with a solution to save what I've always considered my safe place to go back to.

I'm upset. If my mother sells her home, then I have no home at all. I've lived this long in my life, and I don't have a house I can call my own. I'm just living in someone else's space — again. Even my car belongs to someone else — I'm still making payments on it.

And today, I'm feeling like a little kid who has to depend on other people to support me and who can lose everything in a heartbeat.