A Writing Room of My Own: Diane Woodrow

When I was feeling lost, scared, depressed or any of those other things that make it impossible to sleep I would dream of having a room of my own; a room I could just be me in.

Not somewhere with another function but just where I could sit and look. I have had many rooms of my own but they were bed-sitting rooms or even just bedrooms of my own; always rooms with other functions. When I would dream of this room it would always come with a view of something beautiful, of something that would hold my eye and take me away even from this perfect place of perfect room.

I gave my room away one day.

I shared my safe place with a friend who was suicidal. For me that dream of the room of my own gave me hope and solace. I wanted to help him find that hope and solace too. He killed himself when he was in the his house on his own. For four years I struggled to regain my dream as I struggled with my grief but the Lord is good and now my dream no longer a dream but has become a reality.

We sold our house and moved over two hundred and fifty miles away and now I have my room of my own which has no purpose other than to let me be. Yes I do things in it, write, read, keep in touch with friends, build a website to set up my new venture, and it holds my stuff; those things that are inherently mine – pictures, quotes, books, that I do not want to share with those who pass through the rest of my home.

But mainly this room is for me to watch the seasons.

I am blessed by having a large sycamore tree on the verge opposite and then a view to hills beyond. I can sit and look, watch the seasons going past. Today my view of the Victorian mock castle is obscured by the sycamore in full leaf but in not too many months the tree will be bare, my view will change, but the constant will be that this room is mine and mine alone.