I met my boyfriend Tom in February. We had one of those slow burn beginnings - I was busy with work, he’s a nurse and had a lot of evening shifts. We never seemed to match up our schedules and as such, we wound up seeing each other once every couple of weeks.
It wasn’t until mid-April when we finally got it together and became official. What followed were those heady days of early dating - you know, just hanging out 24/7 and doing so much PDA you make your entire suburb nauseous.
I met a few of Tom’s friends, and he met a few of mine, but it was all very top-level stuff.
We thought we had ages to get to know each other’s worlds.
Then, NSW went into lockdown.
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Tom ended up moving into the house I shared with my sister, and she moved in with her boyfriend of a year. It was chaotic, but we were in love and probably being a little stupid.
Shockingly, it worked out.
Our relationship didn’t crumble with all the new "who left the kitchen light on all night" and "could you not leave your day-old bolognese festering on the coffee table" dramas living together brings. We grew together, worked through the teething issues and after a few months, we rented our own place.
Like all couples who live together, we were joined at the hip during lockdown.
At first, this was overwhelming - the combination of mild depression due to that restrictive period, and this 24/7 forced togetherness did bring its hardships. It’s such a different experience to spend all your time together because you have to, versus doing it because you want to.
But after a few weeks, we settled into that comfortable rut of food shopping, puzzles, long walks, and getting way too obsessed with Game of Thrones for the second time around.