I've always loved having my own space. Now, I'm a 41-year-old lawyer with a roommate

This First Person column is the experience of Robyn Schleihauf, who lives in Dartmouth, N.S. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

My fridge reeked with the fetid rot of food gone off. After bringing the head of cauliflower to my nose, I felt confident that the smell was not from my groceries. I looked with resentment at my roommate's neglected meal kits, annoyed that he orders five of the overpackaged ingredient sacks every week when he is only home to cook two or three of them, with the rest left to take up fridge space and slowly spoil. 

To be fair, it wasn't his fault. He works a full-time job, does gig work walking dogs and feeding cats and just got another part-time job at the liquor store. He's not malicious or even really neglectful; he's just overworked and tired from trying to pay the bills and ends up ordering takeout.

Cleaning out my roommate's rotten food isn't how I pictured my life as a 41-year-old lawyer. 

The last time I had a roommate, I was 25. We shared a flat in a high-ceilinged historic house in Halifax. I was a waitress and she was in art school and our paths rarely crossed. Still, I craved space that was just mine. So I downgraded to have my own apartment in a ramshackle house on a busy street between the garage for the city's ambulances and the hospital. I loved that place. 

The truth is, I have always craved that space. As a kid who shared a room with two sisters, I tried to draw an imaginary line on the floor to separate my third of the room from theirs. 

In 2021, I purchased my first home. At the time, people commented nonstop about how much the market had gone up since COVID-19. "I know," I'd say. "If only I'd had a crystal ball." 

The truth is, I felt like I had to buy a house as soon as I could because I knew if my landlord sold the house my apartment was in, I would be left to navigate the now wildly inflated rental market. 

Without the help of a family member, I'm not sure I ever could have bought a home in this economy even though I was making a good living. I was grateful to find something in my budget and lucky. When I moved into my little bungalow, I spent sunny afternoons gleefully stacking wood for the woodstove on breaks between my billable hours. 

It's jarring to break my 16-year streak of blissful solo living, but sometimes life takes you in unexpected directions. 

When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, I drove back and forth between Nova Scotia and Ontario. Between sleepless nights propped up on the plastic chairs in the ER and trying to run my legal practice from my parents' dining room table, I finally had to concede that I couldn't keep up with the demands of my clients and also watch my dad struggle to breathe. I took my colleagues up on their offers to take on my files and pared my legal practice down. 

About a month after my dad died, my mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer and my cross-country pilgrimages continued. Resuscitating my legal practice remained on the back burner.  

I debated whether I should sell my house and rent again, but I had backed myself into a corner: the cost of renting a one-bedroom apartment in Halifax was now on par with my mortgage payments. I decided to get a roommate to live in my guest bedroom in an attempt to rebuild some sense of financial security. 

Nearly two years later, my parents are both gone. But even now, as my legal practice ramps up again, I am preoccupied with dread that the skyrocketing cost of living may never go down.