Shared Love, Separate Homes

Moving in together is often a sign of a serious relationship, but as part of the LAT (Living Apart Together) movement, my partner and I rely on shared admiration and commitment- and different addresses.

- LEAH ROCKWELL

Many Mondays I wake up at 5:45 a.m. and drive, half asleep, to a local pool for my morning laps, my every other-day routine for more than 20 years. I swim in complete silence, the water blissfully making conversation impossible. I breathe deeply, sinking into my body's rhythm, slowly awakening over those 30 minutes. Then I melt into a warm shower and drink a cup of coffee in solitude. Before daybreak, I relish the peace of not answering any questions or coordinating who's responsible for packing lunches or doing the day's grocery run, surrendering to this self-reflection practice before transitioning into my workday. I'm able to do this despite having two daughters, ages 15 and 12, and a committed partner with three teenage boys of his own. How? My partner and I don't share a home, having unwittingly joined the Living Apart Together (LAT) movement, and I can have these mornings when my kids are with their other parent.

Ben and I began dating several years ago, both mired in the midlife chaos of divorce and co-parenting, grieving the death of lives envisioned that had never quite materialized. We were messy and untidy, raw and fragile, brittle and hollow. But in each other we saw hope for order and fulfillment, if only we were willing to think differently about how to conduct our relationship.

Those who knew about us early on told us how adorable our "Brady Bunch" setup seemed; taken at face value, this party of seven might seem like a cute idea. Though there was validation in others' belief that our crew had the makings of a '70s sitcom, the image of a blended family was, to me, muddy and unappealing.