I clutched my phone, curled up underneath my bed with a pillow and my formidable pocket knife collection. I wasn’t about to get up to look in the mirror but probably looked like hell in flannel pj’s, smudged makeup, and puffy red eyes from crying.

This was last year. It was my first night alone in my families house. The house I grew up in. My dog’s tail, bumping against the wall downstairs, had made me so scared of an intruder that I had retreated beneath my bed and spent 30+ minutes crying to my then-boyfriends mother that I was scared, my parents were horrible for leaving me, and I was going to die.

I am told that many teenagers relish the moment when their parents will decide that they are mature and responsible enough to be left alone for the night. In my house that night didn’t come until I hit 19. There was never an opportunity for me to be left at home alone before then. Growing up there was always a manny (man-nanny, sorry Andre), house keeper, random family friend, or family member living in the extra bedroom. I loved it because even if everyone else was gone there was someone to have dinner with and, of course, blame for the chores not getting done.

This is not an excuse for me being a wimp though. I know it is pathetic. However, this is a story of triumph! Last night was my first night in my new apartment. My roommate hasn’t moved in yet so it was just me. I would be alone! Cue freakout. Our furniture currently consists of my bed and boxes/bags on the floor holding our knick-knacks. My bed, soon to be magnificent, is currently limited to the ubiquitous anti-bedbug cover (hello NYC!), one pillow, and one sheet. It’s luxurious. The best part of the apartment are the flowers a friend brought over so I try to look at them rather than the mess strewn across the floor.

In gearing up for my sleepover-for-one I downloaded the most recent Twilight flick. A big thank you to the UN for having free wifi which I exploited during a meeting as I have no wifi yet. I took my 8″ chefs knife and put it on the top left corner of the mattress where I could grab it in a hurry while minimizing the chance of stabbing myself accidentally in my sleep, checked that every door and window lock was engaged, and tucked in for the night…at 9:30pm.

I can’t say that I slept well. I woke up at 3am, and then at 5, and then at 6:30, and then at the blissfully late 7:45. But I never ended up under the bed or in a closet crying and searching my phone contacts for people who would take pity on me. Epic Win!

Small victories people, small victories.