By Adriana Velez
I moved in with my boyfriend this past summer. Before you imagine some cute recent college grad in her first adult relationship, no. I'm a divorced mom who had lived in the same Brooklyn apartment for nearly 20 years. And you can imagine what that means: I had some baggage. Literally!
I'm talking tons of stuff I had accumulated over the years, somehow crammed into my tiny space. And since my beau and I were merging assets into one apartment with minimal storage, that meant I'd have to let go of a lot of my possessions if I had any hope of making this cohabitation situation work.
All told, by the time I moved, I got rid of 50 garbage bags' worth of stuff (some of it given away, much of it trashed). And then, once…