Reading Bachelard makes me hyper-aware of space

For the past year, I've spent my days and weeks divided between my partner's home and my own. One day here, two days there, four here, and three there, and so on and so forth. This constant uprooting is... unsteadying. Without my own space, or at least one consistent set of walls in which to surround myself, I feel more vulnerable to the world, much like I did in my adolescence: the world can affect me; I am more highly suggestible, sensitive, and strung.