Home

It’s probably obvious if you know me or have been following up with me for a bit that I am in a phase of transition and have been for a few years. There are growing pains for sure, but I am a caterpillar who is trying to claw and wiggle my way out of a very thick, dark, heavy cocoon. One that I’ve been shrouded in for my entire life. It’s heavy and filled with sadness and pain, it’s a place that is comfortable because it is what I’ve known my entire life – it feels safe – but it is actually none of those things. It isn’t comfortable, it hurts. It is far from safe, it’s dragging me down and threatening to drown me with it.

Whew, that was a fun paragraph.

I was driving back to my mother’s house from my sister’s house last night, and I was caught in a moment of stillness. Part memory, part mindfulness. The moon was shining down on me in between rain clouds, traffic just kept on rolling in the darkness. I remembered my favorite times as a child – in the backseat of the car, listening to music, staring out the window and letting my imagination run wild. It was a peaceful sadness washing over me.

I haven’t felt like I’ve had a home for a few years. Maybe not ever. Home for me is never really a place. It isn’t an address. It’s where love is. That can mean anything to anyone. But this place I am in now is not my home – it never has been. When we moved in my mother even said we were disrupting her life. I have not forgotten it, or that feeling that came with it. My mother is a facade. On the outside, she looks like a mother, a grandma, and her house is filled with charming knick-knacks, the fridge is filled with food and the garden is thriving. But it’s all pretend. This is not a home, it’s a house filled with poison. Every step I take is carefully trying to avoid landmines of trauma that threaten to trigger a response and send me further down into the void that threatens to swallow me up.

I sound so melodramatic. Jeez.

I write all this to say that my mind has shifted in an unexpected way.

It has been a long week at my sister’s house. Not to say that there’s been anything daunting, but I came to her house depressed. My anxiety has caused me to overthink and make me awkward and I’m so grateful for the kindness and patience of others who are obviously filled with more positivity than I expect out of anyone…. It’s been a long week of uncertainty, of trying to put some puzzle pieces of my self together, of more uncertainty, and of definitely feeling like an outsider who belongs nowhere.

*sigh* I am so tired of me.

But last night while I was driving back to my mother’s house in the moonlight, letting sadness wash over me, I realized something. It felt like I was leaving home.