Eat, drink, (garden, knit, quilt, think, fix, read) & be merry

Home Sweet Home

on May 20, 2011

Old memories have been drifting into my conscious orbit lately.  At other points in my life they may have felt intrusive, but now I welcome them.  I mourn them.  And then I lay them down.  It feels like taming ghosts.  It feels good.

Today was an exhausting day with lots of internal struggles, loads of farm stuff, and work on a research project.  It was dark and misty when I finally pulled into the driveway.  The headlights diffusely lit up the back of our Su*baru, the garden, the flats of plants on the deck.  P was inside making tacos.  And I started to cry as I realized  I’m home.  I’m finally home.

And then a memory came back.  It’s night, I’m in bed, and it’s so dark I’m not sure which house I’m in or how old I am.  But I’m crying, struggling to breathe, feeling crushed and desperately lonely.  “I just want to go home.”  Those words run through my mind over and over.  Curiously, I am at home, but it doesn’t feel like a home.  I want a place that feels like home should feel.  I want a place where I am loved, cared for, safe.  I don’t have it, and I doubt I ever will.

But tonight I came home to my real home.  I’m loved, cared for, safe.  I have someone to love.  I have a cat to cuddle with.  Lights on in the house aren’t a source of dread, they’re a source of comfort.  Words spoken here are not critical.  Safe hugs are freely given and received.  No one is trying to hurt me.  I don’t know what that, in particular, is so hard to accept.  No one is trying to hurt me.  It’s challenging to let down a guard that’s been up for nearly three decades, but it’s time.  It’s okay.  I’m home.


One response to “Home Sweet Home

  1. My husband and I were finally able to buy our 1st home in 1998. When we were looking I asked God to help us find a home that I would feel safe in, a place that I could call home and nobody could make me leave. I wanted roots which I have never felt like I had. I wanted a place of safety that I could love and grow in. Our children were grown ups by then so it wasn’t the house they grew up in even though both of them have spent time living with us here for a month or two when they were in transition periods in their lives. I wanted a safe place that I could hide in when I needed to do more work on my incest issues. This house has been that home for over 12 years now.

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