Sometimes being home feels like being trapped. When I was a kid being home was unpredictable. Sometime it was wonderful, sometimes it was suffocating. I spent many years feeling like home was suffocating. The hurt was so big and the home so small that I could feel the entire house desiring to collapse on me. I stayed over-busy venturing home only when necessary. My home has always been far too small to hold the massiveness of my hurt.
Sometimes it still feels that way, but not usually. My home is messy but welcoming. Home means squeals of joy and my kids racing to see who can hug me first (bonus point, I think, are awarded if they can knock me over in my high heels!). Home is safe now.
When my hurt is too big for my house to hold, home is the mountains where there are no ceilings or walls trying to contain me. Home is a welcoming, safe and peaceful house of a friend.
If home is where your heart is, then I am truly home now. Anywhere my husband and kids are is home. Home is anywhere there is peace and serenity.
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