I don't think I have a home. I don't think there is one single edifice or structure that is the magnet that draws me back. My home exists wherever and however I feel whole. In the moments when I feel at peace with myself. When I catch a glimpse of me in a situation, in a group of people, or when I am alone, and I don't experience denial, dissatisfaction, or a deep desire to be different, better, stronger, more attractive, smarter. That moment when I feel content is when I know that I am at home.
I find those moments are rare, precious, and so incredibly beautiful. Seeing the warmth of a smile extend into someone's eyes upon my arrival. Hearing pure, uncensored laughter. Taking a risk by revealing my rawest parts of me. Connecting with someone whom I care about, and feeling my heart ache as it fills with love and a bottomless supply of happiness at being with them. Feeling accepted and genuinely liked. Smiling. Giving hugs that are extensions of me, and having them enjoyed and received. Pausing to look around and experience whatever is happening in the moment. Sunshine. Drifting off to sleep at night, and in the moments before I dream, feeling my body relax and calm.
Letting go of worrying about how people will perceive me, how I see me, doing what is expected of me... and just being me.
That's my home.
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