PTSD / Memories of home

When I was back In Kansas I parked across my one of my childhood homes and it got my wheels turning. Not to mention the PTSD, but I breathed with comfort and ease knowing I was safe and free.

Home has always been a tough one.

Growing up in an environment of violence and fear, it may have felt like home, because it’s all I knew and while I met the basic definition of it, “place where one lives permanently especially as a member of family” I know in my heart it wasn’t in the emotional sense.

Then foster care. Living with strangers. I did end up getting my own room at one point and after always sharing one with two sisters that felt good.

Then college. Dorm rooms shared with strangers.

Entering places and not really making it my own because I knew it wasn’t and it certainly didn’t feel like it.

Now married, I have a home. It took me a while to even recognize that it was truly my place too, but I know in this moment, it has been and is.

At the age of 28, things shifted and I felt it. Maybe it was sitting across my childhood home remembering all the pain and suffering and then days later returning to my husbands and fur babies and comfort of our space but I felt it. Home.

To me, a home is what you feel in your space. A state of mind. A space of calm. A space where you can relax and enjoy. Sleep with ease and breath with comfort.

Cherish it with all your being. Love it with all your might. For those who lack, wish. I will not take my home for granted again.

To that person living with what feels like strangers, make your space your own. The college student in a dorm or living alone, put up pictures, get a nice bed spread and decorate your room.

Make it feel and look like a home. Your mind will catch up.