A strong sense of belonging to any particular place or group of people has eluded me for basically my entire life. Though I am absolutely blessed to have a terrific family, and to have a beautiful home, I have rarely felt that one location or another was my “home.”
They say home is where your heart is, but that’s way too cliche to actually be accurate. Home for me is a place to settle and feel comfortable; to sink into and just love. Home is where my son and my partner is, home is where I can walk around naked and not care. Home is where I can practice my (questionable) decorative methods.
But in terms of community, I have been having serious anxiety about “belonging.” I didn’t realize my recent bout of anxiety attacks had to do with this until about midnight last night. I have not felt secure about my geographical place in the world for a very, very long time.
This is not anyone in particular’s fault; in fact, it’s probably my own fault, if anyone is to be blamed. The fact of the matter is, I lived for twelve years in one town, eight in another, and then seven at the next. I treasure my freedom and the ability to move about, but I also treasure my family and friends.
Each time I moved, I lost my place in that community, ne’er to return. It’s hard to think about it that way, but it’s the truth. My anxiety has been at a peak about what “the next step,” is, and I’ve all but forgotten that right now my home and life are beautiful.
It was a good reminder to myself to calm down and dig into the here and now.
And so, because I needed something to get my creativity and itch to move out, I began tearing apart our bathroom with the intent to re-do it.
Not opportune timing, but it’s been rewarding just to see it change already.
And then there’s the matter of retaining self while going through big life changes. First of all, I am attempting to solidify my career path; I’m not ready to discuss that today because it’s too overwhelming to think about.
But the other part of my that I am trying to honor is the me. I am afraid to lose myself because I am trying to fit others molds, and I am working so hard to keep my self real. Recently I’ve lost sight of that, but I have regained some motivation and strength in that regard, and I feel that I am back on track. Starting with listening to more Enya and Loreena McKennitt and Zoe Keating and far less Passion Pit.
I’ve been writing more, listing more, and creating more; I am feeling free and happy in my relationship with Scott, and I am feeling like I am a better mother today than I was yesterday… every day.
I think it helped to see Samantha and Elise and to walk in Two Lights and just remember that even though I have grown up and away from my childhood, that doesn’t mean it did not exist and did not shape me. Those two women will forever by two of my first and most trusted friends, even if I do not see them often enough. I have known them since I was six! How could I forget that? And yet, I did. It has taken a tragedy to remember that, and I am sad I had forgotten them.
But all is not lost; I am twenty five. I am young and vibrant and I am remembering my self. This has been such a year of change and happiness and insanity, it’s hard to not lose track of self.
The post I wrote a little while ago about being better to myself is coming to fruition, finally.