Home, A Place or Your Person

I am my home. 

Home is where the heart is, right? I mean, the phrase was coined with reason yet when I deconstruct the phrase itself (because I pick apart words like I would pick my childhood scraped knee scars), I think about how truly layered it is. What does home mean to you? 

For me, home is a not specific place but my whole person. I work to make her beautiful everyday and no, no day is ever perfect. Home is my mind. Home is my attitude toward myself and the world. 

Home is my body and the way I feel in it, understanding and accepting its story. Home is cooking a meal because I'm worth the time I put into myself. Home is knowing what I deserve and taking the steps to get there even when I’m scared and even if it looks different than the homes of others.

It’s ok to be different and to want different things out of life, out of the norm, out of a friend circle and what family has taught me through actions and words. I am finally learning that I don’t only like being different, I am different, and that’s part of feeling at home. Accepting my own differences and slipping into them, like I’m bathed in sweet pear oil and satin.

So, how do you care for your home? 

My home is cared for by the thoughts I feed her and the actual food I give her. This also means I am solely responsible for all parts of her and I can’t blame anyone when shit goes down. I am my own worst enemy or my own greatest love. She requires massive upkeep and, at times, proud moments can feel distant. And, by now I know that when she is denied nutrition, water, sleep, movement, time to create and love - she can be a beast. No truer words have been written. 

So, how do you feel in your home? 

The better I treat my home, the more comfortable I feel in her. When I’m not over committing to plans, when I say yes to living with intention and not doing out of obligation or fear of loneliness; when I engage with friends I love, pick-up the phone to say I love you, cook with my bra on and eat in my underwear - I am at home. 

I know I am home when I can hear myself think.
I know I am home when I can get still enough to be ok with silence.
I know I am home when I feel the balance of freedom riding closely by love.

I know I am home when I am unattached to outcomes, people, places and things.

I know I am home when I am walking toward myself and my heart.
So, when do you know that you’re home?

tina corrado