February: Finding Home Anywhere You Go

Home… Where is it? What does it mean? How do you find it?

I never felt at home. This might sound stupid to say, because I live in a house. I’ve always been fortunate enough to have a roof over my head. I have the privilege of never having experienced homelessness. But what I mean is that; growing up adopted, well, I always questioned where I came from, I never felt like I quite belonged anywhere, to anyone or anything.

As a child, home didn’t feel like a safe environment. Having a terminally ill parent isn’t talked about enough. The traumatic experience of watching your parent die a slow and painful death leave scars on the psyche. You never feel like you can breathe. You always have to be alert. You never know when shit will hit the metaphorical fan. You don’t know safety, you don’t know security or stability. All you know is turbulence and chaos becomes the norm. Or what about having to deal with the mood swings and anger outburst, to not have your emotional needs met because your parents were never home due to being at the hospital so much. The terror of having to call an ambulance for your parent at 9 years old when nobody else was home. You find them on the ground, not sure if they will survive. My basic needs were met, food, shelter, water, but this is the bare minimum a child needs. The survival instinct I developed from my parents struggling to make ends meet never left me. Ah yes… this is the environment which I called home for 15 years until my father passed away. Then it was just us, the four of us, my mother, sister and I. (can't forget Casper too, my emotional support cat).

As a kid I dreamt of running away, of finding a place where I felt loved, safe and secure. At 10 years old my favorite song was Avril Lavignes “nobody’s home”. School was no place to escape either because to go to class was worse than being at home. I was made to feel like an outsider, I never fit in, I was told you’re not one of us and you can never be. Dina (my sister) was the cool one. She was popular and pretty, short and… thin. I longed to be part of her friend group but sadly my sister would not give me an ounce of her or her groups acceptance. She didn’t acknowledge me in the halls. She would be downstairs hanging out with her friends while I was upstairs alone in my bedroom, watching the movie Thirteen and learning how to properly mutilate myself. If only I were prettier and skinnier, maybe people would like me, so I thought… and by 13 years old I was buying Hydroxycut at CVS and introduced self induced vomiting into my daily routine.

The 10 year time frame from starting college at 18 up until 28 is too long of a story to tell (perhaps I will write a book about it someday). But until then, I will tell you this; as I began to bud into a young adult, I’d try and search for a home inside other people. Mostly men who were addicts or physically violent. If not an alcoholic with unresolved trauma and anger issues, then they were emotionally unavailable (at best) or mentally abusive, listing off all the reasons I was hard to love. This confirmed what I believed about myself growing up; everyone rejects me, I’m inherently flawed and I’ll never be good enough no matter how hard I try. I am all alone in this world, with nobody or nothing to call home. The reason, (I believe) I wanted to die was because I never fully knew what it meant to live. And then 2022 happened…

Last June I came to Europe and received a calling that never quite left me. I had gone to Europe prior, in 2018 for 3 weeks to Romania and Germany. It was a breathtaking experience I will forever remember and be grateful for. To this day, Romania remains one of my favorite, most adored countries. Funnily enough, last year when I took an ancestry test, my DNA came back as 30% Romanian! Perhaps this explains why when I was there, the locals would come up to me, thinking I was one of them.

My trip this past June to Italy/Greece was both fun and exhausting. I had gone with someone who I ultimately learned was not at all a compatible friend but nonetheless am thankful for the blessings of both the trip and friendship. Going to Italy uncovered the courage I needed to finally leave a dysfunctional relationship with someone who never failed to make me feel bad about myself. I broke up with him a few days after I returned home and it was one of the best, scariest decisions I’d ever made. Despite only being two weeks long, after returning home, I heard a whisper. This whisper I tried to ignore thinking it was simply post-holiday blues. Eventually, it turned into a scream. It said, “go back, my dear. Your work is not yet finished.”

And so I sat with this calling. For days, then weeks and months I listened. The quieter I grew in my solitude, the clearer it became. Spain. Why Spain? I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it’s my blood (20 something percent Spanish according to my genetic test) maybe it was curiosity, or maybe I was just being foolish and careless. Whatever the reason, It just was. And it became very apparent.

When I told people I was going to travel alone by myself for several months, hardly anyone was supportive. I can count on one hand the amount of people in my life that met me with passion, encouragement and excitement. The rest of them pressed; “what about your bills? How about your job? You’re being selfish. Are you sure that’s not a bit impulsive? How can you afford to pay for all of this? What about your health insurance? Isn’t that dangerous? Are you sure you want to be doing that? Europe is dangerous to go alone as a woman. You can’t care for yourself, how do you expect to travel by yourself?” And on, and on they went.

My entire life I’ve been met with resistance, the people around me who have claimed to want what’s best for me, never miss a beat to remind me of all the reasons why I CANT. Why I shouldn’t follow my dreams, why I’m not capable of having the life I desire, why I don’t have the ability to support myself, etc. This has created a great deal of internal struggle. The distance between the life that I wanted for myself seemed worlds away from the life I actually had.

I recently heard a quote that went something like, don’t take advice from people whose lives you don’t want to be living. And so I did what I thought the brave thing to do was and I ran straight into my fear. The scarcity, the self doubt, the lack of belief in my potential, they told me to remain small. Staying at home was in my comfort zone. It was “safe” it was familiar, it was easy because it was all I knew. On December 27th 2022, I did the opposite of what I was told and left for my 8 week solo honeymoon trip to Europe. Two weeks into my trip I almost came home but I pushed past the uncertainty and 8 weeks later, here I am, living to tell.

Right now I’m on a plane ride back from Spain to the USA. My heart has never been more full at any other time in my life than it is right now. (Except maybe for the moments I shared with my late cat, Casper. He was the greatest joy and love my life has ever known. I miss him dearly, every day). Throughout the past 2 months I have experienced every emotion under the freaking sun. Pain, heartbreak, grief, frustration, disappointment, embarrassment, shame, anger and sadness. I have also felt immense loads of joy, gratitude, friendship, connection, inspiration, wonder, excitement, curiosity and love. Oh yes, loads of love.

You see, I was by myself this whole time but I realize I was never alone. Don’t get me wrong, I had TONS of moments when I was so discouraged and wanted to call it quits. But quitting would’ve been the easy way out and I promised myself I’d never give up on me again. However on the opposite side of the feeling of defeat, I discovered magic, awe and pure, true happiness. I uncovered what it meant to be my whole, authentic, REAL, bad-ass self and I must say, I am pretty impressed.

There were many lessons along the way and countless moments I was humbled. I laughed, cried and screamed. I broke, I crumbled, I fell and I grew by getting back up again. Without the old identity of who I was made out to believe I am, I developed into my purest self. No one was there to tell me I couldn’t, so I had to become my greatest cheerleader and my biggest fan. This trip was terrifying and hard but yet, oh so simple and blissful. I won’t say I’m healed (not even close) but I was presented with numerous opportunities to further my healing. I trust healing is a lifelong journey and that’s the beauty of it. Knowing there is no destination to reach so you can fully enjoy the ride along the way. With all of the bumps and detours, you can sit back and relax into the knowing that eventually, you will get to where you need to be.

And so I’m now 4 hours away from NY and in about 5 I’ll probably be home. But you see, I never left home, really. It was always there with me. Because home isn’t a place you go but a feeling you take with you. It took 28 years but finally I found what I was looking for. Home was always there, inside me, all along

♥️