Gratitude for Home...

eschaden
12 minutes ago
5 min read

I have always had a solid home base. And it has been a solace, a comfort, a place to return to when the world outside gets too much for me. A retreat. A sanctuary. And I have curated this home base to be what I need and what I want. It has made me, shaped me, housed me, and held me. A comforting return to all my leaving and returning.

Every time I return home, I feel a swell of gratitude for this place. For its comfort, for its warmth, for its coolness on hot days that blister. I know I am blessed to have this space. It is gift that never ceases to give. A place to return that is mine, simply and wholly.

Of course, I share it with my children, my animals, my friends and occasionally with a man. The later altering its home like feeling into something other than comfort, other than peace. More of a holding cell if you will. And that is more a commentary of the men I invited in, than the house itself. An attempt to curate a loving home with another rather than in my solitary form. The result? A need to re-curate a safe space for myself because the men invited in were not safe, or stable or capable of providing anything other than chaos and confusion.

I reflect back as to why, since I feel this way about my home, would I ever violate it in this manner? Why would I invite in chaos, confusion and destabilizing forces? Well, quite simply, I did not know they would be all those things when I invited them to call my home, their home. I thought we were embarking on a curation together. I did not know that they had other plans. My home more of a landing pad before an inevitable launch into something else that did not, in fact, include me or my home.

I have hated myself for this misjudgment. I have berated myself and lost sleep over my oversight and lack of sound judgment. When you want something so badly all your life, the older you get the easier it is to call something not what it is, but what you wish it to be. Until the thing you called love and loving, shows itself to be a con, a use, a wholesale abandonment of anything that remotely resembles love and loving. I guess I needed to see that my own desperation, selfishness and greed ultimately led me to that place where I allowed someone into my sanctuary that would up end it all, causing me and my safest place to become the most unsafe place ever. I think we call this hitting bottom.

So my home, my sanctuary has also housed me in my darkest times, times when I have had to sit with my own dysfunction and to see that I allowed it all to occur, that it was my doing that caused my undoing. To see that while sanctuary is a respite, it is also a cocoon, a place to metamorphosize into some other version of yourself. And my home has been everything I need, all the time I have needed it.

I love this place I call home. Its quiet resplendency. Its stable presence, its welcoming front porch. All the loungey spaces to enjoy a quiet cuddle or gentle repose. The nooks and crannies that invite peace and tranquility. And the beings I share it with, the cats, the dog, the kids, all gentle creatures who similarly want peace and safety.

I may not have done a great job being safe and living a safe existence, but I have created a space that fosters the growth of safety. And it really took off when I stopped inviting unsafe people into my world, and home. Seems like that should have been an easier and earlier lesson, but I guess it just takes what it takes in this life. We get the teachers and the lessons, when we are ready. And I guess I was not ready for a long time.

Today, I will begin the holiday decorating which only makes this home of mine, more inviting and lovely. I love the cozy feeling of pine branches strewn across tables and mantles, bringing a softness and gentleness to all that exists within. I love the holiday lighting, the smell of Christmas candles day and night. I love the feeling that being home and safe provides me.

And, if I am honest, this space of mine has given me the courage to take it with me when I leave, when I attempt to join you, out there in the world. The home fires burn brightly and so share some spark of light and hope for how and when I might pair with you, in some fashion of friendship, loving, longing and grace. I think of my solace, and I attempt to recreate it with you, if you are willing. And if you are not, I dare not sully the homestead, instead, acknowledge my attempt and move on as is warranted or required. I am not a fool for attempting, only in continuing when the evidence of my folly is apparent and glaring.

I have become more cautious about who and what enters this space, this hallowed ground. This place of peace and love that houses my everyday life. Sanctuary, true sanctuary requires care and a lovely gate to keep those out who might up end it all. Sanctuary can withstand disruption, and dis-ease, but it cannot hold up without loving support and caretaking, a tending to the tenants and pillars of the hospitality and generosity of spirit. For sanctuary to be affirming, it must be valued above all else, not to the exclusion of others, but to their careful, thoughtful inclusion. And incumbent in that assessment is a thoughtful selection of those who want a similar thing, and a cautious rejection of those who only pay lip service to the homage required to enjoy and cherish such a space.

It has taken me a long time to curate home. To be the architect of my own becoming. It has been arduous and difficult at times, but it has been an incredible journey that began outwards, but as with most of my journeys, the outward part is only evincing what is already well underway internally.

Home is the place that grants me passage into the outer world with a feeling of safety and grace. Without this home, this space that engenders in me a feeling of peace, tranquility, grace, love and safety, I would not be this version of myself today. I would not, perhaps, be anywhere at all. Home has become my safest locale, a gentle reminder to return to myself again and again and again, still...