Home Sweet Home

A post on Inger’s blog has me thinking about the concept of “home”. It occurred to me while reading it that I’ve never really had someplace feel too much like “home”.

Of course, I have a house now, but it seems empty. The houses of my childhood also seemed empty. No big family dinners to reminisce about, no wonderful backyard parties, no cookies baking in the oven, no family traditions (maybe those are all “Hallmark card” things and not reality anyway). Basically, there was just not a lot of happiness, but not unhappy either, rather in-between - like I have always felt.

I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone around me that could show me what happiness was like. I’m not sure I know what it is to be truly happy, I’ve never expected happiness for myself, or maybe have just never thought it was obtainable. In a lot of ways my parents were severely unhappy. Married young, worked way too much, relationship started suffering, problems raising my brother, relatives with big issues, etc. No one ever seemed happy or satisfied with his or her lives. The houses we lived in always seemed quiet, impassive and numb. I’m not saying I had a bad childhood, because I didn’t. Materially, I had a lot of things to be thankful for and tons of people had it a lot worse off than us. But emotionally, it’s like we were stunted.

I guess I’ve always mirrored that because I didn’t know it could be any different. As I grew up, I surrounded myself with even more unhappiness with the friends I chose, things I did, and so on. When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. Julian’s Dad wanted to marry me, but I knew I was in the closet and didn’t want anything to do with him. Two weeks after Julian was born, I came OUT (perfect timing, I know), then moved out. I was on my “own” for the first time and now with a child. Eventually meeting my partner when Julian was just over a year old. It was magical and I was head-over-heels in love. Things seemed right for the first time ever. A few years later we bought our house together. For me, it was a huge deal and I was determined it would become a “home” full of great family memories. I remember being so excited the day of the signing, like I was starting out on a new adventure. Me, HER and my son in a house, like a real family.

I think one of the reasons this separation between HER and me has been so painful is because I treasure our “family”. “We might not have much, but we’ve got each other” type of thing. I wanted Julian to grow up feeling happiness, togetherness, joy, SOMETHING, ANYTHING. The last year or two I have felt the house start feeling more and more empty as the spaces between us widened. The loneliness I’ve always been so familiar with seemed to seep into the foundation and permeate the walls until it finally overtook the whole house and us.

Now, in these weeks since she’s left, after the initial shock wore off, I’ve been feeling like there’s more and more hope each day. I feel like fighting back against that darkness and throwing open all the windows and doors. I feel like standing up and declaring “Enough is enough, I want to be HAPPY.”