“Home” is a state of Being

Traditionally, my home has been my sanctuary. It’s a place for me to be me. Not who society wants me to be. Not who my family expects me to be. But a place for me to unapologetically be me. A place where I can buy $50 of red grapes, $100 of soft cheese and the biggest loaf of bread without guilt. Oh and a bulb of garlic the size of my head… I think they call it elephant garlic?! Roasting garlic whilst doing laundry, dabbling in whatever catches my attention but mostly dancing to the likes of Colbie, Jack or Madonna. All whilst preparing the largest platter of snacks with the windows open. Did I mention the warm breeze or the woo-woo birds. Obviously the birds are singing to the same tunes I’m dancing to! Obviously. This is what I do when I’m to my own devices. Jess World.

Most of my years in Asia, I lived by myself so this was very easy to accomplish. The first year and the last 2 years were with housemates. My last housemate is an angel on Earth. He would often have complimentary habits to enjoy his sacred space. Everything sprinkled with extra love and so many good vibes.

Moving back to the USA was a conscious decision. Just before moving back, I acknowledged that I was making terrible decisions. I almost married a psychopath. Someone that could have easily destroyed me. I liked him and the idea of him but I’m not sure that I actually loved him in a pure way. That’s for a different time. The burning topic in my heart is the idea of a home. Living with my mother for about a year started off fun. I was in holiday mode. Not really accepting that I had moved back. I was always one foot out the door. Commitment phobic should be my middle name. I was passport ready. When shit hit the fan, it was a matter of hours before I told myself that it’s just not worth it to stick around and fix old so lets start a new adventure and create something new. This method worked until it didn’t. So I stayed. My promise to myself was a year of no travel. International travel at least. By discliplining myself from traveling, I was forced to confront some pain and learn how to embrace my emotions. The truth of the matter is that my biological father tried to kill me and my entire biological family dismissed the entire event(s). I didn’t grow up in an environment where emotions were tolerated. It’s not good or bad, just the way it is. Unpacking the fact that my biological father tried to kill me is not an easy sentence to type. Most times, I can talk about it in passing. Exploring the details or reliving it, would only result in complete detachment of feeling anything or a tsunami of emotions flooding my entire being. There was no middle ground. So moving back to Chicago was to address this. Physically be at ground zero. Come to terms with this truth. Find my peace. Not just peace in my mind but peace in my heart. Anyone reading my blog knows how incredibly stubborn my heart can be and the amount of work I’ve done to shift my thinking from ‘oh, the person causing me harm was just really hurting, they didn’t mean it’ to ‘not my problem, deal with your own demons and treat me like a person or watch me walk away. I deserve better.’

Finding a place where I can roast garlic and dance around, guilt free was a subconscious goal. I didn’t know it until I started writing, just now, the importance of roasting garlic. Interesting revelation.

Since moving to Chicago, I’ve changed houses every 2 months. Each housemate has offered something special and I’m grateful for the experience. It’s all part of the process. The first was a foreigner. Dissatisified with work but doing his best to find joy. Torn with some decisions for family but mostly doing things that he enjoyed. The second was a house of lost souls. Each person causing harm to others because they were unhappy on the inside. A perfect storm of ignored boundaries and passive-aggression. The next house was serviceman that was ‘getting his ducks in row’. Very transparent about where he is and where he’s come from. Questionable towards others but kind towards me. He admired my sunny disposition on life and tried to teach me to be more realistic about others. All good people that could only meet me as far as they were willing to meet themselves. Zero regrets as each ‘home’ was exactly what I needed that that exact moment.

Currently, I’m living in a place that feels like home. It’s with a housemate that reminds me that this is my home. He’s attentive to ‘triggers’ and has gestures to put me at ease. Already teaching me how to cook some of his favourite dishes and celebrating some of my quirks. To find a place where you are acknowledged for where you have come, accepted for who you are and encouraged to become who you are meant to be… that’s magic. Pure magic.

Our countertops are filled with fruit. Our fridge has an assortment of cheese. I’ve already eaten a fantastic breakfast and found myself washing the floor. I was just about to put on some music when I decided to grab my computer and share this flow. Now, I’m going to grab a leftover brownie and pop some garlic in the oven.

Home is where you are loved. For me, it’s been a sacred place void of judgement. It’s easy to have this place when living alone but it takes effort to find when sharing space with others. My main question, was I truly judged by others or was I judging myself? Have I finally found a place that is peaceful or did I [finally] cultivate peace within?

Curious to know what I’m talking about with ‘ground zero’? Take a few minutes to read: https://jessicacorvo.wordpress.com/2018/03/05/the-day-my-childhood-bedroom-turned-into-a-crime-scene/

#Resilience #WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #Trauma #Recovery #DomesticViolence #Healing #InvisibleWounds #OneDayAtATime #Family #Love #SelfCare #JourneyToPeace

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