Some say that leaving home is the most difficult thing that you’ll ever have to do in your life.
I mean, the argument is pretty sound in most cases: Leaving behind one of few things you know to be absolutely true (because I always imagined home as being that way). The idea is terrifying.
However, I believe, like many, that home isn’t always the four walls and a roof where you grew up. It doesn’t always have to be where your blood-related family is. And maybe I’m the only one, but I don’t think that it’s always where your heart is.
See, when I was in high school, I often times found myself saying that I wanted to go home, but I don’t really think that I meant that I wanted to go to where I lived. All I really wanted was to be someplace where I felt safe and whole and free to be exactly who I was.
Sure, where I lived was a type of home — it gave me a microscopic form of what I wanted — but when I left that home for college, it wasn’t the most difficult thing I had ever had to do in my life. In fact, it was one of the easiest.
It took a couple years, but I found that “home” I was looking for. The one that makes me feel safe and whole and free to be exactly who I am. One that accepts every single one of my flaws and is critical in all the right ways.
For me, home is a cup of tea. It’s a blanket with anchors on it. And it’s a warm fire.
It’s a notebook full of song lyrics. It’s rain hitting the roof of the conservatory. And home most definitely has an accent.
And yeah. I’m a sap. And I’m a bum. And I’m a myriad of other words that are inappropriate for a social media site, but it’s true what they say: Leaving home is one of the most difficult things that I’ll ever have to do in my entire life. And yet, I’ll do it over and over and over again, because nothing feels better than coming home again. xx
as told by melynda 