As is probably common with individuals that have had similar childhood trauma as the kind I have experienced, home always seemed like a fluid word that lacked concrete warmth and a sense of belonging. I have always longed for that feeling. I thought I would find it by moving out of my family home–it was nowhere to be found.

Next, I mistakenly thought I would find it in whatever place I was renting with my husband. While that was much closer, I wasn’t quite there. I told myself that once we owned our own home, I would finally feel at peace.

This time last year, we closed on our own home–and nope, still didn’t quite hit the spot. (although, again, much closer)

After some reflection, I decided it was time to look at myself as a source of  the problem. What is it about me that makes me feel so disconnected from the very place that should give me comfort.

My answer is security and not the kind the roof over my head can provide.

I’ve spent so much of my life waiting for the world to come crashing down around me that I instinctually stay in the hazard zone. I don’t allow myself to enjoy my surroundings because I’m just waiting for something to come around to destroy it.

At times, I find myself so tired of waiting for the storm to come that I start to reek havoc on my own. I think I’ve been my own worst enemy all along.

Kids tend to internalize the messages adults send with their actions. I’ve been living how I grew up feeling–like I don’t belong. I’m not exactly sure how to fix it, but recognition is the first step.

-looking forward to progress

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