The place I emotionally think of as home is being renovated, and it’s
been looking like a warehouse for the best part of a year now (though
there are still rooms with beds and tvs that are mostly functional,
though cluttered.) I’m lucky that I have s...
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The place I emotionally think of as home is being renovated, and it’s
been looking like a warehouse for the best part of a year now (though
there are still rooms with beds and tvs that are mostly functional,
though cluttered.) I’m lucky that I have somewhere else to go. That
hasn’t always been the case, so my gratefulness for the option is
steeped in vivid awareness of other modes of living. However, my
somewhere else to go has things about it that have me holding my breath
at times too, which means I can’t entirely relax continuously in either
place, and am darting between them, trying to catch the best times of
day and phases of my moods that will best utilize what they have to
offer. It’s exhausting, but also motivating on some days, as keeping
myself busy and moving rather than nestled in a dark room binging shows
can sometimes be helpful (though sometimes the distraction and nurturing
of escaping activity is entirely appropriate too.) The exhausting part,
is the disorienting sense of trying to feel like I'm arriving home, when
I walk in the door. Somehow both places are home, which also means
neither of them are. I'm reminded of children of divorce I've witnessed
who, without fail, severely misbehave immediately on the first day that
they arrive at their "other home" (no matter which one it is); a sign
that they are unsettled and having trouble to adjusting to the leaving
of their home and trying to think of the new location as home once
again. A motherly lady I respect that I was discussing this with once,
commented that the first day should have no heavy expectations, and be a
day of unpacking, talking, hugging, getting reacquainted, and just
settling in. I find myself trying to apply this concept to my current
situation, though it has to be a shorter transition since I'm moving
around every day, but instead I look for little ceremonies like
unpacking whatever I'm lugging back and forth, putting away groceries,
and making the bed where I'm going to sleep. I've been through times
like this before but this time there are less places to escape to if I
want to ditch both realities because of what's going on in the world
now. I am starkly aware right now of the way so many little possessions
and comforts (which also represent options for activity) make up the
difference between a house and a home. I think there is a stigma on
valuing material things that makes this seem like ones values are
shallow, but these can make or break mental health at times.
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