Coming Home
I have to admit that working on my Rebel MFA Degree Update article brought up a lot of emotions for me. First, I realized just how little I celebrate my accomplishments and achievements. Seeing it written out, it felt different than intellectually thinking about it. And yet, my natural inclination is to just shrug it all off.
Coming Back Home to Writing
I told Allie, my co-collaborator for The Augurly, that I felt like I’d finally come back home to myself after realizing how much fiction writing I was doing again. And, of course, that prompted us to think about what that means in a larger sense of the word (thus, the theme this month). I’ve taken that question to heart, too. What does it mean to come home to one's self?
I had an interesting conversation with my sister when we were in Dublin. It has stuck with me since and had me asking myself a lot of questions. She said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “You’re different when you’re with people like this. Happier, lighter, confident, funny. You’re not like that with your family.”
Yes, that stung. But she wasn’t wrong, either. It’s because I’ve never particularly felt “as home” in my family world as I have in the writing world. I think everyone has aspects of this. My sister is one of the most passionate millennials I know doing what she does and there’s this shine and way she carries herself when she’s working with her patients. She is a different person when she is at “work.” She’s an incredible advocate and voice for those that she works with, and it’s what makes her amazing at her job. And I believe that’s because she has found so much purpose and meaning in what she does — it feels like home to her. And that’s what writing is like for me, too. It’s home.
When I promised myself to double down on my writing, I didn’t know that it would bring me back to a part of myself that I’d hidden away. Not literally, because I’ve always been open about my book writing, but what I mean is that when I stopped writing fiction six or so years ago, I had a lot of shit to work through. A lot of shame and misunderstanding about who I was, who I thought I wanted to be, and more importantly, who I was actually turning out to be. I hid away my feelings of sorrow and despair that I wasn’t writing by disguising them through my other endeavors. I pushed down any thoughts about being a “real writer” because surely, a “real writer” wouldn’t go this long without writing fiction. I avoided conversations with my writer friends who hadn’t given up on their dreams of writing books. And anytime someone asked me what I was working on, I would never talk about writing. It was always something else I chose to focus on.
Looking back, I feel so much compassion for this version of me who lost such a big part of herself. Writing IS my home. It always has been and always will be. But sometimes, we get lost along the way and forget that we always have the opportunity to come back home. It took me a while to get back there, but I did it. I’m here. I’m home.
And you know what? It feels really good to be back in this place. Does it mean I’m not scared shitless at times? Nope. I still am. But I feel like I have a greater understanding of how connected I am to this “writing home” I’ve built and believe I’ve carved a path out to remind myself that it’s never too late to walk back to it.
Coming Back Home to my Body
I’ve talked before about how out of place I feel in my body. Like I’m wearing a skin that belongs to someone else or walking around with my outsides not matching my insides. And one of the things I intentionally started to reverse that feeling was dancing.
I’m now a couple of months post-intention, and I have to say… it’s still a work in progress.
If only everything were as simple as setting out to do a thing and then doing it, and then boom. Outcome.
But as we know, life doesn’t work that way. I didn’t think I would magically love my body by dancing, but I also didn’t expect to be facing the same issues months later, either.
I think anyone who has experienced feelings of shame, disgust, and disassociation with their body will understand that it takes time, patience, and a lot of self-compassion before the needle starts to move.
Every time I push “play” on my dance class, I am intentionally putting myself in a position closer to being home, though. And as I’ve dropped the need to incorporate “milestones” into these efforts (lbs and inches lost), I’ve increased my attention around how I’m feeling. I have loved getting my ass up and dancing. I actually look forward to my weekly dance sessions, and when I’m done, I think of my sweat as my entry fee into having a good time.
During one of the dance classes, the instructor shouted out, “Hey, you at home! Just remember that it doesn’t matter how slow you go as long as you don’t stop.” And for such a common phrase, it hit me right in the stomach. She was right, of course. Progress has been slow, but it has been happening. I have not stopped trying.
Slowly but surely, I think I will return home to myself in terms of my body. I believe that if I keep trying, I will learn to love the soft curves of my breasts and the little extra chub around my tummy. If I keep trying, I will learn to appreciate the strength in my legs that keep me dancing and the hands that type out stories from my big, beautiful brain.
Perhaps this is a declaration of sorts. It's an ode to the process of returning home because it doesn’t happen all at once, and it’s not always an easy trek.
But it doesn’t matter how slowly I go… as long as I don’t stop.
Coming Back Home to my Decisions
Allie sent me an episode podcast that she thought I might take an interest in, and boy, oh, boy did it strike a nerve in a good way. I actually cried while listening to it because I felt like I was being seen and heard. Just like the other ways I’ve come home to myself this month, this podcast episode gave me permission to come back home to myself as it relates to my decision to have children. And my immense pleasure in being by myself and going inward, which is another “taboo” topic that is looked upon as being “othered.”
The thing about being or feeling “othered” (no matter the reason why) is that it feels so lonely. You start believing that you are the only one feeling this way. According to society, you’re the only one who is wrong or broken or deviant. This loneliness also manifests in shame. Shame that none of us should be carrying around because we aren’t wrong, broken or deviant.
This podcast made it abundantly clear that there are more of us who are and want to be child-independent than anyone knows. It’s why the author in the conversation, Ruby Warrington, wrote a book on it and is speaking up in conversations about it.
Side note: this is again why I’m such a firm believer in talking about hard shit. The hard shit is where we find the most transformational wisdom.
In the episode, they touch on so many adjacent topics of what it means to be child-independent and the expectations that come with that. They brought up the duality of being child-independent with siblings who have children. Something that I have quite a bit of experience with now is that all my siblings and my husbands have children now.
There are two specific situations they talk about that I felt keenly aware of in my own life, like the fact that my husband and I have a lifestyle that allows us to do things like taking care of parents when they become ill or being the one to drive the furthest to a place because it’s “less” work for us than for our siblings with children. There’s a duality there in terms of expectations. Because we can do these things, it is then expected that we should/must do it. Along with that is the thought that whatever we have going on in our lives is less important than their parental responsibilities and tasks. It feels demoralizing in a way that because of our decision not to have children and to focus on other aspects of our lives, that we are somehow not doing important work or that our work/lifestyle is somehow inferior simply because we are not parents.
The other situation strikes close to my heart. As the episode turns to what it means to be an aunt/uncle or other important figure in our nieces and nephews’ lives, they bring up the parenting binary and the contention that it allows (yet again) for child-independent people to feel “othered.” The host talked about a comment that was said to her about being with her niece, whom she’s extremely close to. The comment was, “Well you get to be the fun, part-time parent without doing any of the hard work.”
I disagree with that statement so wholeheartedly. In my experience, it was my aunts and uncles who worked tirelessly to help raise my sister and I when my mom was overwhelmed with being a single working parent. Was it always fun for them to do this? Hell no. And it was hard work. Anytime you develop a relationship with someone that means something, it requires hard work… no matter if you are that person’s parent, sibling, child, friend, lover, spouse, etc. But some of my most important life lessons came from my aunts and cousin. They’ve made an impact on my life that would be impossible for any one person to do on their own. It wasn’t too long ago when it was standard practice for all the women in a village to help raise the children… together. Hence the saying, “It takes a village.” Because do you know how utterly insane it is to expect two (but often sometimes only one) people to be everything and anything a child needs? Those are expectations no one can fill, no matter how “perfect” you think someone is.
That’s why it’s my opinion that being an aunt, uncle, cousin, or close family friend is more than just a label. It’s a person stepping up into someone’s life to support and guide them. And if being child-independent means I get to do that with my own nieces and nephews, then I think I’m exactly where I belong. But I learned how to be that person from the people who modeled it for me to begin with.
During this part of the discussion, they also brought up the binary thought that we (child-independent) will never know “true love.” That one pisses me off. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love fiercely. I have received true love in many different forms, not just from my parents and siblings but also from my aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who I believe love me as deeply as one can. And I know this to be true because I also love deeply.
People are often surprised to hear from me that I would die for my nieces or nephews. When I looked into my nephew’s eyes for the first time, I felt a dam break inside me. It didn’t matter that he was not my son; all I felt in that moment was a deep, unconditional love for him. I haven’t always been the best sibling in projecting that love onto and for my nieces and nephews, but I know, and they should know, that my love is unwavering and unimaginable for them.
So tell me I don’t know what true love is. Tell me the years I’ve spent with my husband in a healthy, mostly happy, crazy fairytale isn’t true love. Tell me that the cats and dogs who I’m lucky enough to usher through this life and would do anything for isn’t true love.
The fact is, someone can be a parent and never know what true love feels or looks like. Someone does not automatically get an award for birthing children. We all know there are more children without love or care in this world than there should be. So I call complete bullshit on that line about true love.
Basically, what this podcast episode did for me was remind me of who I’ve always known myself to be. And that I don’t have to feel bad about that because being a mother isn’t an identity that has to define us. Coming home to myself in the wake of these big life decisions only reinforces what I know I was born to do: tell stories and help others tell them, too. And to live your truth in writing, you must also learn how to live your truth in reality. And my truth is that I’m A-reproductive (a new term to me that I adore…). Just as some people are Asexual, some women are A-reproductive, and guess what? That’s great! We need all types of people to make this crazy world what it is. And it doesn’t mean that my choice not to have children makes me any less impactful, important, or powerful at what I do or the work I put out in the world.
This sense of radical love and acceptance of myself truly feels like I’ve come back to myself in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time as it relates to this topic.
I’m so grateful that people are willing to talk about it, and I’m so blessed to know and love myself enough to add my voice to the discussion.
Coming Back Home to Joy
Three weeks ago, I spent an entire week jamming out to angsty and emo 90s bands . Then last week, it was the return of the pop songs. And, well, this week, I’m hitting up all the songs I used to blare in the car with my favorite people.
I can’t describe what kind of joy it brings me to hear What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts and prepare for the epic air instrument show like my sisters and I used to do. And, of course, there’s the classic Alanis Morissette, Barenaked Ladies, Matchbox Twenty, and Hootie and the Blowfish from my mom’s era of “I’m not just a mom, I’m a cool mom.” But what really gets me going lately… is rapping every single word of Nelly’s “Luven Me” like I used to do with my cousin.
If you would have told me fifteen years ago that some of my favorite moments of joy took place inside the passenger side seat of a car, I’d have laughed (Also, how's this for irony — I loathe driving. But I love being a passenger!).
But now, I’m laughing because of how special those moments feel to me.
How completely and utterly me I felt in those moments. When I hear these songs and think of the memories, I think of joy.
It made me wonder if I could bring back other pieces of joy into my present life, like rewatching old movies or rereading the books that made me want to be a writer in the first place. And so I’ve started to do just that, and I have to tell you… it does feel like coming home.
• • •
It doesn’t escape me that all of the ways in which I’ve identified “coming home to myself” have essentially been versions or parts of me I’ve either forgotten or chosen to ignore. It makes me believe in that cliche, “Home is not a location, it’s a feeling.”
But I think the biggest takeaway is that coming back home to who we are isn’t unrealistic or impossible. In fact, I feel like it’s a cycle we have to face in our lives multiple times. Maybe that’s a secret to living a good life… knowing when it’s time to return home.
