A home that does not feel like home

A few months ago I went home to see my parents. I moved out last year to another state because it was the only thing left to do. Preparing to go home caused  me great anxiety because I associate a lot of things with my city, Westerville. I lived in the same place for years and the same house for over a decade and I didn’t realize how many memories I had tied to the place I call home. I always tell people how much I love Westerville, so I wasn’t sure why I didn’t feel at peace going home. 

Prior to the trip I just kept my focus on my niece and my nephews. No matter how I felt, I was going to see them and they bring me joy, so whatever I was feeling was secondary to that. 

When I got to Westerville, I was taken back by how small it was. I mean I have always known it wasn’t the largest city, but I just didn’t realize how small it was. There were new businesses but there were more of the same things. I also didn’t realize how sheltered I was. Literally everyone in Westerville thinks and act the same. Or so it seems. My friends were doing the same things and going to the same places. The major hang out spots hadn’t changed.

a simple calling blog
mark from when I shared a bunk bed with my sister

I was overcome with emotion when I entered  my room. My room. If that room could speak, it will tell you of all the tears that were shed there. It will tell you of all the nights I stayed up praying for God to come through for me. It will tell you of all the times it held me and comforted me just by having plain walls. It will tell you so many secrets and things I can’t even utter. It will also tell you of the laughs and phone conversations. It will also tell you how I deeply wanted to leave it for something else, something better and how I always returned to it to share my disappointment. 

I have mixed feelings about home. I think that is okay.


How do you feel about the place you call home?

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