i was sitting in the car
this morning outside of the library and i noticed
that i didn't want to go home.
this is an observation that has been growing in my slowly these past few months.
it's not about who is at home.
it's about me.
i am not feeling "at home" in my home.
our house is a busy one. a place of caring and acceptance
the door is always opening and someone will walk in and stay a short while, or a long while.
and this is something that we are deliberate about and i love.
our home is a place where i have learned to accept people in regardless of the mess and the chaos.
this has been deliberate and taken work
but it supports my belief that vulnerability is the way i want to live my life right now.
honestly sharing our lives with others translates into others seeing that i don't always do the dishes,
i haven't vaccumed in the last few days and yes, there is still a hole in the wall from many years ago.
usually covered up by something, but recently laid bare.
this is a very vulnerable act.
(the hole tells all sorts of stories that may or may not be accurate just by being there)
if i were to guess, and that is pretty much what i do most days,
i would say my home is lacking a place for me.
a spot that says
"this is for you Tania. come here to refuel. to recharge. to be"
our home is our haven.
our home is our safe place.
i just need a little corner for me.
i am curious how other women make this work.
it feels as if being a mother of teenagers is so much like being a mother of toddlers.
trying to carve out some "mommy time"
i remember it so well. waiting till they were all in bed and then retreating to my creative space.
for a few years it didn't feel necessary because life was easy and we all coexisted together during those golden middle years.
now, i feel myself being absorbed fully by my role of a parent and losing the other parts of me.
that is actually what i am looking for
a little corner will help.