Finding Home

I went on a trip by myself this past weekend for the first time since having kids. It was the first time I had flown in over ten years, so I was a little nervous, but excited. I like flying – the airport people watching, the convenience, the ability to sit and rest or read or listen to music while launching hundreds of miles per hour toward your destination, shimmery city lights glistening in the inkwell below, orange and pink cotton candy clouds with nothing but blue sky above. There’s nothing quite like witnessing dark, jagged mountains silhouetted against a radiant sunset or seeing chains of lakes which resemble the water droplets leftover on the sink after brushing your teeth.

The flight to my parents’ city was extremely turbulent for most of the flight. The roar of the engines, the screaming two-year-old a couple of rows up, combined with the jerking and shaking and nervous flight attendants caused some momentary panic. I didn’t remember it being so loud and chaotic and I felt claustrophobic and a little bit scared. I found myself closing my eyes and practicing deep breathing to avoid getting motion sickness and was thankful to finally land on the ground and be on my way to dinner then home with my parents in their car.

This trip was for my grandma’s funeral, and I had no idea what the next few days would hold. Life has been turbulent lately, and I couldn’t help but feel an uncanny resemblance between the flight and the events of the last year, especially the recent grieving process for my beloved grandmother.

We have lived so many places during our married life that sometimes I think to myself that I don’t really know where “home” is. Is it where I grew up? Is it where we attended college and lived for a couple years after we were married? Is it where we live now? Practically speaking, I know that home is wherever my husband and children and I are together, but sometimes I feel so transient and like I don’t really belong anywhere. I don’t particularly like the feeling.

This weekend, while spending time with my extended family and seeing some of the sights I love most around town, the answer finally hit me. The place that I identify with as home is, in fact, the place where I grew up. It’s the place where most of my immediate family still lives, and where I spent my formative years building memories which eerily echoed in my mind as I relived special childhood experiences again as a grown-up. I really enjoyed being by myself, without the stress, without the obligations, without the dependency on me. In a strange sort of way, it was almost like being a kid again, but with all the perks of being an adult. I almost didn’t want to leave that feeling, and feel torn between two worlds.

I started to find myself again during this trip.

Being by myself and not having to make sure children were dressed and fed and entertained meant that I had more time to myself than normal. I put on makeup each day and – gasp – actually removed it each night instead of leaving it on for days until it wore off. I showered, sometimes more than once a day. I exercised when I had the ability. I played the piano. I spent quality time with my mother, father, siblings and extended family. I took better care of myself during this five-day stretch than I probably have during the last couple of years combined. I realized how much I miss my family.

I joined my family in honoring the very special matriarch of the family, my grandmother, at her beautiful funeral and was able to be fully present in the moment and process the emotions more fully as they came instead of having to shove them back inside in order to make sure kids were entertained and quiet. I was submerged in the grieving process over and over again when waves of sobs and tears would repeatedly come.

When I came home to my husband and kids last night, I was a different person than when I left for the trip, and for this, I am thankful. So what do I do with the newfound knowledge of what constitutes home, and what it feels like to be on my own and to miss family so much? Does that mean my husband, our children and I have to leave the beautiful place we presently live that we chose? Does that mean I high-tail it out of here and go back home and start over alone? Nope. For me, it just means that I do have a place where I belong and can always look forward to visiting. It also means that I know what it feels like to actually take care of myself and listen to my internal voice – the one that has gotten quieter and quieter as the years progress with children. That knowledge provides a great sense of relief, like one more puzzle piece being slipped into position.

I tried not to scare my husband when we talked after I got home, put the kids to bed and I declared, “I can’t live like this anymore.” Luckily, we talked it out and I explained everything and he understood. With having so much time by myself I was really able to more fully process so many thoughts and emotions – grief, pain, happiness, frustration – and more closely analyze and identify what my priorities in life are. I figured out that I’m not happy with the status quo. This will require making some changes, and I don’t know what the future holds, but at least I know a few steps I can take now in order to begin to live a life that is more fully aligned with my priorities. I know part of the priority shift has to be taking better care of myself and lowering my stress. I have to start listening to my internal voice and fully process the emotions that come with life.

It is so easy to lose myself in the routine of parenting, and I have slowly over the years let my kids define me.

I routinely get stuck in ruts, both physically and emotionally, as well as the normal power struggles which come with growing and developing children. This trip allowed me to exist for a few days and just be me, Jessica. It’s not that I wanted to run away and give up being a wife and mom, but I really, really enjoyed just being me and being by myself. I’m not ashamed of that.

So here are some takeaways that I can use now that I’m back with my family. There is no shame in self-care. There is no shame in sitting and reading by myself for a few minutes. There is no shame in choosing a desired hygiene routine and following it. There is no shame in not sitting every waking hour during the day and reading books for eleventy-million times to the same child.

There is no shame in finding things I love to do and finding time and ways to do those things. There is no shame in making changes that other people might not like and agree with, if it means I am a healthier version of myself.

Figuring out what makes “home” for me was freeing, and actually gives me strength to make these changes for the better. So, cheers to the future and to what’s coming down the road!