Home is Where the Heart Is...

Ever since I was a child, I have rarely known a house to feel like "home." For starters, I never had the oppurtunity to grow up in a stable, nuclear family; by the age of 3, my parents were already filing for divorce, and prior to that, the house was filled with endless arguments. Growing up away from the tension, in single parent households, did nothing to solve my problem. My mother gained sole custody, as is typically the case with divorced families, and she soon went on to marry my abusive ex-stepfather. Thus began a seven year battle of trying to live with my father, the only place that had a resemblence of home, but to no avail. My mother constantly reminded me that "I have custody over you," and that "the only reason your dad is so nice to you when you visit, is to make his house seem 'better' than mine."

During those seven years of living with my mother, I did not experience any stability or consistency. By the time I had reached grade 1, I had already been to three different schools/houses. My stepfather was not only extremely strict, but extremely sexist as well. He hailed from Sudan, and because I was a girl, he placed infinitely greater value on my two half-brothers for being born male. Soon, everything became "my fault," and my stepfather began taking out his frustrations with my mother onto me by wrongfully punishing me. My bedtime was 7PM--even during summer vacation. During those exceptionally long nights, I would simply lay in bed and mourn for the loss of my childhood, while my friends were still laughing and playing outside... "This isn't right," I would tell myself as a child. "This isn't home..." I constantly yearned for something more.

(These images were created using an AI generator on Night Cafe)

While all of this was ongoing in my "home" for years, I still could not experience an ounce of peace anywhere else. I loved visiting my maternal grandparents; they would spoil me with treats, video games, and toys! However, enduring a visit to my grandparents also meant I would be enduring sexual abuse at the hands of my grandfather. I grew up not realizing there was anything wrong with the situation until years later, and even after confronting my mother about it, she did not believe me: "I won't sit here and listen to lies. Did your father put you up to this?" And, although my father's place was the only resemblence of home, it was still very inadequate, for I still had to witness my father's rage. There were a few instances where he would take it out on my older sister...

Even after growing up and finally moving out onto my own, I still could not find my own home. My previous experiences had given me a very jaded view of what a home was. I mistakenly tried to cling onto relationships, and make my partner's home my home as well. However, their idea of "home" was no better than my own. The one household was in a constant state of chaos: all 3 men of the house (father and 2 sons) were alcoholics, doing whatever they pleased, giving into their emotions, being as obnoxious as possible, fists punched into walls and doors... The second household was in its own state of chaos, for the drug-addicted children overuled the parents and frequently manipulated them in order to achieve their desires. Each time I tried to make each house a home, but again, I could not experience peace--I barely experienced love. I was told that "everything is your fault," or else, "if you don't do what I say, I am going to kill you and everyone you love."

By that point, at the age of 26, I was beginning to lose faith in living. I couldn't believe that I was trying to help others experience what I never had, yet nobody could do the same for me. I figured the end goal, was to end it all. If I was never going to get what I needed, what was the point in sticking around?

Despite my line of thinking, something inside told me to give it one more shot. You can't give up and let everyone who stepped on you get away with it. You can't let them win! After all, nobody truly wants to commit to "ending it"--the thought of the unknown, of not knowing what comes next, is extremely unsettling and terrifying. Suddenly one starts giving themselves a million excuses not to do it! Mine was a man; I wanted to know if love and relationships truly could be something more than pain and manipulation. So, rather than ending it, I decided to give life another try.

We became fast friends, and within that time, I started to realize that my favourite place to be, was in his arms. With the start of every visit, I was anticipating the part where we could just hold each other and listen to our hearts beating. He quickly solidified what I had always known to be true... That, for me, home will never be a "place"--home is with the people that I love. The warmth, joy, and fulfillment that comes with being with my loved ones means that I am capable of turning anywhere into a home, so long as they are with me. It became home the day that I looked into his eyes and realized, "I do not want anyone else."

(Image is my own: our family! 😀)

Since then, our home has only continued to grow. We may only live in a one-bedroom apartment, but our home is large in the sense that 2 has now become 4! My husband and I now have 2 baby girls together, and only plan on "moving up," so to speak! Although our living situation is less than ideal (living with mother-in-law whose sole mission in life is to make me miserable), because of the love and affection we have for one another, it is our home. And soon, should everything go according to plan, we will be living in our actual dream of an RV motorhome, living on the road as a family!

"Can you believe it?" my husband was saying to me during a night not too long ago. "To think, come April of 2024, Bitcoin will experience another 'halfening,' and our Hive power could increase tenfold!"

"Truly?" I replied. To me, the idea still simply seems too good to be true. The dream of a motorhome has been set in motion for years now, but life continuously got in the way. It began with saving sufficient funds; then came Kiva. Then little Riley arrived not but a year later! Now here we are, living with mother-in-law for almost 2 years. "And what--do you think we may finally be able to move out of here?"

He gave me a small smile. "The graphs' have never lied before, and I doubt that is going to start now. We're going to have our RV by next spring."

My heart is full. It has only taken nearly 30 years, but I will soon have my very first home of my own...