25 years ago today I signed the papers on this sweet house I live in. I was 40 years old, single mom with 2 girls, running my business out of my living room – and it was time.
I remember my exasperated realtor saying it didn’t have to be my “forever home”, but I knew it would be. My only real stipulations were a front porch, trees, and a good school district, but we’d pretty much checked most everything in my price range off the list by that point.
And then we walked into this one. No front porch to speak of and zero shade in the backyard, but I knew it was mine.
And I’ve been here ever since.
I raised my girls here for the next 12+ years until they grew up and flew the nest. I’ve been Santa and Kaki and the hippie-lady down the street with the lime green VW. I’ve held circles and sessions and pot-lucks and people’s hearts. Slumber parties and Christmas mornings, and Thanksgiving spreads on the big-ass back-porch my Daddy built.
Yeah, I got my porch. 😎
When I think about what 25 years here means to me, here’s what bubbles up:
I kicked cancer’s ass here. I took back my power here. I became a grandmother here. I’ve broken open and healed here. Grieved and celebrated. Held on and let go.
I came back to myself here. This is where I finally came all the way home to who I AM.
I’m not just celebrating years in this space today – I’m celebrating who I am NOW – and how I got here. This house holds my life, but I am my home.
And that’s what I want for you, too. Not a house, but that feeling. That homecoming. That place inside yourself that’s solid and sovereign and yours, no matter what’s happened.
