It is the people in it.
Acouple of years ago I experienced a small, mental crisis. My home of several years was boxed up and I had let go of my lease. My daughter and I were preparing to move to a new town. With my hopes high for a new beginning, I looked at this move and this charming little town as a fresh start. The perfect place for a home.
Only, there became a hold-up with the new place. Signing the new lease to cement it as mine became delayed. First by a few days, then by almost a week. We needed to be out of our old home with no place to go.
It was in that week I broke down. All my walls of strength crumbled. The stress of being homeless, even for a week, became too much to bear.
I managed to secure a place for our belongings, thanks to the kindness of friends who happened to have an empty shed on their property. The physicality of my home; the sofa, chairs, pictures, and our beds, waited out the week stacked inside this metal outbuilding.
It is rather surreal and humbling to view your entire home-life fit inside a metal-framed box.
With my possessions now secured, I needed to secure a place to land for my daughter and myself. Moving often entails many expenses and so it was with me and this move. My funds stretched to their max, I sought out options. Another friend offered her extra bedroom to us for the week. I took it! That would work.
But even with everything temporarily situated, I felt unsettled. Quite clearly, I was not settled. The reality was I had no home to go to, even for a week. This triggered anxiety I did not even know I possessed. My mind on a continuous feedback loop mourning the loss of my home.
Not the address I was moving away from. Not the structure itself. But the concept of home. A place of safety in which to land. I began a deep soul search to excavate the meaning of that word, “home”, for myself.
At the encouragement of my daughter, I sought out help and guidance. I spent one hour with my counselor on a hot summer afternoon delving into the idea of “home”.