When I was a little girl, every time I visited family for a weekend or a reunion or…. any other reason I might have been there, when it came time to pack myself up again and climb up into the van to go home, I’d freeze. I’d panic. I’d get sick in the tummy, I’d cry and sweat and sometimes I might have vomited.
I really don’t remember if I vomited or not.
I was anxious. I didn’t want to go home. Home wasn’t very…. homey.
I felt like no one loved me, no one wanted me. Nothing that mattered to me mattered to anybody else.
But when I was with the family, I was treated well. I was hugged and talked to and loved on and taken seriously. I craved the attention, the love and the support I got only from the people I didn’t see often.
Today it’s different. I have my own home. My home is a safe, warm, welcoming place. I’m surrounded by amazing young women who fill my life with joy. I love my home. I love…… love…. love it.
There are people who come around who make me even happier. They make me laugh. They make me feel important, smart and talented. For a few hours, my heart is full. My mind is challenged. My soul is overflowing.
And then they leave.
And then I’m back to the old days when I used to get so sad and anxious when I left.
Back then, I was given a taste of what it was to be loved and accepted and then I had to walk away from what my soul desperately craved.
Today…. the thing my soul desperately craves walked out the door, leaving me back in the days of childhood. Wondering. Wishing. Will there ever be a day when I fall asleep content, cozy and soul-full and wake up feeling just as content, just as cozy and just as soul-full as I was when I went to sleep? Will there ever be a day when dreams become real?
Will there ever be a day when he decides that he just can’t bear to continue walking away?