Heart Is Where The Home Is

As far back as I can recall, I never had a “home”. I had a house – in fact, after my parents got divorced, I had two – but they were never homes. My birth home is England, but we moved to Australia when I was four, so I suppose that makes Australia my second home. It never felt like one though – with my weird accent, unusual brain and know-it-all attitude, it was no question I was eventually going to be bullied, I just didn’t know it at the time. I quickly learnt to change the only obvious part of myself, and lost most of my English accent in favour of a more neutral Anglo-Aussie hybrid, which seemed to help things, even if only a little. I tried not to cry, and I speedily learnt the fine art of emotional repression *go me!* but there were times I would break down in the bathroom or fake sick days to avoid being in that environment. And when I did break down, there was always one common theme to my tears, something we’ve all heard from a scared child –

“I want to go home.”

My parents separated when I was about six-ish, so that was fun: I had TWO houses! But, still unaware of my place in the world, I didn’t realise two houses would make only poor substitutes for a home. Not that I remember it being much of a home when they were together – most of my memories of their time together are negative so I’ve never lamented my parents’ divorce – it was the best choice for everyone. With my time divided to precisely in half, I never quite settled into either place, and then the bullying started and the place I used to love (school), a place of learning, became yet another place to divide my time. Then once I moved to high school and the bullying stopped, both my parents moved house within weeks of each other. 2 new houses! 2 new families! Zero homes.

It’s almost primal, that compelling urge to go home; it pulls every one of us at some point or other in our lives. When I get panic attacks, I can almost hear that frightened little girl inside me, bullied and alone, crying out for a home she knows she cannot find. It doesn’t matter where I am, whether I was at Mum’s or Dad’s or school or on holiday, that voice cries out for home. I’m sure I’ve offended them both at some time or another when I was younger and I used to say the phrase aloud, but it was neither one nor the other’s house I desired, it was just that feeling of being safe, of being blanketed in love and acceptance and warmth, where no bad thoughts can get in – after all, isn’t that what home is? A sanctuary – a safe place, a space to be at ease.

Perhaps that’s why I prefer winter (aside from my deep hatred of overheating). When it’s cold, you wear more layers, spend more time indoors, sitting in coffee shops and around the kitchen table. Everything about winter inspires a homely atmosphere, at least in my mind – the coffee, the books, the TV, the clothes, the music, the duvets and long socks.

Moving back to England. I thought that would make it easier, clearer, but it hasn’t. I wasn’t expecting sparks, or to arrive at a place and suddenly feel at home, but I thought it would at least provide some clarity. Because Australia never really felt like home to me – I was always the English girl: the nerdy girl: the socially awkward girl: the anxious girl. So I put myself out there more over here; I talk more to people I’ve just met than I ever used to, I make an effort to go into town and spend time with people outside of work, but here…. Here I’m the Australian girl. I’m the talkative girl. I’m the nerdy, anxious girl. I’m too English, then not enough, so WHERE DO I FIT?

WHERE DO I BELONG?

WHO THE FUCK DO I BECOME IF I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO CALL HOME?

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO???

Because while I miss my family and friends more than anything, I don’t miss Australia. And I know for a fact if I left England tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss it either.

SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

To my mother’s frustration, I have always loved TV shows and movies. I love the stories, the characters, the locations, the writing… Doctor Who, Firefly, Lucifer, Game of Thrones, American Horror Story, Stranger Things, Crazy ex-Girlfriend, Daredevil, Jessica Jones, X-Men, Avengers, Breakfast Club, Seven Psychopaths, X-Files, Back To The Future, Star Wars, Star Trek, Disney & Pixar, literally anything Joss Whedon writes, etc. etc. I could spend all day writing lists, but I don’t. because I’m too busy finding and watching more TV. I’ve always felt AT HOME in the universes I watch – untainted by anyone else, not misjudged or misunderstood – I can vanish into those worlds and never feel homesick again. But I can’t just watch TV until I die, so

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

Once Upon A Time (one of the many shows I lose myself in) has a main character who feels lost, and sometimes more so than others. 
 
 

 

But she learnt a definition of "home" when she was younger and clings to it, hoping that one day she'll find something. 

"That's when you know you've got a home. When you leave it, there's this feeling that you just can't shake."
 
"Neal was right. You don't have a home... until you just miss it."

I don’t know, maybe I attach home to people? I have always felt most at home in the company of my best friends, and my close family, but honestly, those fleeting moments aren’t enough for me. People are fickle, and many have their own lives and problems, and a home needs to be there for you always: a touchstone or a well you can keep coming back to – the sword in the stone that only YOU can pull free.