Slowly, Coming Home To Myself

Can I just say that I am incredibly happy that you are here?
The reason I say that is because you are witnessing me
slowly, coming home to myself
And to do it alone is one thing,
but to be witnessed is entirely it’s own.
It’s more vulnerable
and anxiety ridden
bringing the insecurities to the top,
like foam on top of an unfortunate beer
”Will they think I’m flakey?”
”Will they think I’m weird, wild, and chaotic?”
The focus being heavily on how other people interpret me
and this gives me the opportunity to remind myself that I am not responsible for how other people interpret me
but also to appreciate the support and love as I come closer to the home that is myself.
Coming home to oneself is not an easy
Nor painless
Nor comfortable experience
But the beauty that is wrapped into the folds
Of trauma
Beliefs
Expectations
Dreams
Desires
Humanness
Slowly,
Becomes revealed.

I never felt called to cookie-cutter
Stepford-wife homes…
I wanted to be the black house on the street of taupe,
I wanted to be the run down character home with a small lawn of wildflowers
and overgrown grass
A porch that creaks and walls that are filled with memories, marks, and mirrors
I want to be pastel pink shag carpeting, floral print couches, and lace curtains that let in the warm afternoon sun,
I am not cut out for plastic covered furniture and rooms that are not meant to played in
or sand colored walls that mimic the color of skin that hasn’t seen the sun
I am meant to be messy, wild, chaotic, free, and artistic
and
I hope that by witnessing me come home to myself,
You will feel inspired to come home to yourself, as well.