My childhood home

If walls could talk in your childhood home, we would say we know you better than you know yourself.

We see your dreams when you sleep, and how you plan your waking hours.

We see how you struggle to keep up with responsibilities assigned to you, and the wistful looks you throw toward the projects you would rather be working on.

We hear you work through the argument you had with someone 3 months ago, and agree that you would have proven your point if you had had time to work through it.

We would encourage you to decorate us however you truly want to, because it’s important that you feel fulfilled within our shelter.

We hear the way that you talk to yourself, and contrast it to the way you speak to others; we can see your insecurities in the differences between the two.

We store your joys and sadnesses. We remember all those who pass through your space.

If we could talk, we would tell you that you are worth more than the emotionally immature man who put holes in us, but we’re glad he settled for us and did not put holes in you instead.

We would remind you of the best friend who came over when you called and held you while you cried.

We would tell you how proud we are of you for continuing on, even though you feel like you have no choice, and wished you could just lay down and give up.

We would recount how we have watched you grow from child to adult, and tell you how we have cheered for you all along the way.

We looked over you when you slept in the small space between us and your bed, because your bed felt too exposed. We like to think that you felt our embrace as we held you close and protected your dreams on those nights.

We would tell you that we’ve talked to the floor, and it really is not bothered by the constant clutter; it actually thinks you have a point with your unintentional booby trap theory.

We would remind you of the things that brought you joy as a child. Writing by lantern light, dancing around to Celtic folk music and bluegrass, reading any book you could get your hands on like they were oxygen necessary for life.

We would remind you of the movies that you watched on repeat, because they brought you a sense of comfort.

We welcome the furry companions you bring into the space, because we can see that they bring you joy.

We would tell you to stop trying the same things repeatedly, because we have seen you try them multiple times before and they are not compatible with your brain.

We would reassure you that there is nothing wrong with your brain, and advise you to learn to work with it instead of trying to force it to function against its natural wiring.

If we could talk, we could help you.

We could help redirect you back to task when you go too far down a rabbit trail.

We could remind you of what your meditation epiphany was.

We could help shield you from the big picture when it is too overwhelming and narrow the project to manageable pieces.

We would tell you not to fear the echoes you feel from the prior occupants of our shelter, and remind you that we carry your echoes as well. We carry the echoes of everything that has occurred within our shelter since we were erected.

We miss you when you are gone, but know that there are other walls looking out for you. As long as we are standing, there will always be a safe place to return to.