Amore de mi Vida

What if darkness didn't equate to evil?

Home...it's our safe place. We cross through the front door, unpack and take a deep breath. A sigh of relief somehow escapes our lips and forces our masks to the ground. Serenity, peace, whatever you call it. And then two familiar arms emerge around the corner; wrap us up, call us "baby" and our soul knows that it can rest.

Mother's see a child's ugliest sides. They're our healers, a place we can "be". An absent father creates a hole in our identity, yes. Coupled with a mother wound, vulnerability feels like a death sentence.

My mother meant well, we never starved and we looked like the American dream. Her upbringing was similar to "A Child Called It", so her Nursing Degree and impressive credit scores were a testimony of her love for us. What I lacked was emotional in nature. Safety didn't exist. Softness was a plague.

For as long as I can remember, there has never been a time my decisions were respectable in her eyes. At 27 years of age, with a failed marriage and two children of my own, the realization that her approval is unattainable just settled in.

Intentional or not; my mothers voice lives in my head critiquing everything I do. I lived for so long believing my natural personality was a curse. I was fatally flawed, and guilt drowned me. Happiness? Wasn't real. And if it was, I was never going to be "enough" to have or maintain it.

Boy crazy; one of her favorite insults. The truth is, I was never 'boy crazy'; I was starved for a home. Somewhere to exist, free of the never-ending checklist of imperfections. Before you roll your eyes; this isn't a love letter proclaiming my "romeo and juliet-esque" relationship. Home isn't perfect, home is where you come to be imperfect and accepted in your beautiful brokenness: just as you are.

When he lit up my inner world, it wasn't soft or beautiful. It wasn't peaceful. He shot into the darkness so abruptly that I barely had time to realize I'd been living there. Since then he's consistently and violently triggered me into softness. It's only because of this that I can say with confidence: he is my home.

Home is the place you can break down. It's the one that loves you in your most unlovable state. The facade you present to the world? You can't wear it here. It's the energy that demands your weakest self, because over time it helps you cultivate that "weakness." Home is where we come to unravel, unwind, and unpack the "perfect" "presentable" self.

I'd never known a home before. Love was conditional, earned and flighty. Someone appreciating the 11 year old dreamer I'd forgotten wasn't something I expected, or wanted for that matter. Yet here we are; and I'm more me than I ever was.

In one year he's experienced my lowest, rawest self. But that's the truth of who we are, isn't it? We're all just little kids hiding our wounds behind our anger and defenses, hoping someone will love us enough to reach through them. Home is the place that rips those walls down and exposes our innocence, the pain behind the performance we've refined for everyone else.

I used to believe perfection was a goal I could stand on. Love has been painted as a fairytale, bliss, harmony, "the light". For some of us, love is a different concept entirely. He found me in my mess, and he sat in the trenches with me. He saw my flaws, and loved them enough that even I started to. He accepts every failure, and allows me to fight myself through to the truth. He sits quietly beside me as I discover myself, not to restrict but to assist. He is patient and kind, serene and accepting.

I have yet to show him the best of me. Much like a mother receives a candle when you want to buy her an island. But home, is always waiting, always welcoming, and always willing. So for those of us lost in a sea of instability, with no place to rest our head...we just might find home in the abyss of "bad".

Home for me, was blue eyes, a crooked smile and a text that says he's on his way (because he always comes to bed after a fight). It isn't a white fence, a dog and two kids to the same man, never having kissed another. It isn't happily ever after. It's far from perfect.

Home is where he found me. Home is his existence. Home is what he gives me.

Unapologetic, free to be a fool. He loves me just as I am, and wants the parts of me the world has rejected (including myself). He has forgiven every shortcoming, accepted every apology, and only asks for my love in return. Shame has no place here, authenticity is the only way our love has prospered.

For some of us, home is in the ugly. It's the person who sees our weaknesses as our strengths. Somewhere we can finally break ourselves down to our inner self; free to expose and heal the parts we hate so much. Home isn't just where the heart is, it's the heart in general. It's the truth.

Home is our healer, a place safe to experience ourselves. And love is messy, but it stays.

Home can be a human. Ugly, messy, broken, imperfect, yet still accepted just the way you are. It's the greatest healing power, unconditional and undeserving: home is within our ability to love.

Maybe the fairytale isn't one that lacks challenges. Home, for those of us born without it, can find our fairytale in the love that does hurt. The love that withstands every trial, tribulation and temper tantrum. It sees your truest self, it hears the pain behind your insults. It accepts you without a good reason.

Home isn't perfect, but it's the one and only place that our authenticity can shine. Home is where we can heal. Home is where our innocent, vulnerable, authentic self can be appreciated. It looks you in the eye when you're ashamed to look at yourself, brushes your hair from your face, wipes your tears and tells you..... "you're enough"

For no good reason at all.

-Dedicated to the love of my life; I cannot fathom why you choose me every day. But through your bravery, your commitment to honesty, and your insatiable appetite for me....you created a place for the woman I can be, somewhere to kick my heels off and exist. I will spend my life repaying you in every way I can think of. Amore de mi vida, thank you for being my home.