Painting Over Scars & Bruises

I’ve moved 21 times in my 23 years of life, 8 different cities across 4 states and 2 countries. Having moved so often it’s near impossible to feel rooted in anything. My friends were a rotating door of kind souls who I could never get attached to. The topography in which I grew up was in a constant state of change, whether I was surrounded by tall buildings or vast plains. As a child in this constant state of instability, the foundation of my sanity came from the arrangement of familiar items in my room.

The skill of being able to make any house a home, any space feel like mine, was learned after years of trial and error with many transitions. For the majority of my formative years through the fallout of an ugly divorce and subsequent internment in foster care, my things were not always mine to possess. Before my first major move, my father had me and my brother relinquish ownership of all that we possessed, save two toys. When we were moved into foster care we left everything behind except the clothes on our backs and one or two small items carried in our hands.

There was little comfort for me during this time when I suffered so much loss, the loss of everything familiar, everything that I knew up to that point in my life. I was moved to a new state, a new house, thrown into a new way of survival that was all completely foreign to me. As I trekked the New World that had become my life, more than anything I wanted to go home. But how do you go home when the place where you found comfort, happiness and peace is no longer yours?

After me and my brother were released from the grips of the foster care system I found myself hanging on to my possessions, my books, stuffed animals and blankets being among my favourites. They became my comfort, what made my space my home. My safe haven has grown and changed over the years as I’ve either been forced or have chosen to let things go, and have gained new things. But everything that I choose to hold onto, that becomes a part of the space that I find alleviation from my troubles, has a special memory attached to it that makes it an integral part of my sanctuary.

Books

Reading has always been a fundamental part of my asylum. They are the place I go to escape my world and enter a new one, to make lifelong friends and experience life through a new perspective. A vast library filled to the brim with endless universes, tales of wondrous people numbered as the sands of the sea, nothing is more comforting when you feel lost without a north star to guide you.

Max Lucado’s You Are Special. A tale of the wemmicks that my mother would often read to me as a child that I continue to find great comfort in. Knowing that I hold in my hands the past, present and future makes the vastness of it all feel a little more compact and hopeful.

Mary Downing Hahn’s Wait Till Helen Comes. A fictional ghost story that I was able to purchase at the Scholastic fair at my elementary school despite my family's financial problems. As a child I LOVED ghost stories and read this one over and over again. Now whenever I feel lost and in need of grounding, reminding that even though so much has changed I am still who I've always been, I read this along with a few others like it.

Stuffed Animals

While true friends have always been few and far between for me I’ve found security in the friendships I’ve developed over a lifetime of heartache with these animals. As an adult my furry friend is now a living breathing soul named Carter who is twin to my own soul. But, before we met and he was able to turn my frowns upside down, the job fell to these special creatures photographed above, who I still hold near and dear to my heart.

Sarah Bunny, a pink rabbit tattooed in stitches to keep her from falling apart. She was given to me by my mother shortly after my parent’s divorce so that I could always have her with me. Her ears hold an ocean of my tears and have been witness to my greatest fears.

Football, a build-a-bear who was given to me by my childhood best friend, Luz. She was my companion in my healing and one of the few people I felt I could be wholly myself around. Her gift to me became a support to Sarah in carrying the burden of my childhood depression.

Blankets

When you have little to no support, warm embraces can be hard to come by. I've found immense comfort nevertheless, over the years as I’ve received blankets as gifts from friends and family. These are my favourite because, especially now that I live an ocean away from them, whenever I wrap their blanket around my shoulders I can feel the presence of their love around me and know I’m not alone. I've found that it even works for my little Carter whenever he's feeling anxious and I wrap him tight in a little blanket burrito. Because of their healing power I always carry these blankets with me no matter where I go.

A purple heart blanket given to me after the war of my childhood from my grandma-auntie, the only adult to take care of me as a child. She always seemed to see through my heart, to read what I could not tell, what I couldn’t even understand. Even now that she’s gone I often can still feel the love she had for me whenever I’m wrapped in this blanket eating oatmeal the way she made it when I was young with sweetened condensed milk and natural brown sugar.

My baby blanket, made by my grandmother with pink flowers that I’ve carried with me since I was born. It seems small now, too small to even be a throw, but it used to serve as my tent to shelter me from the violence outside my room. Now it reminds me where I’ve come from and just how much one can grow.

Building a Space of Familiarity

Now that we have sufficiently reminisced about the deep, dark and depressing corners of my life and established the building blocks of a safe haven, let's take a look at makes a truly healing sanctuary. Whenever I encounter a new and unfamiliar place the most important thing for me to do is to build a familiar space. While being surrounded by familiar things is reassuring the best thing I’ve found is the familiar structure of a place. The construction of my safe haven was built 7 years ago when I moved back in with my father.

There was a lot to be answered for, a plethora of scars that still scathed the inside of my mind as I tried to reconcile between the two men who I knew to be my father. The one being a towering beast who terrified me as a child, and the other a reformed man who stood before me, who wanted nothing more than to be the dad I never had. As we came to know each other again, to heal from all the scars and bruises, we built a space together that was represented both a lifetime of hurt as well as much needed forgiveness which has been a necessity in my healing. We painted walls where I had never before been allowed colour, we surrounded the ceiling with the art I had created over the years and made a space where I could be myself. A space that I still carry with me, even when I moved 5,000 miles away. It all begins with the perfect furniture embedded with untainted memories.

A coral, foldable bookshelf that me and my dad thrifted from a flea market. A place to hold the friends I had made in my favourite worlds trapped between pages.

A purple throw rug that was gifted to me by my dad when I had to give up a similar one which I had carried through 9 moves. You’d be surprised just how much a rug can change a space from foreign and new to a place you’ve lived your whole life.

A large comfy chair that was gifted to me one Christmas morning. Perhaps one of the most important pieces of furniture I own. It has become the vessel in which I can escape the worries of my world and enter a place of peace and rest, where nothing can intrude on my thoughts.

Now at age 23 I’ve carried this space through 4 moves, 3 cities and 2 countries. It is my safe haven, it is what makes my space my home. It carries a lifetime of memories, sorrows and joys. If there is anything I’ve learned in a life of upheaval, it’s that everyone needs somewhere they can call home, that they can call theirs. Especially during this unprecedented time of unknowns in such a chaotic world, we all need a space that can be whatever we want it to be. That can be unchanging, a solid foundation in which we can ground ourselves when we feel lost to what’s happening around us.

Sometimes it can feel that we have no cure for the mental battles that rage in our minds. That there is no solace to be found. If you find yourself in this state of anxiety or hopelessness, look for the small things that bring you joy, that help you remember that time that you felt cared for, and to create a space where you can never forget it. Something that you can carry with you no matter where life takes you.

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