On Going Home

Once upon a time there was a small little house on a quiet street corner. It was a cute house. It held lots of memories. Good memories and also not so sun shiny ones. The house was a little anchor. It was stead fast and strong and always there. It was a happy place.

This house was my childhood home. I have spent most of my life in this house on a corner of a quiet street. It is the house a shy little girl blossomed into a young woman. The house were I got my first kiss. A house that my family outgrew and left. When I met the man whom I thought was my forever we moved into this house and started our lives. Happiness lived here along with passion. I learned to be a woman in this house. Twice a mother and once a wife in the little house on the corner. And when that story fell apart I left the house I always loved. With a heavy heart I left and started again somewhere new.

Sometimes you can go home again . Happily I walked back into the home I had always known I held my breath at first a flood of memories came to me. Memories of my life every small thing I could remember that had always made me happy here and all of the times that had made me cry. Wiping and washing memories away like counter tops. Each new day I fill my little home...my little nest with new memories. Memories of me as a grown up living a real not so fairy tale life doing the best I can and will continue to do. This moment in my life is me at my finest. It comes with struggle and judgement but I knew that when I moved home, and nothing worth anything in life is not with out struggle and criticism. From the bottom of my little heart this is where I always wanted to be...home .