Isn’t it both lovely and strange, when we can find a home away from home? The feelings of security, peace, and comfort that it brings allow us to feel a little happier, even though we aren’t home with our loved ones.
What happens when we can’t get out of our house to find that “home”? What if I have no safe place to turn? What if I don’t feel at home, even laying here – in my own bed, under my own roof, next to my own sleeping husband and baby?
My husband used to provide that “home-y” feeling; he could warm me up and make me smile no matter how cold and crude the day had been to me. But lately, something has changed. What was it? What shifted?
Oh, THAT’S RIGHT. I grew an entire human being and let him watch me push her out of my vagina!
I sarcastically wonder to myself, “Gee, how could something so massive change our lives?”
Now, my “home-away-from-home” is actually in my house. In the bathroom. Alone.
I’m fairly sure that it is where all of my posts have been written so far, and that probably will not change any time soon. Uninterrupted solitude is the only safe haven that I have now, the only one that I can claim solely as my own.
It is where I come when my head is hot with rage and anxiety, the cold tile under my feet keeps me cool and grounded. My heart is still alone here, however. I do not know how to have difficult conversations in a healthy way, I was only ever shown bad examples. And I don’t want to re-enact those. I care too much about our marriage, and too much about our daughter, to create a toxic environment of fighting… but I am also done asking nicely for the things that I need.
So, if I am done asking nice, but I don’t want to be mean, I’m stuck here – in silent frustration – in the bathroom.
Dark and Twisty 