The forgotten Parts of You that Feel like Home

Photo by Elena Rabkina on Unsplash

I’ve felt the tug between two different energies in the last week - the tug that tells me there’s a reason to show up here, and the tug that doesn’t quite know what to say.

Sometimes in the liminal spaces – the space between the before and after, which is where I find myself – there is a lack of clearly formed ideas, of words, of next steps to take. 

I am. . . waiting. And yet.

One of the things I’ve been doing quite voraciously in the last month is writing (in great part due to enrolling in Megan Devine’s Writing Your Grief course, which I highly recommend). I’ve been writing almost daily; it’s been my lifeline in this sea of confusion and devastation.

So little makes sense to me as I wade through the mucky waters of grief, but one thing has been steadily coming closer and closer into focus: I am a writer.

A writer. That’s an identity that I gave up long ago. It’s an identity that I abandoned because I didn’t think I was good enough, because for me there was no clear career that aligned with it, because I couldn’t see a connection between my writing and making money. (Oh, capitalism, what a dream crusher you are.)

And yet - writing has been my home in the last two months. It’s been the place I’ve returned to in a time when I’ve desperately needed a place to land. It’s been the place where I can fall apart, tell the truth, find comfort, and make a little more sense of the world.

I can’t believe that I’ve been without that part of myself - that safe harbor - for so long. What other parts of myself might have been home to me all these years if I’d let them come forward?  And what would it look like to let those parts of me be seen by others? 

I’m still working on letting the writer part of myself be seen. I don’t always feel ready to broadcast my writing to the world, but I’m practicing doing it in small ways. I’ve started sharing my writing with my fellow grievers, with my spouse, and with the inner circles of people that feel safest to me. There’s a part of me that’s telling me that my writing is meant to be shared in bigger ways (gulp) – I don’t know what that means yet, but I know those voices within me are always worth listening to. I’m paying attention. I’m feeling my way through.

What parts of yourself would you like to invite to come back to you? What parts of you might feel like freedom, might feel like home, and what would it look like to let those parts of yourself be expressed and be seen?

Let’s make a choice not to leave behind parts of ourselves. Let’s find home wherever we can, and when we can, let’s put our tender hearts out into the world together.

P.S. If you’d like some support in uncovering the hidden homes within yourself and in finding the courage to let them be seen, coaching can give you the space, tools, and support to make that happen. Learn more here.