Love is Home

I wake up to my annoying iPhone alarm clock and grunt. There is a constant flow of snow outside my foggy window and I shake my head. Ugh. I don’t want to drive in that to get to a job I’m still on the fence about. I just want to crawl back into bed. A slew of negatives.

But I don’t crawl back into bed. I get ready for the day. I keep pushing myself. Becky of the past might have called in sick and let her anxiety strap her to the bed for the day. Now, I hold myself accountable for being on time, being happy, and not letting anything deter me from owning my life — I have been finding excitement in a job that is not exactly in my field, and in throwing myself into being a wife and defining what that means to me. 

As I’m getting ready, I stare over at my sleeping husband. He’s cuddled up in our many blankets as the cats sleep next to him. I look out the window once more, see the snow falling and I smile. This is my home.

A lot of people say that home is more of a feeling than a place. I’ve noticed myself saying home about many places over the years. It has been about my home town of Glenview, Illinois, my parent’s house, places I’ve physically lived by myself in Chicago, and most recent? Home has evolved into wherever my husband is. Growing up and even once I moved out of my parent’s house, I always felt like “home” was where I felt most safe. So with my parents. And they still hold that safe feeling for me, but home is somewhere else. It is here in Petoskey, Michigan with my husband. 

Cliche, but I have to say it is true. 

My home now is most definitely linked to my husband. Physically our home is together in Michigan, but the feeling of home is also now permanently linked to my husband’s being. I feel the most myself with him. I feel the coziest, warmest, and safest wherever he is. 

How does that happen? How does home become another person?

You fall in love. You develop a connection with someone. For me, my husband brought out the best parts of myself, parts I had forgotten about. He has helped me become a better person. He became home naturally but quickly. I have to say falling in love with my husband happened quick. I knew about a month into our relationship that I was done for and that I had never felt safer with a man before. And sure, I would have found a home without him, too. I’m capable. But I’m much more content and blessed to be with him. To have a home in him.

Home will travel where we go, and I know that although my life is shifting I will also find a feeling of home back where my parents are. For me, home is attached to my loved ones. To their being, their soul. And although there may be a bitter taste in my mouth from the town I grew up in, knowing my parents are there, settled into their ways and around their love leaves me satisfied. It leaves me feeling understanding of the home they’ve built together because I now am the one building a home of my own with my husband. Love is home.

Becky Harrison, OWTL Contributor
Becky Harrison : Certified klutz, free spirited, go-get-em goof ball. Loves writing poetry and the beach. Strong believer in bucket lists.