Homecoming...Finally — The Helpful Habit

I have a unique relationship with the traditional concept of a “home”. My perspective was mostly shaped by a very strict religious upbringing that leaned on respectability politics and the nuclear family unit. This was exacerbated by seeing single mothers in my church shunned while watching several “traditional” families endure toxicity at the deepest level. What I learned early was to keep up appearances at all times and even now as I write, I’m grimacing through revealing these truths.

An interesting detail that influenced my worldview was this apparent rejection of the social norms of our community within my home. This conflict annoyed me to no end and I have just now come to terms with it. For one, I couldn’t understand why my parents were adamant about my involvement in this group while contradicting many of the lessons that were obtained by observation as opposed to verbal cues. For example, it was customary after church to either host members of the church or attend someone else’s potluck where we went through the motions of middle-class American life. Having a decorated space, placing appetizers out, serving dinner, and finishing with dessert and conversation. Something that seemed very innocuous and pleasant to me did not occur often or hardly ever in my home. My parents opted for a less showy ritual with the vegan fare.

Not only did we reject the small niceties, but the rituals that defined acceptance and set THE social strata. This followed me through school, friendships, and ultimately relationships. Because of the negative associations, I had with rejecting social norms, I leaned heavily into the form and function aspect of home life. I considered myself more in line with the “Leave it to Beaver” and “Huxtable” (for Black cultural cues) home dynamic. I imagined what our home would’ve looked like if my parents cared about comfort and style over function and survival. I looked down at every living space that did not fit my imaginary aesthetic, therefore I never truly felt comfortable in any parental home. This created distance between blooming friendships as I didn’t invite people over for playdates and therefore was not included in their events.

This perspective also shaped my foundation and tethering to the idea of a support system. I had no sense of security because to me, a beautiful and comfortable space meant that my parents cared about my hierarchy of needs. This reality wasn’t revealed to me until I closed on my first home. Apart from the excitement and nervous energy of having this massive responsibility, there was some uneasiness that I had not addressed. I finally said it by accident in passing. I almost whispered, then I belted out to my husband, “This is the nicest home that I’ve ever lived in…and it’s ours.” That simple phrase helped dislodge so many negative feelings about my self-worth and the habits that I had accumulated as a result.

One strange thing I associated with not feeling at home in any space lived in previously was the state I would leave my surroundings in. I would never fully unpack hoping that the uncomfortable home was temporary. This meant living out of bins and not organizing drawers or not hanging clothes in the closets. To the untrained eye, I just looked messy but those who knew my true tendencies about organization and cleanliness would see this as a cry for help. It was exacerbated during college when I moved into my stepmother’s home and she did not clear the room to aid my comfort for a year. It was an ACT of defiance that led me to push all of the junk that did not belong to me out into the hallway as a statement.

I’ve provided this context to illuminate the major impact that owning a home that-I love- has had on me. However, now emotionally in-tune with past traumas, I realize the big task to create healthy habits in the home that reflect this evolved state of mind and new reality. So this first post is about sharing the beginning of a healing journey around the home and self-worth.