Dear Unsealers,

When I was married, my ex-wife and I fought a lot.

We were married for eight years, together for thirteen.

You would think we would learn to get along by then.

We tried couples therapy for almost three years, to no avail.

It came to me one day.

I never felt right with her.

I never felt as if I could tell her anything.

I hid a lot of my life from her.

She read me her journal entries.

I kept mine under lock and key.

Something inside of me told me not to trust her.

And it came to me:

I never felt like she was home to me.

I always felt out of place.

As if I weren’t welcome in her heart.

Because I never let her inside mine.

I left her the next day, for good.

I walked away from thirteen years of misery – emotional homelessness and destitution.

I could not, in my heart and soul, stay with her another day.

I thought that was the turning point of my life.

When I found a new place to live in, I felt the same.

I had not found home, even back with my family of origin.

My dad reluctantly welcomed me and threatened to kick me out several times.

I felt unwanted there, too.

When he died, I found relief.

But I still had not found home.

I was still with my loving mother, who said I always had a home with her.

She meant a domicile, not a true home.

I don’t think I knew what a home was, yet I was still trying to find it.

I searched far and wide.

I drove everywhere, speaking with the locals.

I formed tight friendships locally, sharing our lives together.

Where was home?

I still hadn’t found it.

It was not under a roof.

It was not with loved ones either.

I searched outside of myself my entire life – for four decades.

It was time that I looked for home from within.

I found that my home was bare.

I went to building and decorating.

I built on the foundation of my values – creativity, compassion, camaraderie.

I created routines that kept the home functioning.

I cleaned up the cobwebs in my mind by journaling, meditating, and reflecting.

I nurtured my interests – art, writing, mental health advocacy – and that garden flourished.

I secured my boundaries and exercised caution with whom I let inside my home.

After all this work, I realized I had only scratched the surface.

There is a lot of upkeep required.

Constant home improvement projects.

Weeding out the structures and objects that do not suit me.

Slowing down occasionally so I don’t burn out.

Making time for fun.

The work never ends, but it’s worth my time and attention.

It is my home.

I am home.