The other day I caught myself looking around my apartment while I was waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. Sir Kit Kat was stretched out on the floor pretending he wasn’t paying attention to me, although we both know he’s aware of absolutely everything that happens in here. The morning sun was coming through the window, my purple decorations were doing exactly what I bought them to do… making me smile… and I started thinking about the word “home.”

It’s funny how one little word can mean something completely different depending on where you are in life.

If you had asked me years ago what home meant, I probably would have talked about people. My apartment used to be busy. There was always someone dropping in, conversations happening, coffee being poured, and laughter filling the rooms. I especially miss Nicole’s laugh. If you knew her, you probably know exactly the laugh I’m talking about. It’s one of those laughs you never forget. Sometimes I swear I can still hear it for a split second before reality catches up with me. I don’t know if that ever completely goes away, and honestly, I don’t think I’d want it to.

Life looks very different now.

These days I spend a lot of time at home. Sometimes people are surprised when I say that I can go days, weeks, and every once in a while even longer without really going anywhere. Chronic pain has a way of changing what a normal day looks like. There was a time when I felt embarrassed admitting that because it sounded like I wasn’t living my life. Now I look at it differently. I’m not hiding from the world. I’ve created a place where I actually enjoy being. There’s a huge difference between those two things.

Somewhere over the last couple of years, this apartment quietly became my safe place. I don’t think it happened overnight. It happened one boundary at a time. One difficult conversation at a time. One decision after another to protect my own peace instead of worrying about disappointing everyone else. The people who come through my front door are people I choose to invite in, and that has taken me a long time to be okay with. I’m still learning that it’s alright to say no. I’m still learning that my peace matters too. Truthfully, I’m still learning that I matter too. That’s probably one of the biggest lessons life has handed me.

When I look around this little apartment, I don’t just see furniture. I see my life. Pictures of Nicole are everywhere because I love seeing her smile. I’ve surrounded myself with meaningful things that remind me of good memories instead of just filling shelves because they look nice. Coffee is never very far away because… well… let’s be honest, coffee is practically one of my personality traits now. I’m listening to music more than I used to, which has been good for my soul, and I’m getting excited about turning my spare room into an office. It’s going to take some time because life has a habit of reminding us that budgets exist, but every little thing I do in there feels like another step toward building a future instead of only looking back at the past.

Of course, no day in this apartment would be complete without Sir Kit Kat providing some kind of entertainment. He’s actually been handling all the construction noise outside pretty well this week, which surprised me. Mind you, the poor guy is still convinced that if I move my leg too quickly, the world must be ending. I shifted in my chair the other day and he launched himself into the air like he’d been fired out of a tiny furry cannon. Five minutes later he was back beside me acting like nothing had happened. Cats really do have an incredible ability to pretend their embarrassing moments never existed. Maybe there’s a life lesson in there somewhere.

I’m also getting better at admitting when I’m not okay. That’s still a work in progress because I spent so many years pretending everything was fine. These days, if I’m having a rough pain day or I’m missing Nicole more than usual, I’m more likely to say it out loud instead of forcing a smile. I don’t think that’s weakness anymore. I think that’s healing. Healing doesn’t always look like big dramatic breakthroughs. Sometimes it looks like making another cup of coffee, petting your cat, putting on some music, and giving yourself permission to simply exist for the day.

So when people ask me what home means now, I don’t think about the size of my apartment or what’s inside it. I think about how it feels when I lock the door at night. I think about the peace I’ve worked so hard to build here. I think about knowing that nobody can walk into my life unless I choose to open that door. Most of all, I think about how, after everything life has thrown at me, I’ve finally created a little place where I can breathe.

Home isn’t where my life stopped.

It’s where I finally started feeling safe.

Until next time, remember this…

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain.

Stay kind.
Stay grateful.
And always remember… YOU Matter!

With love,

Shelly 💜