Honestly, I think having a home where you can just be — without walking on eggshells — might be one of the most underrated privileges ever. People don’t even notice it until they don’t have it. For some people, though, it’s all we ever wanted.
I’ve always felt like my home was… heavy. Like it was falling apart in ways no one could see, cracks spreading under the surface. No flames, but still burning. More plates smashing than gentle words spoken. More weight to carry than support to lean on. I don’t think they’re bad people — not even close. It’s just the way things were. How years of conflicts, misunderstandings, expectations, and all these unspoken things built walls between us.
Maybe it’s the generation gap, or maybe it’s something deeper, but sometimes it feels like we’re speaking different languages. They wanted the best for me, I know that. But the way they showed it left scars I’m still learning to cover, still trying to heal. And yet, even through all of that, I still love them. I do. Because for all the sharp edges, there were moments — small ones — that felt like maybe chances exist for a reason.
Like the time my mom took a day off to celebrate my birthday, when everyone else was too busy and her workload was stacking up back at the office. Or when my dad smiled so big at my graduation, people would think I had won the Nobel Prize. Those moments are what keep me holding on to the hope that maybe, one day, home won’t feel so suffocating.
I hope you find peace in your home, because some of us are still searching for it. And if you do, hold it close. Don’t let it go. Home, when it’s right, is everything.
