Coming Home

A realization. One that changes everything.

I have approached my life, my personal development, like a home improvement project, one where I am gutting the whole damn house, ruthlessly throwing away all those parts of me that never felt like they were enough, as if they are the human equivalent of loud yellow and orange carpets and outdated wood paneling from the 70's when my tastes were too embarrassingly kitschy and grotesque to imagine.

But now, a shift on a cosmic scale. I feel so much tenderness for all those women and girls I used to be, the ones who took abuse because it felt normal, the ones who trusted people they didn't know were untrustworthy, who learned to stand up for themselves and set boundaries despite being taught to do the precise opposite.

I am in awe of the single mother who somehow got herself out of bed every day, fed her children breakfast and took them to school, then pushed herself to her own school and then on to a job she didn't love; then came home, cooked dinner, helped her kids with their homework, and managed to complete her own. This is what strength looks like. How could I have abandoned her?

All these versions of me, they were and are brave. They are warriors, awkward and messy and secretly terrified they were falling far short of who they were supposed to be; and at the same time they were brilliant and fundamentally kind and intuitive and never gave up. I love them all.

I am beyond proud that they are all a part of who I am, who I have become and am still becoming. I am deeply grateful to every single one of them for who they were, for the choices they made and the actions they took, including all of the things I would not do again, or would do very differently.

If I could go back in time, what I would tell all of them is this: You are enough. You were always enough. There is room in this house for all of us. Pull up a chair and pour some wine. Let's share our stories, dance to our favorite songs, and talk deep into the night. We all belong here.