In Search of Home

family, grief and the hunt for belonging.

The continuous noise and flicker of the TV, the sticky haze of Parliament Lights, and the ash clinging to every surface. A fridge packed with expired condiments. These were once my reality—now just lore—and I miss them desperately. More accurately, I miss the people and my place inside that world.

My family wasn’t perfect. Far from it. I have journals full of the dysfunction, the mess, the moments that made me want to scream, the moments that caused me harm. But even with all its flaws, there was something to it—a kind of ease. A feeling that, no matter what, I belonged. I knew my place in the chaos. I could waltz into my parents’ house without a phone call and know exactly where the silverware or the toilet paper was. I understood the steps and rhythm of my family. That’s what I miss the most now: the effortless knowing, the intimacy that comes with shared space, history, and decades of awkward, dysfunctional holidays.

I’m single now, both parents gone, trying to build my own little “chosen” family. Making connections, one awkward dinner at a time. But let’s be real—relationships don’t just fall into place. It’s hard. Intimacy takes time—something everyone seems to lack these days. The facts are what they are, and no amount of therapeutic reframing can change them. I’m not a natural part of anyone’s nuclear family anymore. I wasn’t born into it, didn’t grow up with their shared history, inside jokes, or embarrassing stories. For now, I’m the guest at someone else’s dinner party, fumbling to figure out the silverware situation.

I watch them—how they fit, how they belong—and I want that so badly. Sometimes, I even find myself wishing for a little more chaos, more of the mess I used to hate. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.

Most days lately, anger and jealousy are present. I have to be careful. I don’t want to take it out on the people I do have. It’s not their fault. They didn’t choose this for me. They didn’t choose their families, their stability, or the things I’m still chasing. They’re just living their lives, while I’m over here wishing I could order one on Amazon Prime. 

I didn’t build the life I wanted quickly enough. I didn’t take the risks or invest in the relationships that might have given me a sense of home earlier. And now I’m here, feeling like I’ve missed some big piece of the puzzle. Maybe I won’t ever have it all. Maybe I’m not supposed to. But I’m still trying. And god, is it hard.

---

Sick of your journal collecting dust and want help getting started? I want to see you over at Promptly Heal.