MWMF: Home

With all this talk of ‘Home’ I have never felt more homeless. I am not at ease in this space. Do not feel this automatic sense of safety that people speak of. Maybe that speaks to the fistfuls of privilege I carry with me. Maybe that speaks to a different way of viewing the world. Or maybe that speaks to this position I have printed across my chest.

I’ve met some beautifully kind womyn here. People who remember my name. And when they hear it’s my first time many of them look sweetly my way and say, “Welcome Home”. For many this place is home. A space and setting they would choose to live in year round. It is where they shed their armor, love the way they’ve always wanted, dance with reverence and fuck without shame. It is where their family lives. Family that is sometimes decades old and stronger than blood could ever bind. For many this is the only community that has told them they are precious, perfect, lovable and worthy of protection.

I, in many ways, am without a home. I have found that love in small nooks and corners. Sometimes I’ve lived there for years. It has been a blessing to find it at all. But there is a small sadness there. And more than that there is a longing. Home is meant to feel full, abundant. But so often the space I was supposed to call home reeked of not enough. Part of me hoped this could be my home. But each time a womyn welcomes me it is made clear that I am still searching for a space that feels unconditional.