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If my blogging has been somewhat irregular this week, it’s because I’ve gone home. I’ve gone to the house that my Mom and Dad and sister and I built with our own hands, stick by stick and brick by brick. I’ve gone back to the deep green grass and country quiet of where i grew up in Wisconsin. My sister moved into the house we built together and now lives there with her husband and two kids–my nieces. The older of these just graduated from High School and I was there to celebrate with her and 50 other family members. She’s headed off to college in the fall, and I’m so proud I could bust!
It was odd being back in our old family home, but deeply comforting as well. I was surprised at how little had changed. I have to admit I am feeling acutely aware of the passage of time. I had a minor freak-out when I realized that my niece is now the same age as I was when I met my husband. Yikes!
But on the second day of the trip, as I sat on the front porch and watched the sun go down over the pond, I had some time to think. And one of the thoughts I thunked was about how wonderful it was to find a place of peace that is deeply connected with your roots and who you are. And immediately following I thought, wouldn’t it be great if we could feel that way about our bodies? Wouldn’t it be great if getting in touch with our physical selves gave us a sense of “going home”. If checking in with our limbs and our laughter and our breathing and the beating of our hearts could ground us, remind us of where we came from and who we are? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could return to our physical being, if we could rest in the core of ourselves and simply find peace?
I have to own up to a certain amount of family privilege here. Sure, I’ve had disagreements with my family, but I’ve always known without a single doubt that in all important things, they had my back. They are my posse. I live in certainty that the strong family I have has allowed me to grow to who I’ve become. And when it comes to family and being loved, I have enjoyed an embarrassment of riches.
I’m acutely aware that not everyone has this “home” to go back to.
But it is this idealized version of this moment of coming home that I wish for all of us. That we find in ourselves the love we may not have always had, but have always, always craved. That we find in the cradle of our bellies and the length of our arms the embrace we deeply desire for ourselves, rocking us and assuring us that we’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay.
The Fat Chick
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