All my life, I’ve felt this vague unease, this keening wail in the back of my psyche that cried, “I want to go home!” Didn’t matter where I was… in my apartment, in a lover’s arms, in the most beautiful spot in the world: some part of me keened and wailed. Home. As I fought through some harrowing times, some depressing and damaging and frightening times, that cry continued, persisted, wove its lonely way though the years I’ve spent on earth.

I don’t hear that voice anymore. Its cry abated the moment I stepped off that airplane from Dubai with my small son and my large suitcases and nary a thing in between. Some new paean roused itself in my heart that day. A strident, womanly call, wide hipped and laughing eyed, that spoke in no uncertain terms: Girl, find home. The call went out down every path in my body, whipping through and routing out that older, whimpering cry. The strength I found when I set myself on this new single mother life burned out the old crapola, the simpering desire for someone or something else to find me a home. I burned. I bent. I surrendered. I carved out an airy, vaulted space filled with light and hope and future tense, right here in my own heart, and I’ve carried that home with me through thick and thin these months since.

Single mother, I’ve got some hope for you:

Dig in, woman. Spread your toes in the dirt and your arms to the sky. Find light. Find peace. Find home inside yourself, and wherever you are, you will always be at home.

Share This