Why Home Is Not Always Where The Heart Is

Lessons in mindfulness around the holiday season...

They say “home is where the heart is”…

And maybe that’s why the Holidays for me were always the hardest.

I can remember my first Christmas…

Excitedly scurrying across the cold hard floors in my project home filled with over 15 adults, 10 children, 2 bedrooms.

The air was filled with the scent of…

Smoke.

A mix between cigarettes and what I learned was the glass pipe that made those who took a whiff nod into…

The abyss.

The table was lined with… Top ramen packets that had already been opened.

Small roaches cleaning up the table… Seemingly scurrying away with the meal that I was hoping would leave me…. Open.

I woke up open to new possibilities.

Open to the man in a red suit, black boots, and reindeer bringing me not only toys and gifts that year… but the simplicities of a healthy family.

Instead, I woke to a physical tussle between my mom and dad. Broken hardwood tables, lopsided wooden chairs, shattered glass china, pots, and pans sailing through midair.

I witnessed WWE right in front of me, no theatrics.

Between… the smell of smoke drifting through the air… and the fullness of the room littered by people throughout the house, I remembered feeling scared.

Scared that this time would be the time one of my parents would die.

I felt cold.

The tile floor in my project home of Watts California chilled… By not only my lack of socks but the reality that this Christmas was one I had never seen on TV. I felt disappointed.

Disappointed that this was my reality and there was not a thing I could do to fix it.

I was a kid then.

I was a kid who turned into a teenager, who pretended to be an adult because I learned life really hurts.

They say “home is where the heart is”….

The old cliche never rang so true at 18 years old, when I was told by a social worker that my time was through and I had to move.

She said I was an adult then. I wanted to tell her, I was not ready for the world…. But my pride had an attitude and didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a fight. So, I packed my bags that night and began my adult life.

No shelter.

No food.

No network.

No going back home soon.

Just me. After foster care.

Black hefty trash bags as luggage, couch hopping, curled up in back seats, broken relationships being the only sanctuary that I felt I was repeatedly able to seek.

I fought.

I tried.

Oh… how I cried.

Alone, depressed, trying my best. Not doing life right, but not knowing how to stop doing wrong.

Budgeting.

Discipline.

Self-esteem was all foreign to me.

My Home was definitely not where my heart was, and maybe that is why I felt I didn’t have one as a kid.

I didn’t mind the lack of top ramen… as long as my parents weren’t fighting.

It was those simple things missing as a kid that turned me cold as a teen eventually.

Yet, dreams got sold for the hardest punch, and life went on even after the touches.

So… the Holidays became even harder days after foster care.

I felt it was easier not to care.

I felt like no one understood.

I knew I was unprepared.

They said I was an adult because I turned 18….

I guess they missed that I did not even know how to do the simple things.

At 18, foster care ended, and in sank reality. Faking it till I hoped I would “make it”…

I learned from family, the reality of Holidays that passed slowly… Holidays filled with the room being lit only by cigarettes.

Sounds reflecting off walls, not of holiday music, but screams due to being abused that I am still unsure were mine or my sister’s cries that still haunt my dreams even to this day.

I say all this to say…

As a kid, I had no time for games, toys, imaginary friends, or tea parties.

Only reality show drama that never paid me for the quiet moments like companies pay for television commercials.

My heart filled with lines like….

Show no love.

No one really cares.

I was just a kid… Lord, why didn’t you help me?

They say “Home is where the heart is…” I say “Home is where the heart is supposed to be…”

Yet, for many children who are now adults pretending to have it all together around the holidays… who had a similar past or worse than me…When smiles are less and words, few…

The Holidays can still feel like the hardest days.

Although many of us may no longer face physical abuse as adults… The seasons still, at times, can seem a little colder.

Budgeting money, rationing food, and boundaries to make enough to live above the poverty line continue to be a struggle for so many around the world.

I ask, encourage, and appeal to everything that may stop you from serving within your community with those who, like me, may have gone through more than your worst nightmares could ever be…

To help, support, remember… behind the pretty lights. The big trees. The ugly sweaters and even me…

Stands a great need in our communities for people like you to share a helping hand.

Don’t forget during the holiday season that…

Your kindness, non-profit donations, and even presence can make all of the difference.

They say “home is where the heart is”, and maybe that is why the Holidays have always been the hardest…

Yet, today I raise my voice. I share my story.

I open up my life to be a light in the darkest night to all of you, as a reminder that although we cannot change the past…

We are accountable for the present.

PRESENT, PRESENCE, PRESENTS.

Choose to serve and be an encouragement to those whose holidays may still be the hardest days.

Our community, your community, the community needs you.

Appreciating you tons, Shari

P.S. You are cordially invited to work with me as your Personal Growth Coach here.