Once upon a time, there was a wife, a husband and two children. This story belongs to me, and while it seems generic and cookie cutter, I can assure you that it was the most messed up cookie cutter I’ve ever seen.
I grew up in a house, and though it looked pretty inside and out, the house held secrets that no one could ever tell. These secrets were not the house’s fault, they belonged to the people inside the house. My father was a wonderful man with a way less than wonderful temper and my mother was… hard. But the story of them stops there because as I said, this is my story.
Growing up the way that I did, I always knew the value of personal space. I lacked the skills needed to implement and sustain boundaries but when I could find time and peace of mind (usually late at night), I felt unstoppable. My room during the day was nothing more than a room that didn’t lock. For the times that I felt I needed one, I would run into the bathroom and steal the key from the top of the door so no one could barge in. But my room at night, was my safe haven. It was where I went to let go of all the pain and sadness I felt in a day. It was by no means a reflection of my personality, my mother made it clear that “for selling purposes” it never could be completely mine. But it was mine in the sense that it provided shelter when the whole world felt against me. My room was my first space.
As I grew older and more aware, I realized that my living situation exhausted me much more than any other challenging situation that I was thrust into. At the age of 16, I started therapy. I learned why I felt the way I did and how to cope until I was able to move forward.
In 2018, at 20 years-old, I moved out and found my second space. I had much more freedom to make this space my own (with the exception of painting the walls) and so I made it my home. I knew it was temporary but it was the closest I’d felt to home in longer than I could remember. This space of mine that I’d created with my whole heart was something I felt proud of, an emotion that for a long time, I thought was lost to me. This space gave me the opportunity to open up to life’s offerings, to learn to trust and love people, and to learn who I really was and what I really stood for. This space helped shape me from the muddled clay ball I once was. It gave me my identity back, my hope, my drive, my passions and most of all, my life.
When the pandemic hit in March 2020 and the world shut down, my life felt like it was stopping. Any ounce of freedom I had was taken from me, and had I continued to live in Toronto, I probably would’ve been alright with that. But I moved back to my childhood house (I don’t use the term home lightly) and as if that wasn’t enough of a culture shock, I was then confined to it for the span of nearly 18 months. For those of you who have experienced moving back in with your parents after leaving, you know that living by your own rules, schedules and quirks for a while and then being forced into your old ways SUCKS. It’s like spinning in circles and then trying to walk a straight line, it doesn’t go well.
But now, nearly 18 months in, I realize there is a different kind of space I took for granted. My own mind space. I have grown and changed so much in my 23 years here and I look forward to more growth and change in my future but sometimes I forget that growth couldn’t be possible if I didn’t learn to master my own mind. If I didn’t work to change my perspectives, if I kept playing the victim, I would not be the person that I am today. I am strong, resilient, brave, empathetic and kind and while how I got to be that isn’t great, the fact is, I am pretty great. Space is such a lovely concept but I learned that what matters most isn’t the possibility of life in outer space, it’s the space we create for loving and appreciating ourselves, for loving and appreciating others and for loving and appreciating the world we live in, no matter what life throws our way.
