I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s nowhere I’ve been

I don’t know what I’m looking for, it’s nothing I’ve seen

I’m not the person I ever tried to be

And I’m still searching daily for the ‘me’ inside of me.

Three months before I left my husband, I wrote a poem to explain what I was feeling. Something more eloquent than the “awful, awful… awful” description that I’d write in my diary.

Something had to change drastically to stop the ‘awful’ feeling, but being that low, I didn’t know how I was going to stay or go. 

All I’d ever wanted: a husband and a home I had. But the picture felt flat, empty, pretend. It looked the part, but the play wasn’t playing out as it should. 

Bricks and a roof (even a very nice roof) don’t make you a home. It’s a shell reality. 

A man doesn’t just become your husband with a ring—it’s an active daily choice he makes. 

Your dream life doesn’t just appear when you put certain externals in place. ‘Ta daaa’ No magic wand. No matter how desperately you want it. No matter how good you make it look. 

It’s created through conscious intention. Careful consideration. Love as the mutual ‘doing’. You can’t pretend to love someone with words. Actions reveal your true priorities. 

I didn’t know this then. I’d gotten swept up. The fantasy had taken me. I’d believed my story version—so much more appealing than the reality that was. 

But the truth is the truth, is the truth. 

Swim in fantasy for too long and it will drown you. 

My body remained in my marriage, but my escaped spirit was calling me home.

This isn’t your life’ 

That sentence repeated in my mind. And when you’re called on the journey of return, it’s do or die trying. You hear the call; you go.

I’m on a homeward journey, where home is a state of mind,

The people may be different but they’re the soul-linked kind.

The journey isn’t time-based, it’s neither here nor there, 

It’s digging deep inside myself and doing it with care.

Soul searching is precarious work. Extracting the layers and layers of self-protection is a pealing process. And the more you strip away, the stronger your foundation of true self becomes. You become revealed. There’s a liberation of lightness. 

I’m trying not to hurt those,

that I love too much,

I know that they may leave me,

and if they must, they must. 

But I must keep on searching, letting nothing block my way,

I’ve one life to find the answers, one day that’s today.

And when I’m feeling weary, let teardrops be my guide,

the river that sails me forward, that cleanses me of pride. 

For nothing else really matters, but being true to you

And if you have lost that someone, it doesn’t matter what you do.

Days are better sleeping, all meaning is now gone.

Everything is tainted, life drags on and on.

But if I keep on traveling in the abyss, that is my mind,

then days may have color someday and the truth I seek, I’ll find.

I’ll reach that place of comfort, and when I do, I’ll see,

that all the time, that place was there, hidden inside of me. 

Whatever it takes, you venture into the unknown. Shedding versions of yourself, tripping over them, letting them go. 

Crying a lot. 

And in the moments of stillness, you notice the shifts that have taken place, and it prompts you to keep going further. Stumbling forward. 

And one fine day, you stop missing everything that was, because it wasn’t. 

You stop clinging to the pretense of what could’ve been.

The terrifying unknown has become the familiar and there’s comfort in that. Nothing to fear anymore. And in the peace of fearlessness comes the soothing sense that, there is hope… 

You feel you belong to yourself. You accept what is. You’re safe. You’re at ease.

You’ve come home

I can finally say I’m home and there’s no place like it.  

Author Rebella

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