I am lucky enough to live in a beautiful house. It’s all white inside: White walls; white furniture and white floors. It’s airy and has lots of big windows. In the eyes of the world, it’s a real “winner’s” home, but it became my prison.
The walls were cemented with heartbreak and glossed with tears. The roof concealed the angry arguments and ghostly images of a couple that “just couldn’t” anymore. I remember the days that I would drop to my knees, talking to a God that, at the time, I wasn’t sure even existed. I begged Him to help me understand why everything had happened, or at least to show me how I was meant to cope.
I’ve somehow learned to love this house again. We’ve been through a lot together. Within the privacy of its walls, this house gave me somewhere to fall apart. I guess I could have chosen to move out a long time ago. I could have packed up everything, along with all of the hopes and dreams I’d had when we bought it three years ago; put the key in the lock and walked away from where my failed marriage lived. I could have looked back as I walked away and said: “That house will always be a sad place for me, a bad omen, where all my silly childhood fantasies were crushed.” But, I didn’t.
Over the next two years, people would ask me: “Are you still living in the family home?” I would answer: “Yes!” and see the confusion on their faces as they wondered: Why would she stay there? Isn’t it depressing to be there alone now?
I knew I had to make peace with the house before I could leave it. I wanted my memory of it to eventually be a happy one. After all, it would always be our first and only family home. I wanted my time in it to be remembered as a happy one for me, but mostly I wanted it to be a happy place for my children. I didn’t want to drive past it one day and think: That’s where it all fell apart, and it not to stand for anything else.
I believe in facing your crises, taking control of them and making them into something positive. I had to cleanse the house’s aura before I could pull the shutters down on it. I’m still here, but I’ll be leaving soon. It’s time.