Finally Free

Home Sweet Home

I never fully realized it until now.

Back when I was deep in my marriage, I couldn’t stand being at home. The moment he walked through the door after work, I’d start begging to leave. It didn’t matter where we went, it didn’t need to be fancy, I just needed to get out, every single day.

Now I understand why.

Being away from the house meant being safe from his abuse. In public, he was Dr. Jekyll to his Mr. Hyde. He’d place his hand on my back like I was his most prized possession. He smiled, laughed, played the doting father; he performed. No one would have believed what happened behind closed doors. Not even if I paid them to. No one would believe the holes he punched in the walls, just millimetres from my face.

Keeping busy outside of my prison kept me alive.

This August marks four years since he’s been gone from my home. And in that time, with small changes whenever I could afford them, I’ve transformed my space. Little by little, I’ve built peace.

The other day, my mom looked around and said, “Your house looks beautiful.” I smiled and replied, without thinking, “I love being home.”

I surprised even myself.

For the first time in thirty-three years… I love being home.

An abuse-free space filled, where love abounds. ❤️