When ‘home’ no longer feels like home
As we always do, in an attempt to distract ourselves from the intensity of a productive 5-minute go at work, I was scrolling through my Instagram feed and came across a post on Instagram that I resonated with.
The post was written by a positive psychologist who relocated from Portugal, to London and now Croatia, recounted how her return to home was a reminder of the older version of her. The effect reading this had on me was profound as I resonated with the feeling of having lived a whole different life to the one I live now.
I grew up in a south-western suburb of Sydney called Campbelltown. When you think of the average Aussie ‘bloke’ who works as a tradie and spends his weekends or afternoons at the local RSL or pub, that’s exactly what it was like. Except I predominantly lived in a small suburb on the outskirts of Campbelltown which was a mixture of caucasian Australians, Filipino, Nepalese, Pacific Islander, Indian and Bangladeshi communities. It was a very low-middle income suburb where I lived with my mum for the majority of my time living there. I never truly felt like it was my home, often dreaming of an independent and romanticised life that I vicariously lived in the books I read in the middle of the night when I was supposed to be asleep as a child.
From early childhood to adolescence, my home was an extremely turbulent environment filled with yelling, family violence, drinking and toxicity. So I never felt safe or stable in a place that was meant to provide a stable foundation. Almost every weekend, I would stay at my sister’s place near the city as it gave me an opportunity to escape my home life and immerse myself in culture. I went to restaurants, museums and explored the inner-city suburbs of Sydney. This is where I felt I truly thrived; I experienced a world outside of the weekend soccer or netball games, hanging out at the local mall and the abusive home I was constantly scared to stay in.
This was my life from my teenage years until I was twenty-one when I entered my first serious relationship with a guy I knew was potentially going to move away to Melbourne for a job. After eight months of being together and a couple of those months being in a long-distance relationship, I made the decision to uproot my life and start over in Melbourne. At the time, I really do think I did it for love but in hindsight, I think I also did it to start the life I had always dreamed of having. Little did I know that uprooting my whole life and starting fresh would trigger the deepest period of depression and anxiety. Relocation led to nights where I couldn’t sleep at all, loneliness, damaged sense of self, and a feeling of destructive sadness that I thought I would never get out of.
Ironically, I travelled back home every couple of months in the first year I moved so I could be around my sister, niece and my closest friends. It was a sense of comfort and solace I was seeking from the unfamiliarity and loneliness of being in a new city. But it led to the most amazing and nurturing experiences I have ever been through: adopting a dog, finishing an undergraduate degree after years, pursuing a postgraduate degree, cultivating the most wholesome friendships, and entering and leaning into a new relationship.
I grew so much over those years of recovery. Introspective, reflective and self-aware. My interests evolved and changed. I started going out and drinking alcohol less, enjoyed learning through my law classes and began sharing my working/healing/law school journey online. I feel a sense of confidence and direction that I had never felt growing up in Sydney.
The moments I have had being in Sydney, have felt like being a fish out of water. When home no longer feels like home, we tend to seek a home in another place.
All of this taught me that home is not always a physical place, it’s a sense of peace that you feel within yourself that begins when you let go of the memories that were holding you back. And even though you are here now, home is wherever your heart takes you. For now, Melbourne has my heart.
Until next time,
Liselle