I woke up this morning in a very different place. It was still my bed and my room, but it was different. With my stuff packed away in boxes ready to go out the door tomorrow, I reflected on what this place has been for me. I’ve been very lucky in that my room has always been my space. It was a place for my stuffed animals to play and housed many games of Life. A place where Barbie fashion shows were frequent and sleepover games were a must. The place where my sister and I got in many fights and the place where I didn’t actually mind getting sent to as a punishment. As I grew, my room came with me. It went through my phases with me transforming into a sewing room, a practice room, a concert hall, a painting studio, and even an art gallery at one time or another. It was the place where we talked about boys and then spent hours late at night on the phone talking to them, against my father’s wishes I’m sure. It housed creativity, inspiration, craft supplies, colorful scarves, and Teen Vogue magazines. It kept out my parents, my bully big sister, and the whole world when I needed to run away sometimes. It was comfort. The place where I could close the door and cry where no one would see me. The only place in the world where I’ve ever been fully and completely myself, no shame, no hiding. The place where I prayed. More than anything, my room has always been my safe place. I created a sanctuary.
It’s very different, but it still remains my sanctuary, now more than ever. As I leave it, it stays here, with my stuffed animals, art, and memories. It remains my space and all that that entails. It still remains my safe place that holds all my secrets and a great amount of love.
I guess letting go and holding on are all about balance as well.