The Place That Held and Hurt Me

Healing the Place I First Called Home

Home was once a place of contradictions–a space wrapped in warmth and woven with silence. It was where I first felt safe enough to dream and, at times, scared enough to disappear. The walls held tender and tense memories, and I learned early on that safety could shift with a breath. This is a story not just about the home I grew up in, but about the quiet revolution that began inside me–the slow, aching, beautiful work of healing the place I first called home.

The Holding – Moments of Safety

There were moments when home felt like a soft embrace. The scent of my mother’s perfume, a soft floral note that always reminded me of safety; the comfort of my bed, familiar and worn like an old friend offering solace; and the weeping willow just outside my window, its branches swaying like a quiet reminder to stay, to be still. In those moments, I understood the simplicity of belonging. Its familiarity felt like an extension of myself. In those small, sacred instances, I first learned what it meant to be held.

The Hurting – Fractures Beneath the Surface

Even in those fragments of warmth, it became clear that my relationship with home was different. Unlike the ease I saw in my friends as they entered their homes, my relationship with the space was fraught with tension. I can still feel the way they entered, shedding the world outside with ease.  I would pause, absorbing the warmth of their joy, letting it fill my lungs with each slow breath. As I approached my home, each step toward it felt like both surrender and resistance. My body moved forward, but my mind lingered behind, tangled in the uncertainty of what awaited. My stomach tightened. My breath was shallow. I walked slowly, the weight of each step pressing deeper, as if the house was listening, waiting for me to make the first move.

My room, once a quiet refuge whispering promises of peace, began to feel more like a cage than a sanctuary. The walls, once protectors, now seemed to close in around me, tightening the air until it was hard to breathe. Muffled sounds–my mother calming my father–wrapped around me like a thick fog.

It was hard to reconcile the moments of safety with the quiet tension that crept into every conversation, every glance that went unspoken. Even the laughter at the dinner table felt forced, like a mask we wore to hide what lingered beneath. Home was a shelter and a storm, and I was never sure where one ended and the other began. 

Every return home had its risks–risks I could decipher, risks that kept me vigilant and loyal. I learned to adapt.  I’d retreat into myself, hiding away in my room while the house hummed with its silent energy. Sometimes, I would slip out into the night and sit beneath the weeping willow, clinging to its quiet safety, breathing in the fleeting feeling of freedom–if only for a moment–free from the weight of it all.

The Shift – The Breath of Defiance

As the days stretched on, each one bleeding into the next, the noise around me began to shift. What once was a blaring clamor dulled into a low, constant whisper–one that seemed almost afraid to make itself known.  The relentless thoughts buzzing in my head, the weight of unspoken expectations pressing against my chest, and the simmering rage I couldn’t voice–each one building until my voice felt like it no longer had a place to be heard.

There was something else, too, a quiet defiance pressing back against despair, a subtle resistance offering a sliver of peace. Somewhere between chaos and calm, I began to feel something. Steady, subtle, a breath reminding me I was still here, still moving.

At the time, I didn’t yet understand the power of staying. I didn’t realize that I would find something I had been searching for all along in the stillness.

The Inner Work – Rebuilding from Within

When I stopped running and sat in discomfort, I discovered this presence was light. It wasn’t the heavy, suffocating silence that had once haunted me. I understood that home wasn’t just a place to return to at the end of the day. It was a feeling that had always lived within me, waiting to be recognized.  The sanctuary I had been searching for wasn’t hidden in the walls around me, but in the stillness of my mind–in the spaces between my thoughts, where I finally allowed myself to simply be.

I had resisted it because it felt heavy, but beneath that weight, a quiet part of me wanted to listen. To trust.  

And so, I learned to settle–not just in my room, but within myself. I realized peace wasn’t something to chase. It wasn’t a destination earned through effort or motion. It was a presence. A constant companion, woven into the breath I had nearly forgotten to take; in the softness of the air; in the way the trees outside gently swayed; in the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.

The Becoming – Redefining Home

As I learned to sit still, fear began to dissipate. The walls, once oppressive, now hummed with quiet warmth.  And the same weeping willow outside my window, once a silent sentinel, now stood as a symbol of my growth. I had learned that peace wasn’t about escaping this space, but about learning to sit with it, to breathe within it.

This stillness I carry now–it’s hard-earned, and it’s sacred. And it’s not just for me. It belongs to anyone who’s searching. If you find yourself lost in the noise, overwhelmed by the weight of what’s around you and within you, know this: peace isn’t in the escape. It lives in the quiet moments you permit yourself to feel.  This quiet isn’t just healing–it’s home. And that kind of home lives in all of us. 

If you’re ready to step into that space, to rediscover the parts of yourself that have been waiting beneath the surface, I’m here. Not as someone with answers, but as someone who understands the journey. As someone who will hold the space and walk the path with you.

“Come back to the breath. Come back to yourself. That’s where home begins.”

TAKE ACTION: True service begins with awareness. If you’re looking for a keynote speaker or workshop leader who brings lived experience and heartfelt insight, Deborah would be honored to be part of your event. Let’s support those who give so much—by helping them return to themselves. To book Deborah, email dkanestc@yahoo.com or connect on Instagram @dkanestc4.