A Typical Thursday: When Home Does Not Feel Like Home - Coping Strategies for Homesickness

As I step into my bathtub to wash yesterday out of my hair, I can’t help but feel a sense of emptiness. My home is empty now. No gas, no electricity, and no running water. The food is rotten, and the place is layered in dust, fruit flies, and webs. Someone call the plumber, the electrician, and the cleaners. This stomach is backed up, my eyes won’t light up, and I’ve been vomiting since.

It wasn’t always like this, though. I remember a time when my apartment was spotless, and I was putting roses in a vase in the middle of the kitchen table. I decorated myself, putting on jewelry and makeup, sweeping my hair back. It was just a typical Thursday.

But then something happened that turned my world upside down. I ended up at a get-together with friends, and you offered to give me a ride home. I said yes because our dads worked for the same company, and you had been to my place for dinner many times. But on the way home, you took a left turn to a road that led nowhere.

I asked where we were going, and you asked if I was afraid. That’s when my voice jumped over the edge of my throat, landed at the bottom of my belly, and hid for months. All the different parts of me turned the lights off, shut the blinds, and locked the doors. I hid at the back of some upstairs closet of my mind while someone came and broke the windows.

It was you who dove into me with a fork and a knife, eyes glinting with starvation like you hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was a hundred and ten pounds of fresh meat you’d skin and gut with your fingers, like you were scraping the inside of a cantaloupe clean. I screamed for my mother as you nailed my wrist to the ground and turned my breast to bruised fruit.

Ever since that day, my home never felt like home. I couldn’t even let a lover in without being sick. I lost sleep after the first date, lost my appetite, became more bone and less skin, forgot to breathe. Every night my bedroom became a psych ward where panic attacks woke me, playing doctor to keep me calm.

But now, I’m tired of doing things your way. It isn’t working, and I’ve spent years trying to figure out how I could have stopped it. But the truth comes to me suddenly after years of rain, like sunlight pouring through an open window. It takes a long time to get here, but it all comes full circle. It takes a broken, twisted person to come searching for meaning between my bones, but it takes a whole, complete, perfectly designed person to survive it.

It takes monsters to steal souls and fighters to reclaim them. This home is what I came into this world with, was the first home, will be the last home. You can’t take it. There is no space for you. I’m opening all the windows, airing it out, putting roses in a vase in the middle of that kitchen table, lighting a candle, loading the dishwasher with my thoughts until they’re spotless. And then I plan to step into that bathtub, wash yesterday out of my hair, decorate my body in gold, put music on, sit back, put my feet up, and enjoy this typical Thursday.

It began as a typical Thursday. The sunlight kissed my eyelids and I climbed out of bed. I made coffee to the sound of children playing outside and put on some music. I loaded the dishwasher and put roses in a vase in the middle of the kitchen table. It was only when my apartment was spotless that I decorated myself. I hung a necklace on my chest, hooked earrings in, applied lipstick like paint, and swept my hair back.

We ended up at a get-together with friends, and at the end, he asked if I needed a ride home, and I said yes. We had known each other for a while, and he had been to my place for dinner many times since our dads worked for the same company. But I should have known.

When he began to confuse kind conversation with flirtation, and he told me to let my hair down, that’s when my voice jumped over the edge of my throat and landed at the bottom of my belly. I hid at the back of some upstairs closet of my mind while someone came and broke the windows, someone kicked the front door, and he took everything. Someone took me.

It was him who dove in with a fork and a knife, eyes glinting with starvation like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was a hundred and ten pounds of fresh meat he’d skin and gut with his fingers, like he was scraping the inside of a cantaloupe clean.

This home is empty now. No gas, no electricity, no running water. The food is rotten from head to foot, and I am layered in dust, fruit flies, webs, and bugs. I’ve been vomiting since. I lose sleep after the first date, lose my appetite, become more bone and less skin, forget to breathe.

Every night my bedroom becomes a psych ward where panic attacks wake me up. Playing doctors to keep me calm. Every lover who touches me ends up feeling like him. Their fingers, their mouths, until they’re not even the ones on top of me anymore. It’s him, and I am so tired of doing things his way. It isn’t working.

I’ve spent years trying to figure out how I could have stopped it, but the sun can’t stop the storm from coming, and the tree can’t stop the axe. I can’t blame me for having a hole the size of his manhood in my chest anymore. It’s too heavy to carry his guilt.

I’m setting it down. I’m tired of decorating this place with his shame, as if it belongs to me. It’s too much to walk around with his hands.

The truth comes after years of rain. The truth comes like sunlight pouring through that open window. It takes a long time to get here, but it all comes full circle. It takes a broken, twisted person to come searching for meaning between my legs, but it takes a whole, complete, perfectly designed person to survive it. It takes monsters to steal souls and fighters to reclaim them.

This home is what I came into this world with, was the first home and will be the last home. He can’t take it. There is no space for him. I’m opening all the windows, airing it out, putting roses in a vase in the middle of that kitchen table, lighting a candle, loading the dishwasher with my thoughts until they’re spotless, and then I plan to step into the bathtub, wash yesterday out of my hair, put music on, sit back, put my feet up, and enjoy this typical Thursday.

I remember a typical Thursday, when sunlight kissed my eyelids and I climbed out of bed to make coffee. The apartment was spotless, with roses in a vase on the kitchen table, and everything seemed perfect. But then, everything changed. I ended up at a get-together with friends and accepted a ride home from someone I thought I knew. Instead of driving me towards the bright intersection of lights and life, he took a left turn onto a road that led nowhere.

At that moment, fear took hold of me, and I asked where we were going. But instead of answering, he asked if I was afraid. That’s when my voice jumped over the edge of my throat and landed at the bottom of my belly, where it hid for months. All the different parts of me turned the lights off, shut the blinds, and locked the doors. I hid at the back of some upstairs closet of my mind while someone came and broke the windows.

He was someone who dove into me with a fork and a knife, his eyes glinting with starvation like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was a hundred and ten pounds of fresh meat he’d skin and gut with his fingers, scraping the inside of a cantaloupe clean. This was the moment when I screamed for my mother as he nailed my wrist to the ground and turned my breasts to bruised fruit.

Since then, this home has been empty. There is no gas, no electricity, no running water. The food is rotten, and I am layered in dust, fruit flies, webs, and bugs. Every lover who touches me ends up feeling like him, and I am so tired of doing things his way. It isn’t working, and I have spent years trying to figure out how I could have stopped it. But the truth is, the sun can’t stop the storm from coming, and the tree can’t stop the axe.

Now, I am setting down the heavy burden of guilt and decorating this place with my own thoughts. I am opening all the windows, lighting candles, and loading the dishwasher until it’s spotless. I plan to step into the bathtub, wash yesterday out of my hair, and enjoy this typical Thursday. This home is what I came into this world with, and it will be the last home. There is no space for him, and I am finally reclaiming it for myself.

Sometimes, even in the place we call home, we can feel isolated and alone. This can happen for a variety of reasons, such as family conflict, financial stress, or changes in our environment. When we’re feeling disconnected from our home, it’s important to take steps to cope and make ourselves feel more comfortable.

One way to combat feelings of isolation is to reach out to friends or family members for support. Talking to someone we trust can help us process our emotions and feel less alone in our struggles. It can also be helpful to engage in activities we enjoy, such as reading, listening to music, or practicing a hobby. These activities can provide a sense of comfort and help distract us from our negative feelings.

Creating a routine or structure can also be beneficial. When we have a plan for our day, we can feel more in control and less overwhelmed. This can be as simple as setting aside time each day for exercise or meditation, or scheduling a weekly phone call with a loved one.

If we’re struggling to find comfort in our current living situation, it may be helpful to make changes to our environment. This can include rearranging furniture, adding decorations or plants, or decluttering to create a more peaceful space. Even small changes can make a big difference in how we feel about our living situation.

It’s important to remember that feeling disconnected from our home is a common experience and it doesn’t mean that we’re alone in our struggles. With support from friends and family, engaging in activities we enjoy, creating a routine, and making changes to our environment, we can begin to feel more comfortable in our own space.

There are days when coming home doesn’t feel like coming home at all. You may be surrounded by familiar things, but they suddenly feel unfamiliar. You may have people around you, but they suddenly feel distant. That’s how I felt on a typical Thursday.

It was a day like any other. I woke up early in the morning, got dressed, and had breakfast with my family. We exchanged a few words, but nothing substantial. Then, I headed out to work.

I had a long day at work. I had a lot on my plate, and it was hard to focus. I kept thinking about how I couldn’t wait to go back home and relax. But when I finally got home, something was off. The familiar smell of home wasn’t there, and the silence was deafening.

I sat on the couch, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. My family was there, but they were busy with their own things. I tried to strike up a conversation, but it was like talking to strangers. They were physically present, but emotionally distant.

I realized that I was feeling disconnected from the people I love most. It was like we were living in the same house, but we were living different lives. I felt lonely, even though I was surrounded by people.

That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I suggested that we do something together, like playing a game or watching a movie. We ended up having a great time, and the feeling of unease gradually dissipated.

I learned that sometimes, you have to make an effort to feel at home. It’s not enough to just be physically present. You have to engage with the people around you, even if it’s just in small ways. That’s what makes a house a home.

Having a support system can make a huge difference in one’s life, especially when home doesn’t feel like home. This was the case for the speaker in the video when she moved to a new city for her studies. She found herself feeling lonely and disconnected from her new environment, which led to her home not feeling like a safe and welcoming place.

It was her support system that helped her cope with these feelings and turn her living space into a comfortable and secure environment. They were there for her, whether it was a phone call, a visit, or simply a comforting word.

A support system can come in many forms, from family and friends to professional resources such as therapists and counselors. What’s important is having people or resources to turn to when you need it the most. They can provide emotional support, advice, and guidance through difficult times.

In the case of the speaker, she found comfort in a friend who lived in the same city and was going through similar experiences. They were able to empathize with each other and provide a listening ear when needed. This allowed the speaker to feel less alone and more connected to her new environment.

In conclusion, having a support system can make a world of difference when home doesn’t feel like home. It can provide a sense of belonging and security, and help one cope with feelings of loneliness and disconnection. Whether it’s family, friends, or professional resources, having people or resources to turn to can be a lifeline during challenging times.

As humans, we all have a sense of home, a place that gives us comfort, a sense of belonging, and a safe haven. It’s the place where we spend most of our time, surrounded by the things and people we love. However, sometimes, we might feel disconnected from our homes, and that’s okay.

One Thursday, I remember coming back from school feeling exhausted and frustrated. The day was long, and my workload was piling up. As I entered my house, I was surprised to find that it didn’t feel like home anymore. The walls that were once cozy and inviting now felt empty and cold. I didn’t feel the warmth that I usually felt, and it was like I was in a stranger’s house. The thought of going to my room, which was supposed to be my sanctuary, didn’t appeal to me at all.

It was then that I realized that I had been so busy with my life that I had forgotten to take care of my home. The mess that I usually ignored had now accumulated, and the walls that needed a fresh coat of paint were left untouched. It was like I had abandoned my house, and it was now retaliating against me.

I felt guilty and helpless, but I knew that it was time to take action. I started by cleaning up the mess and decluttering my space. I then went to the store and bought a fresh coat of paint for my room. It was a small step, but it made a significant difference. My room was now brighter and felt welcoming.

Sometimes we take our homes for granted, and we forget that they require attention and care, just like our relationships with our loved ones. We need to take the time to appreciate our homes and invest in them. It’s not just about the physical space but also the emotional connection that we have with our homes. When our homes feel like home, it’s easier to face the challenges of life.

Living away from home can be challenging, especially when you experience bouts of homesickness. You might feel alone, isolated, and disconnected from your family and friends, and that can make your current residence feel less like home. I know this feeling well, as I’ve experienced it before.

One particular Thursday comes to mind when I was feeling homesick. It was a gloomy day, and I had been busy with work and chores, but I couldn’t shake off this sense of loneliness. I found myself scrolling through old photos on my phone, looking at memories from home, feeling nostalgic, and wishing I could be back there.

I tried to distract myself by turning on some music and cooking myself a meal, but the sadness lingered. I started thinking about all the things I was missing out on back home, the family dinners, the impromptu movie nights, and the times spent with my closest friends.

As the evening drew closer, I decided to call my mom, who I knew would always be there to listen. We talked for a while, and she shared some updates about the family and their daily activities. Hearing her voice and chatting with her for a bit helped me feel a little less lonely.

After hanging up, I realized that I had to take active steps to make where I am feel more like home. I started thinking of ways to make new friends, get involved in activities that interest me, and explore my surroundings.

I made a list of local events, signed up for a yoga class, and reached out to a coworker I’d been meaning to get to know better. Slowly, but surely, I started feeling more connected to my new city.

Feeling homesick is a normal part of the expat experience, but it doesn’t have to consume you. Acknowledging your feelings, seeking support from loved ones, and taking proactive steps to make where you are feel more like home can make a world of difference. Remember, home is where the heart is, and with time, you can make your current residence feel like just that.

In summary, feeling disconnected from home can be a difficult experience for anyone, but it can be especially challenging for individuals who are living far away from their families or in an unfamiliar environment. The speaker’s memories of a typical Thursday highlight the struggles that can come with feeling like home doesn’t feel like home. However, it’s important to remember that these feelings are valid and normal, and there are steps that can be taken to ease them.

Making an effort to connect with loved ones, whether through video calls, text messages, or handwritten letters, can go a long way in creating a sense of closeness and familiarity. Additionally, finding ways to incorporate comforting traditions or routines, such as cooking a favorite meal or listening to familiar music, can provide a sense of grounding in an unfamiliar environment.

Ultimately, it’s important to acknowledge and validate these feelings of homesickness while also finding ways to grow a sense of connection and comfort in one’s surroundings. With time and effort, home can begin to feel like home again.