In Search for Home 

Since my early twenties, I’ve asked the question of where I belong. I questioned my identity and where I was from, who I was and how I identified as. My concerns came from a political standpoint. I questioned my political identity with everything happening in my birthplace. I was becoming a visible threat to the place I always knew as home. My skin colour, and my hijab became a threat to the public. Laws put in place alienating me. 

Where do I go now? Is this what home feels like, where you’re constantly attacked for being who you are? For dressing up and looking different? It was hurtful and frustrating. I was angry. I needed answers because as humans we always search for belonging and since I didn’t feel it, I felt insecure and unsafe. I searched for comfort and peace.

I began looking inwards. I searched deeper into my roots. I decided to remove the outer layers to truly discover who I was in hopes of finding a place where I could belong. That’s when I reconnected with my Pakistani roots. 

I unlearned habits and ways of thinking. I decolonized my mind. I strengthened my relationship with my other identity, being Pakistani. I embraced with open arms this side of me. I felt so much joy and excitement to know everything about this land, its history, its culture, and its people. 

I soon began longing to visit back home. In late 2018, I finally took a trip to Pakistan with my mom and sister. It was a beautiful and memorable trip. I was happy to be there. I felt at home. I was home. Even though a feeling of familiarity spread across me, I was still perceived as an outsider. 

The foreigner who didn’t know anything. In reality, there were many things I didn’t know. I didn’t agree with certain customs. I sought freedom of movement, yet in some cities, I didn’t feel it. There was beauty in all of it, but I couldn’t see myself living there permanently. 

When you leave a place, you realize how much it has impacted and shaped you. My parent’s house will always be my home. My childhood home, where I spend so much time in the backyard running and playing around. Where many birthday celebrations took place filling the house with the laughter of friends and cousins. The balcony served as a safe space where conversations of all sorts took place until late at night with my neighbours. 

My parent’s house was a place where I experienced growth. A place where I questioned my surroundings, certain cultural practices, and even religious beliefs at some point. Yet it provided me a place where I was able to question and find answers. It built me. There were tough times, but those made me who I am. 

Ultimately, wherever my parents live is where my home is. My dad physically worked and still works for the roof I had over my head. He made sure we were safe and protected. The house was never complete without my mother’s presence. 

She made the house a home because she is home. She emanates a sense of safety, comfort, and love we all seek in any environment. She embodies this space. Home is a mother because it will always be a stable centre. 

When I got married, the concept of home changed drastically. I no longer lived with my parents, at least physically, yet I still considered it my home in my heart. With a new reality, I was searching for belonging and a sense of safety with a new person in my life. 

My very first apartment with my husband was my own house. A place where we both put together from the smallest detail to the bigger decisions. The colours of the walls to the placement of the furniture. Everything was thought out and discussed. It reflected who we were. 

It was a regular two-bedroom apartment, but to me, it was my very first home. I felt free because I lived independently with my husband. It was a safe space, where I could be vulnerable and openly speak about my feelings. 

There were a few dark days in this place because as a newly married couple, we were still learning (still are) about each other and navigating marriage. Still, I am grateful for the beautiful moments I experienced with him in that place.

After a year, due to certain circumstances, we moved to a new place along with my in-laws. My living situation shaped some parts of my postpartum journey because I was learning to navigate living with others while learning to be a new mom. It was challenging. I lost my compass for home even when surrounded by caring people. 

A sense of comfort I once felt in my home disappeared. Many things began to take shape in a formal manner. Even though no one pressured me to be a certain type of way, cultural pressure suffocated me. I slowly lost parts of myself. I did not recognize who I was. I violated my own values to conform to others’ needs. 

The meaning of home became ambiguous. Who does this house belong to? Is it mine? How do we share a common space without compromising each other’s needs and daily routines? How do we place and respect boundaries? 

I wondered about all these questions. Slowly, I began to speak up my mind in some matters to build a place where I felt like it was my own. 

I felt this way for several months until it took a great toll on my mental health. I wanted to be the best mother I could be to my son, but I couldn’t because my environment prevented me from being a mother at my full potential. I knew things had to change for myself and for him. 

Slowly, I made small changes around the house to make it comfortable. Whether it was rearranging or reorganizing kitchen items to creating a play area for my child. These small adjustments according to my own ways gave me a sense of belonging in this place.

I also began shifting my mindset. Daily positive affirmation helped tremendously in giving me a space where I felt safe. 

I still have a long journey ahead of me before I openly and proudly can say this place is my home. There are many days when I feel like a stranger moving into a space I don’t even recognize. I do have good days, which I soak in as much as I can.

Over the past year and a half, I’ve realized home is a woman’s kingdom. She is capable of making a house a home. With a healthy, safe, and supportive environment, she can thrive in creative and remarkable ways. A woman is the centre of every space from where those around her grow with the energy she emanates. If the centre is not stable, everyone around her will fall. For this reason, I truly believe home is a mother, and home is a woman. 

…

For many of us, a home is a place of comfort, where you can be yourself. It offers a sense of safety and belonging. It’s a place of love. A refuge from others and the outside world. It’s happiness and peace. 

Home can be many places at once. It can be a person. It can be a memory. Home can be land. It can be a community. We can find it within ourselves. Home can be stable or ever-changing. 

I pray we all get to have a place we proudly call home. I pray for those whose homes are broken, may they heal with love. I pray we all find belonging. 

NOTES

I want to thank everyone who shared their meaning of home with me. I want to thank the wonderful group of women I met in an online session about living with in-laws, who openly shared their vulnerability and hopes of what home means to them.  

This post is about my internal struggle of redefining the meaning of home as I move forward in life. It’s not about blaming anyone for the way I felt in the past year. This post is about growth and belonging.