Blog Post Ten

”A Homesickness for a home that doesn’t exist” 💌

"There is a certain rhythm of experience in which our longing becomes tested, our belonging shaken, and our sense of home no longer defined by geography or family. In this exile, we begin to realize that home is not a place at all, but a presence - a way of being in the world. There is a whisper in the soul, a memory of somewhere we have never been, and yet it calls to us with more familiarity than any known dwelling. We become pilgrims, not toward a destination, but toward a forgotten intimacy with ourselves, with life." - John O’Donohue

Home.

The feeling I crave most.

It means something different to everyone. For some, home is a place, somewhere to return to when life feels heavy. A safe haven. For others, it’s a person. Or a moment. Or a quiet sense of belonging. Home can be many things at once.

What does it mean to you?

For me, home has been a constant search. It used to be a place, until I moved away. Then it was my family, until that fell apart. It became my special someone, until that ended too.

So I suppose you could say I’ve struggled with feeling secure. With having that place or person I could always return to. I kept trying to find home outside of myself. But I’ve learned, over the years, that most things come with an expiry date.

And so, I’ve had to teach myself to lean inward. To build a home within me.

But there’s still this ache.

A kind of homesickness for a home that doesn’t exist.

It’s like an emotional phantom limb. An ache for safety, for comfort. For something I’ve never really had, but somehow still miss. An identity that never quite belonged to me, yet lives so vividly in my imagination. It’s something my soul continues to yearn for. Maybe it’s because I moved overseas. But honestly, I think I’ve always felt this way. It used to feel like an itch I could never quite scratch. The feeling would consume me, I’d spiral for days. Then, eventually, I’d find a distraction. But sure enough, it would rise again. Weeks later, coming to the surface of my mind.

Since moving to the UK, I’ve had these moments:

“I want to go home.”

But where is home when you don’t really have one?

I’ve started to accept that it’s okay to feel this way. Yes, I still get overwhelmed. Yes, I still get angry and want to blame someone anyone. But the more I do that, the more I disturb my own peace.

So, slowly, gently, I’m learning to make peace with it all. Maybe I don’t have a physical home right now. But I’m building a home within myself. A quiet place in my soul where I can go when the world feels too much.

Lately, I’ve been finding peace in the small things. One of those is my local park.

It’s finally spring here in the UK, and whenever the sun decides to show up, so do I.

I sit in the park. no phone, no music, no distractions. Just me and the trees. The breeze. The birds. And in that stillness, I’ve started to notice the beauty around me.

There’s a pond in the middle of the park.

Two swans live there. They give off king and queen energy. Graceful and grounded.

Then there’s a goose couple, new parents to three tiny goslings.

They walk side by side all day, never letting their babies out of sight.

And a duck family too, four fluffy ducklings following closely behind their mum.

Of course, the chaos-makers are here too: seagulls and pigeons, flapping about, disrupting the calm.

And let’s not forget the two turtles, always sunbathing like they own the place.

And so, even without a traditional home, I’ve found something beautiful. In the smallest things. In the stillness. In the ordinary. I’m learning what brings me joy.

And maybe, one day, I’ll find something more. A place to unpack my bags. A door I can always return to. Arms that feel like safety.Maybe.

But for now, I’m happy with this little life.

With the sun on my face. With the birds in the trees. With the quiet reminder that healing doesn’t always look like a big revelation. Sometimes, it’s just noticing the way the ducklings waddle after their mum. Sometimes, it’s choosing to sit with yourself, in the stillness, and whisper,

“I’m here. And that’s enough.”

So if you’re searching for a home too. In a place, in a person, in the world. Start by coming home to yourself. Even just a little. Even just for today.

And if I can find peace in this,

I believe you can too.

Much love,

Karina xx