My Body-My Home
My body, my home.
When I was searching for myself; I searched far and wide for a home outside -in the cookie-cutter suburbs, and on the roof of the fake high rises. I was searching for the feeling of home while in my body. I found my home in myself in layers, building myself up from the foundation. My house is definitely a DIY project, constantly figuring out how to build and decorate off of YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok. The experts I was given to start, have been no help at all. Instead, I am stuck with guides from generations long ago. I have hired and found a few translators who have helped me figure out design choices, but I make the final decisions for my home.
The foundation of my home is the self-acceptance of my disability: learning to accept the fact that I have cerebral palsy and all that comes with it. The structure might feel uneven, from my spastic falls and lack of internal and external balance, but my foundation wasn’t built on flat ground. I learned to lay wood floors that wouldn’t hurt as bad when I fell. It doesn't solve the rocky levels of trust that I have with my body. That trust is shaken when the floorboards come loose and I fall. But instead of anger and fighting my body, I started to learn how to fix the floors, on my own or with some help, and continue on to make the first floor my home. Building up the panels of self-respect, filling the walls with insulation of self-love, I built up my internal foundation.
I layered up strong bricks on the outside, setting clear boundaries for which thoughts and words I let inside the home. A paste of self-reliance and an inner truth sealed my home. Positive words helped me build myself up, and helped me fill the missing parts in the walls, papering the walls throughout my home. Words that were keys to the maps in my mind, that I didn’t yet understand, but I am slowly discovering their meaning on the map. These words coat the walls, coloring each room. Green in the bedroom, coating the walls with self-acceptance and that I am valuable regardless of my ability to be productive. Robin egg blue in the kitchen to remind me to breathe and to eat in balance with nature. The calm expanse reminds me that my internal void is not something I need to fill with food. They blend together to create calm, centering colors, that remind me: I’m home.
Dust is noticeable in every room, remnants of the times the words didn’t blend into beauty. The dirt settles into the recesses of corners, making it hard to breathe. It chips away at the natural beauty of the home, letting history coat the present. The self-love shelving was built up slowly, sometimes slightly crooked, and on the first or second try. It was learning to pick up the shattered dishes that I lost through spasms, creating art with the pain. Replacing the self-loathing with self-love while replacing glass dishes with plastic. As well as tools that didn't work with my abilities for ones that enhanced my skills.
The self-love shelving in my closet next door to the kitchen needed a rebuild as well after I broke the closet I lived in when I came out. Throwing out the skirts, societal norms, and expectations. Instead, I filled the closet with button-downs, belief in myself, and suit jackets. Sweatpants for the bad pain days came with learning to embrace the bad days. There are still a few pieces that don't match my soul that I struggle to get rid of. I hold on to the expectations of my peers and the safe painful place where how I look seems to be what I am.
The kitchen was already in a rebuild when I broke my closet. The rebuild started when I acknowledged my eating disorder and started getting help. I got help to unpack all the toxic and moldy foods, ideas, and habits that I had hoarded in my pantry. I replaced broken blenders, measuring cups, and scales, with bowls, baking sheets, and a mixer. While I filled the cabinets with whole ingredients and spices, I found new recipes to help me rebuild a robust core. There are still junk drawers filled with leftovers, residuals from previous generations of myself. As well as family recipes with toxic ingredients left on worn notecards. Alongside forgotten spices nestled together.
The attic and basement started getting organized and cleaned out in phases. When I loved myself enough to look back and understand the process of self-healing and growth and had enough cleaning supplies. I went on deep cleaning sprees and let go of the trauma kept in moldy boxes. Then I could build out the main floor of my home the closet, and kitchen came first. I started to fill the closet with clothes that matched my evolution of gender and sexuality. Once I could do the basement, I felt strong enough to redo the kitchen as well. I could reach deeper into myself and learned to express that growth, through new tiles, appliances, and food. I could also unwrap the mirrors I had covered with messages of self-loathing. I was finally able to see a somewhat clear vision of what I could be in body, soul, and spirit. Framing the mirrors with messages of self-acceptance and growth, I combat decades of harmful phrases that are etched in the frame.
The gender floor is still under construction. I have yet to allow myself to find someone to build and outfit the rest of my home with. I still get lost in the hallways of my mind when I build doors to new floors. I don't yet have the guides I need, and I haven’t fully planned out my dream vision, to build out my ideas on these floors properly. ( The catch is that I have to find my own technique, as it was with laying the shaky unbalanced floors.) The instructions assume that your foundations are built for you, and you have the right contractors. I have only one consultant now that helps me express my dream design, but I come up with the design all on my own. This process takes a while, especially when I don't always understand the vision that I see. It is sometimes hard to find the vision, between the cookie-cutter houses and glamorous fake high rises. But, it's okay, as I have built the foundation and enough of a structure that I can continue to find myself safely in my home.
This photo highlights to me the deep feeling of home inside myself that I am building. One where I can be safe, happy, powerful, and unapologetically myself and share myself fully with the world. Taken by the incredible Rebbeca Sigala.