a home that's hard to love

Could you picture a life here?

A life built in a space of 500 sq feet; a run-down cottage home that’s seen its better days. Dinged up, damaged floors and walls brittle from years of water leaks and poor care. Rooms so small you can hardly fit a bed in, the most quirky sort of shapes to make comfort hard to manage. Windows battling mold time after time, a bathroom with numerous issues that are hard to ignore and harder to fix. No owner who loved it truly, a history of being abused and neglected and otherwise broken. That’s my home. 


Your space may be different; a tumble-down apartment that feels crooked and cheap. An old, small house that’s defined by neglect - or a giant, gorgeous space that still feels lonely and bare. The tightness of your parents basement, or the building you rent with another family. Places that feel more like a box than like a home, or more like a cage than freeing stability. Can you picture a life in a space that you struggle to love? 

I think you can. 

It might be frustrating at times; practicing contentment in a space you’ve clearly outgrown. It might wear you down fixing the same issues over and over again, or acknowledging in fact this place you live isn’t perfect and never will be.

Fortunately, your physical circumstances don’t define your home. 

‘Home’ happens in spite of the creaky floors and slanted walls; the sound of children running and chasing. ‘Home’ happens in the midst of your cramped, outdated kitchen; people choosing conversation over devices and laughter over critique. ‘Home’ happens when you find yourself holding your lovers hand, or sweeping the hardwood floors, or calling your mom, or doing the dishes that seem to pile up a little higher every day. It happens when you invite people in, when you linger at the doorstep, when you find a new trace of joy. For home isn’t where exactly you live or what those circumstances look like - but rather the act of life and intention inside of a space that’s wholly, completely yours… no matter how imperfect. 

Because nothing will ever be entirely as we hope, right? But it can be as beautiful as it is in wholeness now; no extras needed. 

HomeVeronica Rogers