HAPPY PLACES

The feeling of home, to me, is not linked to where you spend most of your time, nor your address, not even people. There is only one thing a home has to be, and that is comforting. Unwilling to claim other people’s property as home, I call them my happy places.

I’m in one of my happy places right now, digging my feet into a carpet too soft to put into words, feeling the good kind of tired, the tired you get after a day well lived. I’m full of good food, my limbs are heavy from moving around outside for hours. Everything else seems far away, all the worries and responsibilities faded into the background. The faint sounds of water, disturbed by birds diving in to cool down. Soft noises of chickens and horses from a distance. Tall trees rustling in the wind. The smell of summer and the sun on warm stone, of sun screen and books.

Happy places can be actual places, but anything that makes you feel safe can count as a happy place. So, I guess people can be a home after all. Something that makes me feel safe, as you might’ve guessed, is something familiar to read. Be it a reread or a new story in a familiar setting with familiar characters. It’s the one thing that can calm me after a stressful day. My body doesn’t feel like my own sometimes, when I am overwhelmed with everything. Familiar words can be a tether, anchoring me to reality. Sometimes, rereading is the only thing I can do, novel ideas too much for my mind to process.

Characters are what draw me in. Others find comfort in the plot or setting. Losing myself in something I know I love, not having to learn and form opinions, allows me to just relax for a while. It has calmed me down when I was on the verge of breaking. Interacting with my happy places for just a few moments, maybe on a bathroom break, can help me through my day.

Maybe you know that creeping feeling of slowly losing hold of your mind. It might be irritation—too much noise, every morsel of sound driving you closer to an edge—or desperation—overexposure to the news—or uncertainty. Portable happy places are indispensable. If you don’t have one, try to find one! It is so reassuring to have something to fall back on when all else fails. It’s a relief, and I’ve stopped feeling the need to explain. If people judge you for not functioning the way they do, that is not your problem. It can feel like that at times, and it hurts to potentially lose people over it, but you’ll feel better for it. I managed to soften, even prevent, some depressive episodes by taking the space that I needed.

Having an invisible illness, disorder, or disability tends to feel like an excuse. Even knowing my needs are valid, I still struggle. But being capable of forcing yourself through something doesn’t make it something you are able to do, if you pay a price later. That is not how you define an ability. People don’t understand, they get annoyed at requests, no matter how small. If possible, I leave, instead of asking for concessions, which still earns complaints. Put yourself first, nonetheless. You’re important.