In My Room
FEBRUARy 9, 2020
I made a big decision. And while I’m not quite ready to share about the WHAT of my choice, especially as I feel very on edge about all right now, the WHERE is paramount and top of mind. When little has been a constant since my accident, my bedroom has become an even more treasured sanctuary. This is the place to which I retreat to find safety, protection and comfort. My bed supports my pained limbs, my cozy organic bedding envelops this little body, my soft pillows prop up a delicate head. On my nightstand sit photographs of me and my mother alongside my mother and grandmother, a family heirloom jewelry box filled with pieces I wear daily and treasures alike, a lamp from Puerto Rico that emanates warmth in the form of both light and memories, crystals, candles, shells, mantras. Atop my shelf, I see handwritten cards from beautiful souls, beloved books and those whose pages I’ve yet to turn, vintage clocks that tell tales rather than time, and a myriad of essential oils and medicinal tinctures. In my closet are coats and dresses and heels that haven’t been worn in months, mounting stacks of medical paperwork and bills, and polaroids and trinkets and keepsakes that offer glimpses of the life that once existed beyond these walls. The colors are soothing, space familiar, ambiance peaceful, setup practical, art to my liking, scents subtle and aura inviting — all of which I’ve needed and still need. This is where I heal, rest, cry, ideate, scream, sort through ideas and information, conversate with the outside world, write to process thoughts, and weigh decisions before making any choice. What happens here is not always pleasant, neither beautiful nor straightforward, but any effort or energy expended comes to pass in a place that is something of a refuge — and therein significantly more palatable and less risky. Just after returning home post-accident, I rarely found myself able or desiring to leave my bed; it became my art studio, my book library, my research headquarters, my writing nook, my dining room, my pharmacy, my everything. I only left for showers and doctors’ appointments, then meals, then mornings or afternoons on the couch, then outings, even adventures. Of late, I am away for the vast majority of my every day, but it is the safe space I know blessedly awaits and that to which I can return whenever I want, need or so desire. Right now, even while in the safe atmosphere and surroundings of my room in my home atop my mountain, I remain intensely nervous about the decision I just made and conclusion at which I’ve arrived — one which is both internal and external, requiring lengthy processing and immense inner fortitude, testing and pushing my physical and mental limits, having major impacts upon, connections to and consequences in the world beyond this sacred space of mine. So I am here calming myself, preparing myself and trusting myself, reassuring, readying and reminding myself that the safety, peace, grounding and light I feel here in my room eternally exists here in my being. And I can always find my way home.