Home isn’t just where we live. Sometimes it’s the quiet understanding that we don’t have to become someone else to belong there.

Home has a different meaning for people. 

Two people can walk through the exact same door and need completely different things from that space they’re coming back to.

One person might desire a conversation. 

Another just simply craves silence. 

Neither is inherently wrong. 

There’s more than one way to greet a space.

If you asked me what an ideal evening looked like, I’d probably say something pretty basic. 

It probably starts by greeting my cats by the door. Then changing into my soft clothes, and settling on my rocking chair. My mom would ask how my day was and then we’d settle into the living room without needing to fill the silence ourselves.

She’d be wrapped up in her blanket, her TV show of choice playing in the background. While I wouldn’t need to fill the space with conversation. I could simply work on my blog, start a crochet project, or work on my book. 

To me, that’s quality time.

“We don’t have to be doing the exact same thing. We just have to be in each other’s orbit.”

For the longest time, I didn’t really think much about how people experienced togetherness. I just assumed everyone wanted to be together–the only difference was how it was expressed. . 

Honesty I chalked it up to people just having different personalities. 

When I wanted to spend time with someone, I just simply existed in their space. Maybe a natural conversation would start, but most of the time it was two people doing different things together. 

It never occurred to me that simply sharing a space wasn’t enough for some people. 

The more I learn about myself, the more I realize I don’t feel connected because of constant conversation. I feel connected because there’s a comfortable understanding that it’s enough to exist alongside one another without feeling like we have to earn each other’s attention. 

There’s a peacefulness about coming to that understanding about yourself. Not because it’s the only way to experience togetherness, but because it’s honest.  

Maybe that’s why I’ve never thought of silence as empty. 

There’s no distance created.

 If anything, it gives me room to think, create, and simply be myself while sharing life with the people I care about. 

Lately, there have been some conversations about the future of our home. It’s made me think about this a little more than normal. 

My mom and her fiance have started talking about life after the wedding. What our home could look like, where everyone’s going to live, and how six cats would somehow manage to coexist under a roof. 

It’s not that these conversations make me question whether I want to be around the people I care for. 

It’s made me realize how much I’ve come to value the environment that surrounds these relationships. 

“It’s enough to exist alongside one another without feeling like we have to earn each other’s attention.”

It’s not about the physical square feet or yard space. 

It’s more about the atmosphere. 

The way a room feels. 

The clutter that naturally accumulates in shared spaces. 

The freedom to spend an hour without feeling like you need to explain what you’re doing…

Or what you’re not doing. 

The freedom to quietly exist in the same room with people without feeling like silence needs to be filled.

And that’s when it hit me: I’m not protecting a physical house.

 “I’m not protecting a physical house. I’m trying to protect the version of a home where I find the most peace.”

I think we often assume the people we love need the same things we do. 

But I’ve realized that’s not always true.

One person might need conversation.

Another might need silence. 

Neither person is asking for less love. 

They’re just asking to receive it in a way that lets them feel at home. 

When I think of coming home it’s not about the size of the house, how crowded it is, or even how much conversation fills the rooms. 

I think about whether the people inside it have the freedom to be themselves–and whether the people around them understand what that looks like.

And most of the time, for me, that sounds a lot like silenc

Not because silence means I’m alone, but because it’s one of the ways I feel most at home.  

More soon,

Quill