Home isn’t always the place where you live. Sometimes it’s the place you’re still dreaming of creating.

Greetings, my lovelies!

I’m in a mood today. Not a bad mood, exactly. More somber and reflective, yet somehow happy at the same time. Does that even make sense? Can you feel grateful, frustrated, hopeful, and a little melancholy all at once?

Apparently, I can. Welcome to being human, where emotions don’t always arrive neatly packaged with matching labels and convenient instructions.

Today marks two years since Ronnie’s accident. Two years since a day that brought horror into our lives and changed so much about the way we live. Ronnie still isn’t 100%, and that part breaks my heart every single day. There are things I wish I could change, moments I wish had never happened, and realities we’ve had to learn to live with.

And wouldn’t you know it, today’s writing prompt asks:

What makes a house feel like home?

Of all the questions, on all the days. Well, universe, you certainly have interesting timing.

At first, I thought this would be a fun little piece about cozy blankets, delicious smells drifting from the kitchen, happy animals, and pretty decorations. Then I started thinking about all the places I’ve lived, the people who made some of them special, and the experiences that made others feel anything but welcoming.

So, here we are.

When a House Doesn’t Feel Like Home

I’ve lived in quite a few places throughout my life. Houses, apartments, rentals, and even a little couch surfing along the way. But when I really started examining those places, I realized something rather unsettling.

Not many of them actually felt like home.

The house I grew up in didn’t feel safe to me. A childhood home is supposed to be a place where you feel protected, loved, and comfortable being yourself, but that wasn’t always my experience.

And before we go any further, I’m not interested in rehashing my childhood. I’ve spent enough time revisiting that chapter of my life, and frankly, I’d rather concentrate on the life I’m living and the one I’m still creating.

During my younger years, I lived with Grandma Herrmann between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four, although I moved around quite a bit during that time. I also stayed with various people, including Stacy and her parents, my “aunt” Mary and “uncle” Marty, and spent some time couch surfing along the way.

Looking back, I certainly had plenty of roofs over my head, but having somewhere to stay and having somewhere that truly felt like home were two very different things.

I eventually married my first husband, and we bought a house together. You would think that owning a house would finally bring that wonderful feeling of having something that belonged to me.

Nope.

His mother had a habit of taking over and making changes, and the house never really felt like mine. Imagine finally owning a home and still feeling like somebody else has the decorating committee permanently under their control.

Not exactly the dream.

Then Ronnie and I began our life together. We’ve rented since 2002, living in different houses and apartments along the way. And let me tell you, we’ve encountered some real winners in the landlord department.

We had one landlord come through the back door demanding that we leave after we’d put our time, money, and energy into making his house gorgeous. Another landlady thought nothing of coming into the house whenever she pleased. After all, it was her house.

Apparently, privacy was an optional amenity.

Then there was the former landlady who told us we could live in her house forever. We believed her. We invested thousands of dollars into making that place beautiful, comfortable, and somewhere we could settle.

Forever, she said.

Yup. She said it. And she lied.

Experiences like that change how you look at renting. They make you hesitant to hang another picture, plant another garden, or spend another dollar improving a property someone else can eventually take away.

We’ve lived in our current house since 2023, and I’ll admit something. For a long time, I stopped trying to make it feel like home. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was tired of putting my heart into places where I never felt entirely secure.

And if I’m being completely truthful, I want my own house.

MY OWN FUCKING HOUSE!

There. I said it.

Somewhere I can paint, decorate, garden, renovate, and live without wondering whether somebody else’s decisions will uproot our lives again. Do I believe it will happen? Some days, I have my doubts. But if the universe is taking requests, I’d certainly appreciate a little cooperation in that department.

Still, I’ve had to change my mindset. Until we own something or decide to move, this house is where our life is happening. And I don’t want to spend that life waiting for a deed with my name on it before allowing myself to feel comfortable.

Which brings me back to the question: What actually makes a house a home?

Grandma’s House: Where I First Understood the Feeling

When I think about places that truly felt like home, my grandparents’ house immediately comes to mind.

I remember Grandma and Grandpa Todd’s decorations, the way she kept her house clean, her cooking and baking, and the birds she loved so much. She had a parakeet and finches, and those little feathered creatures were part of the household’s personality.

I can still imagine the cheerful chatter of birds, the comforting aromas coming from the kitchen, and the familiar surroundings that made visiting feel special. But it wasn’t just the decor or the food.

It was the love.

You could feel it when you were there. You didn’t have to earn your place or wonder whether you belonged. There was comfort in simply being there.

I could wander into their den, curl up on the sofa, and take a nap without giving it a second thought. There was something comforting about knowing I could simply make myself at home, without worrying about being in anyone’s way.

I felt that same comfort at Ronnie’s dad’s house. I can’t tell you how many times I curled up on their couch and fell asleep. There was no need to entertain anyone, make conversation, or feel like I had to be doing something. I could simply relax.

And when I think about those memories now, I realize how much they say about what home means to me.

There’s a special kind of comfort in being somewhere you feel safe enough to fall asleep on somebody else’s couch.

No expectations. No pressure to be anything other than yourself. Just the quiet reassurance that you’re welcome, you’re comfortable, and you belong.

Looking back, I wonder how much of my own idea of home began in those rooms. My love of animals and birds, my appreciation for a clean, comfortable house, and my enjoyment of cooking and making things welcoming.

Perhaps I’ve been carrying little pieces of those homes with me all these years, trying to recreate that feeling without even realizing it.

Funny how memories work, isn’t it? Sometimes we spend years searching for something, only to discover that we knew what it felt like all along.

The Kind of Home Where People Just Show Up

Now, here’s something I miss terribly about living back in New York and New Jersey.

People dropping by.

Remember when friends didn’t need a formal invitation, three calendar reminders, and a scheduled appointment three weeks in advance just to come over? They simply showed up!

Becky would come over and fall asleep on my couch. Not because she was bored or because I was terrible company, thank you very much, but because she was comfortable enough to relax.

Kim and I would spend time doing arts and crafts, making things, talking, laughing, and probably creating more of a mess than either of us intended. Susie would stop by just to sit and hang out. Jason might come over, or someone else would appear, and before you knew it, an ordinary afternoon had turned into a little gathering.

There didn’t have to be a reason. Nobody needed an elaborate dinner party or an immaculate living room. There was laughter, conversation, music, food, and companionship.

Sometimes people stayed for hours. Sometimes they just stopped in for a little while. And sometimes someone fell asleep on the couch.

That, my friends, is home to me.

I don’t want a house that people stand in the doorway admiring. I want a home where they feel comfortable enough to kick off their shoes, grab a blanket, and stay awhile.

Unfortunately, Ronnie and I don’t have family or friends living nearby here in Arizona, and I miss that part of life. I miss the spontaneous visits, the familiar faces, and the conversations that start in the kitchen and somehow end up lasting until midnight.

I miss having people around who don’t need to be entertained because simply being together is entertainment enough.

That’s something I would love to have in my life again.

Homemade Food, Music, and a Little Beautiful Chaos

A home should have life in it.

Give me the smell of a roast cooking, vegetables sizzling in the oven, something sweet baking, or a big homemade dinner being prepared for people I love.

I want a kitchen that gets used, not one of those pristine show kitchens where the appliances look as though they’ve never experienced a pot of boiling water. I want the smell of herbs and spices drifting through the rooms, the clatter of dishes, and someone wandering into the kitchen asking, “What’s for dinner?”

I want music playing. Classic country, oldies, R&B, seventies soft rock, eighties favorites, or whatever happens to fit the mood. And yes, sometimes I want to turn it up and dance around the house.

Preferably with Ronnie.

A home should have laughter, too. The kind that comes from telling ridiculous stories, teasing each other, playing games, working on puzzles, or watching something on television that has us both cracking up.

I want us to do arts and crafts together, enjoy our hobbies, and spend time doing things simply because they’re fun. Not everything needs to be productive, and not every moment needs to accomplish something.

Sometimes sitting together doing absolutely nothing is a perfectly wonderful way to spend an evening.

And when Arizona finally decides to stop impersonating the surface of the sun, I’d love to spend more time sitting on the patio or enjoying the BBQ pit.

Seriously, Mother Nature. A little cooperation would be appreciated.

A Home Belongs to the Animals, Too

Of course, no discussion about my home would be complete without mentioning the furry residents.

And believe me, they have opinions.

I want my animals to feel safe, comfortable, and free to be themselves. A home should be somewhere they can play, explore, curl up for a nap, and enjoy their lives without everyone constantly worrying about keeping the furniture perfect.

There will be pet toys, blankets, fur, and undoubtedly moments when somebody is doing something they absolutely should not be doing.

That’s life with animals.

Even my home office isn’t entirely mine. Peppermint occupies that space, which means I can’t simply close the office door at the end of my workday and pretend the room no longer exists.

Apparently, Peppermint didn’t receive the memo about work-life balance.

And since I work from home, that separation between work and personal life is something I’m still trying to figure out. I want to finish my workday and feel like I’ve actually left work, even if I’ve only traveled from one room to another.

I want to settle into the rest of my day with Ronnie, our animals, and the things that make me happy. My animals aren’t inconveniences to work around. They’re part of what makes our household ours.

And outside, I want the birds to feel welcome, too.

Bird feeders, gardens, flowers, greenery, and little visiting creatures bring me so much happiness. Give me a woodpecker at the feeder, a roadrunner wandering through the yard, or the sound of birds greeting the morning, and I’ll happily stop whatever I’m doing to watch.

Nature has always felt like an extension of home to me.

Throw Blankets, Holiday Decorations, and the Freedom to Be Myself

I love a house that feels comfortable.

Soft throw blankets draped over the furniture. Pillows you can actually use. Books waiting to be read. Little treasures collected over the years. A place to work on diamond art, do crafts, or curl up with a good story.

I want to decorate for holidays and seasons. Pumpkins, spooky decorations, festive touches, greenery, and whatever else happens to catch my eye.

I want to change things around when the mood strikes. Maybe I want a different arrangement in the living room. Maybe I want another bookshelf. Maybe I want to fill a corner with plants or create a little space for my crystals and spiritual treasures.

And I want to do those things because they make me happy, not because they happen to be fashionable.

I also want a home where someone can stay if they need a place to rest. A comfortable bed, a warm blanket, a good meal, and the feeling that they aren’t imposing. Somewhere people can arrive tired and leave feeling a little better.

But more than anything, I want a place where I feel safe being myself. Where I can be loud or quiet, silly or serious, creative or completely lazy. Where Ronnie can be himself. Where our animals can be themselves.

Where nobody feels as though they have to walk on eggshells.

And where I don’t have to worry about somebody walking through the back door uninvited.

Yes, I’m still holding on to that one. Can you blame me?

The Cottage in the Country I Keep Dreaming About

If I could make one enormous wish, I know exactly what it would be.

I’d love a cottage in the country.

Nothing extravagant. I’m not looking for a mansion with seventeen bathrooms and a driveway that requires its own ZIP code. Just a charming cottage surrounded by nature, with enough space for Ronnie, our animals, and the people we love.

I imagine gardens filled with flowers, greenery growing around the house, bird feeders hanging where I can watch the visitors, and trees offering shade on warm afternoons.

A porch or patio with comfortable seating. A place to drink morning coffee, listen to the birds, enjoy a little breeze, and watch the world wake up.

Inside, I’d want a welcoming kitchen, cozy furniture, bookshelves, soft blankets, and room for all my creative projects.

I’d love a space where friends could come over for dinner, where family could stay for a few days, and where people could gather without needing a special occasion.

There would be music, homemade food, laughter, games, crafts, and probably a few animals attempting to supervise the festivities.

I’d want Ronnie and me to dance in the kitchen, sit outside together, work on puzzles, watch our favorite shows, and simply enjoy the life we’re sharing.

And I’d want friends and family close enough that someone could call and say, “Hey, I’m coming over,” and my response would be, “Okay, put the coffee on when you get here!”

I know life doesn’t always work that way. People move. Circumstances change. Dreams take time, and sometimes they remain dreams.

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop wanting it.

I can appreciate what we have while still dreaming of something different.

So, What Really Makes a House Feel Like Home?

After sitting with this question, I don’t think the answer is as simple as I once imagined.

For me, home is safety. It’s knowing that I can relax, be myself, decorate the way I want, and enjoy my surroundings without feeling like someone else is constantly looking over my shoulder.

It’s love and companionship. It’s Ronnie wanting to spend time with me, our animals happily going about their little lives, and the comfort of knowing we have each other.

It’s homemade food, music, laughter, crafts, games, and conversations that don’t need a reason to happen.

It’s gardens, bird feeders, flowers, books, throw blankets, holiday decorations, and a thousand little details that make a place personal.

It’s friends who feel comfortable enough to fall asleep on the couch. It’s family gathering around the table. It’s having room for people to stay and making them feel genuinely welcome.

And it’s the freedom to build a life that feels like ours.

Do I have all of that right now?

No. Not even close.

I’m still working on making this house feel like the home I want it to be. I still dream of owning a place of our own. I still miss having friends and family nearby, and I still wish some things about our lives were different.

But perhaps that’s part of what this prompt has helped me realize.

A home isn’t something that has to be finished before you can begin enjoying it.

I don’t have to love renting. I don’t have to stop dreaming about a cottage in the country. And I certainly don’t have to pretend that every house I’ve lived in has been a happy one.

What I can do is keep creating the warmth, comfort, and freedom I want within the walls we have today.

I can put out the throw blankets, hang the bird feeders, decorate for the holidays, cook something delicious, turn on the music, and dance with Ronnie in the living room.

I can make room for laughter, creativity, love, and a little bit of beautiful chaos.

And maybe someday, I’ll be writing another post from the porch of our very own cottage, watching the birds in the garden while somebody inside asks what’s for dinner.

Wouldn’t that be something?

Until then, I’m going to keep building the kind of home I believe in. One comfortable corner, one homemade meal, one ridiculous animal antic, and one happy memory at a time.

And universe, just so we’re clear, the cottage request is still on the table.

Your Turn: What Makes a House Feel Like Home?

I’d love to know what home means to you.

Is it the house you grew up in? Your grandparents’ kitchen? A place you’ve created with someone you love? Or perhaps, like me, it’s something you’re still working toward.

Think beyond the furniture and decorations. Think about the sounds, smells, people, animals, traditions, and little everyday moments that make a place feel welcoming.

Does your home feel the way you want it to? If not, what would you change?

And if you could wish for your dream home, without worrying about money, location, or practicality, what would it look and feel like?

I’d love to hear your stories, because I have a feeling that what makes a house feel like home is a little different for every one of us.