The Meaning of Home

When you ask someone else what they think home is, they’ll probably tell you that it’s a safe place. A place you can be yourself. For me, it’s these things, but a little bit more. Why? Because I have Autism Spectrum Disorder. *Gasp!* you say. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds horrible and contagious!” No. It’s neither. It means that my brain is wired a little differently. In my case, it’s a little like being Superman. You get all the superpowers that come with autism, (great memory, super-fast typing, high intelligence) but there’s also the whole Kryptonite thing. For example, social anxiety, being overwhelmed easily, obsessive thought patterns, and, well, let’s just say I’m not very social. For me, home is my safe haven. I can be myself, without anyone judging me, and without anything overwhelming happening. This means that I’m not easily motivated to leave the house. At home, I can control everything (well, maybe not everything. I still have to eat my mom’s lentil soup) but when I’m outside, anything could happen. A dog could run up to me and try to lick me, a loud truck could pass by, or, worst of all, I could run into somebody I know! It’s too idiosyncratic, and I have no control! Meanwhile, at home, I’m protected. I don’t have to worry about anything. Home is a place where everything is practically perfect in every way. I feel safe, and I feel loved. If life is a garden, then home is my little flower, away from all the thorns in life. If life is a raging, ravaging, rocking, rough ocean, then home is my dock. My home is my favourite thing in the world, though ice cream is a close second. That’s what home means to me.