I had needed to write about this for a long time. To put into words what I have been living for years now. But I couldn’t get the words down on the page… Fear of other people’s judgement, self-judgement (it’s not good enough, what’s the point, and so on): in short, a whole string of limitations and “shoulds” were getting on my nerves and keeping me in handcuffs…
And then that day came…
The day I decided to be kind and compassionate with myself, just as I am with the women I have been walking alongside for years, with unconditional love. Is it because, when I walk alongside them, I automatically step into another dimension, the dimension of the Source? Deep down, I know the answer.
The day I allow myself to sketch out in words the billions of thoughts that have been running through me, non-stop, for years. Even if it isn’t perfect. As I teach in my circles and in my yoga classes: perfection lies in imperfection, and imperfection lies in perfection.
I can’t say whether it’s because I’m neurodivergent, because I’m someone who by nature needs novelty and freshness, because I come from a family that tore itself away from its own roots… or simply because that’s just the way it is…
As a little girl, I lived between four houses for many years. Two of them were my favourites (they were my temporary home), but I had to leave them every time.
Today I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve moved… I remember that in 2010, I moved nine times in a single year…
For as long as I can remember, I have carried this longing, this wish: to live in my own home. And the more the years went by, the stronger that wish became. Like a fire that grows bigger, stronger and fiercer each time.
Over time, it became urgent…
Of course, I have been incredibly lucky always to have had a roof over my head, even in the most fragile times of my life, when for two years my whole home came down to one carry-on suitcase. I know how lucky I’ve always been never to have had to sleep rough… But that’s not what today is about.
Today I’m 49, and I still don’t have MY OWN HOME. I’ve been more at peace with it since we left Brazil to settle in Spain, the land of my roots, of my ancestors.
My grandparents uprooted themselves; I have always lived in between. At home, within the family, it was Spanish culture; the moment you stepped out of the front door, it was French culture.
But in the eyes of the world, I was neither Spanish nor French…
In France they called me “l’espinguouine”; in Spain, “la gabacha”…
I was an identity lost. I was Lost in Translation.
Travel has been part of my path ever since I was tiny. I was barely born and already on the move.
The urgency of having MY OWN HOME really grew when my daughter was born. An urgent need to set down my suitcases at last, to reconnect with my roots, to help them grow and grow stronger. To pass them on to my daughter.
Perhaps it’s also because of the absence of that family, now gone: feeling the need to anchor yourself physically in the Earth is much more than a symbol… It is a need to mend.
As a little girl, I always told my parents: “One day, I’m going to go and live in Spain, and settle there.”
At 21, after a serious car accident that could have been the end of me (not a phrase to take lightly, is it?!), I moved abroad on my own, on an adventure. I left everything behind: a permanent job, my girlfriends, my mates, my mother’s home, my flings… To settle in Spain.
Those twelve years brought the first great awakening of consciousness and spirit in my life. Those twelve years knocked me flat and crushed me, only to set me on the Way, on my Way.
I was to lose everything, and find another path, a different one.
After a few more years abroad (in different parts of France, in India, then in Brazil), I’m back in Spain, in a whole new region I didn’t know yet…
For the first six months, we lived in a small furnished flat. Meanwhile, our things from Brazil had arrived and were sitting in a warehouse, waiting patiently for us.
Then, in May, I finally find an unfurnished flat… Wonderful! We’ll get our things back! But… it still isn’t MY OWN HOME… I still feel I’m in transition.
When it comes down to it, I think I’ve spent my whole life in transition…
So yes, we come here to Earth to live this stage of transition between birth / the beginning / the Commencement and death / the End / the Fulfilment.
But deep inside me there is this wish, crying out for me to settle, to set down my suitcases at last, to live in that place that feels like me, that place I will never again want to leave for somewhere else… That place that resembles us, and gathers us in.
To my ancestors, to my family,
Alma
By Alma Prieto Rodriguez, Holistic Neuroatypical Therapist
Franco-Spanish and fluent in four languages (English, French, Portuguese, Spanish) Alma supports women going through life transitions so they don’t lose themselves in a move abroad, a career reinvention or an inner metamorphosis, helping them find a steady sense of “home” within themselves.
Each of Alma’s pieces opens a window onto identity, roots and the inner home of women who dare to reinvent themselves.
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