This week, my school is on spring break. My husband and daughter and I traveled out of state to visit with my aunt (my late father’s sister), and my first cousin, her son. This was the first time I had seen her since my wedding, and the first time I’d seen him in over a decade. So much has changed in that time. I had always had a great relationship with them, if a strained one at times. The strain was largely due to misconceptions and misinformation I was fed by my mother. My aunt said this week that my mother just kept her distance, and didn’t try to manipulate her because she didn’t see there was any use for her; I disagreed. My aunt became a convenient villain for my mother, and tried to impress that upon me, for reasons I’m still not sure I understand. In any case, I’ve been trying to deprogram myself from all that. I’m learning, or perhaps relearning, that I do have family who loves me without condition or expectation.

I spent about three full days total with them, and for the first time in my life, I experienced while with family what previously I’ve only experienced after spending time with family. I felt restored, rejuvenated, refreshed. I felt seen and heard and loved. I felt happy and at peace.

Is that what it’s supposed to be like when spending time with family??? I had no idea.

I may need to carve out a little time to feel sad about the fact that this is news to me at 34 years old, but, for now, I’m just grateful that my heart is so full. Maybe I’m not quite as orphaned as I thought I was.

We laughed and caught up, and cleared a fuckton of musty old air between us. I learned things about some relatives that I didn’t know, and they learned things about me and my side of the story that they’d had no idea about. Time and again it came up, this theme about our family history, which is that we never talked about anything. Like, ever. So much pain and trauma and abuse that cycled through generations – and we are the few left behind who’ve survived it all, and endeavored to forge a new path. Cursebreakers, I call us (mostly because it sounds cool and tickles my fantasy literature fancy).

I think I’ve mentioned this in other terms or other context before. But, if like me, you identify as a Cursebreaker, I urge you to find other Cursebreakers to connect with. Confer; commiserate; heal. Restorative recovery is apparently found through genuine loving connection. Who knew?

In the never-ending restoration project that is my trauma recovery, I’m starting to truly learn that home is not really a “where” thing. I’m pretty sure it’s more of a “who” thing. This week, I flew to a place I’ve never ever been…and I went home.