When home is not a place

For some people, home is not defined by walls, addresses, or permanence. It is defined by how the body responds when nothing needs to be defended.

Home appears as a nervous system state. A moment when breathing slows without effort. When vigilance softens. When the body is not preparing for impact, explanation, or exit.

This kind of home cannot be secured through ownership or repetition. It emerges temporarily — in a conversation, a familiar silence, a corner of the day where nothing is demanded.

Those who live in unstable environments often learn this early. Places change. Rules shift. Structures dissolve. What remains is the ability — or inability — to regulate oneself inside movement.

Some people never feel at home because their nervous system was trained for alertness, not rest. Safety becomes conditional. Calm feels unfamiliar, sometimes even suspicious.

In that sense, searching for home externally can become endless. Not because the right place does not exist, but because the internal threshold for settling has been altered.

When home is understood as a state rather than a location, the question changes. It is no longer “Where do I belong?” but “When does my body believe I am safe?”

The answer is rarely permanent. But when it appears, even briefly, it is unmistakable.