Maybe In Another Universe
Where do I belong? It’s a simple question, but it’s never had a simple answer for me. People say children are resilient and that I should be grateful. That, at least, I was too young to remember. But I do remember. Not in pictures or words but in the silence that fills the spaces where love used to be. In the way my body knows to pack before my mind does. I have two places to go but nowhere to stay— two beds to sleep in but no place to rest. The more I ask myself where I truly belong, the more I realize I might never know.
Every Sunday night, I zip my bag again. The sound is quiet, but it feels deafening. It's the sound of leaving. It's the sound of a child’s heart breaking. It's the sound of disappearing piece by piece, week by week, house by house. My hands move on their own now, fold, pack, close, and leave. I don't even think about it anymore. What's the point? It never changes. I never stay. However, I still wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like to grow up in a house where love stayed, the walls weren't hollow with silence, and the air didn't feel thick with unsaid things, where the floors were worn down by dancing feet, not the careful, quiet steps of people trying to avoid each other. But that wasn't my life.
I hug one parent goodbye. Their arms wrap around me, and for a second, I want to hold on forever. I want to melt into them, let them pull me into something that feels steady and real. But I don't. I always pull away because it hurts less that way. Because the longer I hold on, the more I have to lose. And I can't afford to lose anything else.
I step into the other house, but it doesn't feel like coming home. It feels like walking into someone else’s life, someone else’s room, someone else’s story. The bed is there. The walls are there. My things are where I left them. But I am not. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the ceiling, waiting for something to feel right. It never does.
They say I'm lucky to have two homes, but I don't feel lucky. I have places where my body exists, but my soul is homeless. I have parents who love me, but I never feel like I am anyone's to keep. I float between lives, between people, and between walls that do not know me. I am everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Sometimes, I wonder if there's another universe where the pieces fit together, in a place where I am whole.
Home has always felt more like an idea than a reality, something I've only seen in movies or heard about from friends who have a mom, a dad, and siblings all under one roof. My home was split in two when I was five, and ever since, I’ve been living in pieces. When I was younger, I tried to convince myself that having two homes was special, which made me different in a good way. But now? It feels like I'm constantly torn between two versions of myself, two lives that never quite fit together. It’s not ‘cool’ to have two homes; if anything, it’s exhausting; I'm always leaving, always missing someone. A part of me is always somewhere else.
In public, when I see a family laughing together, attending events, or simply existing in the same space without the fear of it all falling apart, something inside me doesn't just break; it crumbles, piece by piece. I watch a little girl bury her face in her mother's shoulder, her father's hand resting on her back, and I wonder what it would feel like to have that kind of closeness, a bond that isn't divided by time and distance. I was that little girl once. I am the one bouncing between two houses, never really belonging to either.
The phrase “the lamp starts to look weird” has been a key lesson in my life, reminding me of how reality shifts unexpectedly. Sometimes, it feels like life is just an illusion or a dream, a feeling I know all too well. It’s an understanding that should come from age and life experiences as you go through life. It took me years to accept that my parents were never getting back together and years to let go of the hope that kept breaking me over and over. That hope shattered me, but through all the pain and growth, I’ve learned that pushing through the hard times is the only way forward, even when reality is cruel.
Every second, the longing, the hurt, and the ache of acceptance have shaped me in ways I never expected, changing how I see the world and myself. Sometimes, I can't help but mourn the pieces of my life that were never whole. Yet, through the chaos and heartbreak, Bridgette Nicole’s words echo, “I am who I am. Not who you want me to be. I am me.” Because when the world crumbles and illusions vanish, the truth of who I am is the only thing I can cling to. It’s the tiny flame that refuses to be extinguished, reminding me that even in the darkest moments, I’m still here, still fighting, still holding on to whatever hope remains.
Divorce didn’t just split my family in two. It split me. I became a visitor in both of my parents' new lives. I carried my grief like a ghost, unseen and unheard, mourning something no one else seemed to grieve. And the worst part? The world didn’t stop. Life kept moving as if my childhood had not just crumbled beneath me. As if I was standing in the wreckage, trying to gather pieces of a home that no longer existed. At that time, I was too little to remember but now I'm too old to forget.
I’ve chosen to live purposefully, to let my experiences guide me toward helping others who also carry heavy burdens. The most demanding challenges don’t magically disappear, but I’ve discovered that even in the darkest moments, we can find a reason to keep going and breathing. Telling my story reminds me of how broken I once felt, yet it's also an act of defiance against the hopelessness that tries to claim me.
I hope my words reach those who feel alone in their struggle, showing them that it's possible to keep moving forward, no matter how shattered they feel inside. Even though my heart still hurts for the family I wish I’d had, I will keep searching for resilience in every tear, every sleepless night, and every moment of doubt. Because in the end, it’s that fragile spark of hope, no matter how dim, that makes this life worth holding onto.
“I am who I am. Not who you think I am. Not who you want me to be. I am me.” -Bridgette Nicole
