Home is Not Where the Barn Is

The house we lived in was a remodeled barn. It felt more like a barn than a home. We were the animals. Grasping for food, wanting affection but terrified of it. Other family treated us like we were feral. Don’t touch the glass cups, use the guest bathroom, don’t go into the kitchen unsupervised. In the end, it wasn’t our fault. We were children, cursed with drug-addled parents. They were parasitic. Latched onto me until the day I struggled free. We were essentially locked in for most of our lives. I take responsibility for most of the wrongs in my life. Some things could have been avoided. But it is likely that it would have all turned out the same. I make mistakes; I had to teach myself manners. I was “feral” and dirty for the first five years of my life. Who is to blame?  I’ll accept most of it; I could’ve tried harder. But the house we lived in was a barn. I was literally raised in a barn. Who wouldn’t feel like an animal sometimes? Me. I wouldn’t. Not anymore. I domesticated myself. The house we lived in was a barn, but it is no longer my home. I suppose it never was.

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Jodie Kane-Combs is a College of Central Florida graduate and a Success Coach for City Year Jacksonville. Jodie has always had a passion for writing, and this passion developed into the desire to pursue English Education. Beginning their life in and out of the foster care system of Kentucky, Jodie insisted on fighting their way to success. Although they are still fighting that fight today, they get immense joy out of writing and creating space for those around them who need a helping hand.