Today is April 1st.
April Fool’s Day.
The day of pretending, of costumes and clever lies. Of masks we wear for fun, or for safety. The day we laugh at what isn’t real. The day we grant ourselves permission to be absurd, unrecognizable, mischievous — and yet somehow more ourselves than we usually allow.
And maybe that’s why it feels so perfectly strange that this would be the day I came home to myself.
Because today, I’m not pretending. I’m not performing. I’m not hiding behind a curated self or a filtered truth.
Today, I feel whole. Integrated. Seen by my own emotions, and finally able to see them clearly in return. Not just as pieces or problems, but as trusted parts of me. Loyal, long-suffering companions who never stopped knocking — even when I kept the door shut.
There is no grand announcement here. No trumpets, no declarations. Just a quiet, steady knowing: the masks are off. I have found what I was always looking for — The Sanctuary of Self.
Because for most of my life, I searched for that safety, that sense of belonging, in other people. I wanted someone to hold my contradictions, to stay through the storm, to see me and not flinch. I believed home was a person — someone who could understand me better than I understood myself.
But no one else could carry what I had not yet made peace with in myself. And no one else could host what I kept refusing to invite in.
All those years searching for a place to land, to be safe, to be known… and it turns out, that home wasn’t a person. It was ME.
And now that I’ve found it — not as an idea, but as a felt reality — it’s better than great. It’s freeing.
Because no one can take this kind of home away. It doesn’t leave. It doesn’t ghost. It doesn’t outgrow you.
It grows with you.
And the most beautiful part? Now, when I do connect with others, it won’t be from a place of need or search… it’ll be from wholeness. From a home that has room to welcome, but no longer aches to be filled.
I didn’t just find home.
I became it.
Coming home to myself — fully, freely — is the most impactful thing I’ve ever done. Not because it fixed everything. Not because I never feel sadness or loneliness or fear anymore. But because now, when those emotional guests arrive, I know how to meet them. I don’t lock the door. I don’t pretend they’re not there. I host them.
I know the layout of my inner world now. I’ve sat in every room. Turned over every chair. Dusted the forgotten corners. And what I found wasn’t a mess — it was me.
And now, I don’t fear being alone. I don’t fear being too much or not enough. I don’t fear being misunderstood. Because I am no longer a stranger to myself. I am my own witness. My own sanctuary. My own safe return. I am home.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real joke—
Not on me. But on everything that ever told me I had to hide. My own limiting beliefs, the social expectations to perform. People who thought I wasn’t enough or that I was too much. The people who doubted, judged, and wrote me off.
I made it.
English