I have lived in many places over the years but very few of them linked to my heart. It seemed as though something just wasn't right. My stuff was there. It was my place, but when it came down to it, it really wasn't. I paid rent to someone else. I didn't own it. If they wanted to, they could take it away from me and there was nothing I could do.

I have lived in many places that were just rooms with walls. There was no spirit there. It just didn't feel right. It wasn't where I belonged. I tried to conform but I could not. I just figured that home is where I laid my head. For years, I convinced myself of this lie.

I never thought I would leave Tennessee but after my husband and I were married, we bought a house and moved to Virginia. I remember the first time I saw my new home. There was something about the place that just felt real. I wanted it so badly. I couldn't sleep because I was so excited that we might get that little white house in the country.

The time came and we did get that house. Immediately, it became home. Our first night here, we slept in the floor but it did not matter. We were happy to be here. We were tickled that we finally got a place of our own. We moved things in and I put them where I wanted them. We didn't have to settle in because it was though we had always lived there.

My home has a relaxing atmosphere. It is deep in the country and no one bothers me. There is no place I would rather be than in the confines of my own home. I feel comfortable when I am home. It is a place where I make the rules. It is a place that no one can take from me.

My home is my sanctity and my sanity. It is my family and my pets. It is my world where anything goes. It is the place where I have worked for everything I own. It is the place I will always belong.

My home is the place where my son is being raised. It is held together by the walls he drew on. The paint is chipped on the doors from the many times they have been slammed. There are tiles peeling in the kitchen where he scuffed them up with his cleats. My dog has permanently dug up the yard and the fence will probably never get fixed back.

My home is worth less in monetary value now than what I gave for it. Sentimentally, there is no price on the memories that were created in my home. This house holds my heart. It has shared my laughter and my tears. It has been a place I can always run to. Home is right here in Virginia, where my heart is.

Learn more about this author, Laura Leigh Fields.
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