The Porch That Raised Me

Take a few quiet minutes to reflect on the places, people, and experiences that helped shape who you are today. In this guided reflection, Debbie invites you to revisit the idea of “home” - not simply as a place, but as the memories, lessons, love, and even the difficult things we carry with us. This reflection creates space to notice what you have carried forward, what has served you, and what you may finally be ready to leave behind. A gentle reflection on childhood, home, self-discovery, letting go, and becoming.

Transcript

Welcome. Find a comfortable place to be for the next few minutes. You don't need to do anything here. You don't need to figure anything out. Just listen. And while I tell you about a place that helped shape me, You might notice where your own mind takes you. There was a porch on the tired house where I grew up. And somehow, When I remember that porch, The first things I remember are beautiful. I remember the river across the small street. Bullfrogs talking at night, Peepers, The swinging screen doors, Warm evening sleeping on the porch, Listening to the river, The cars going by, And all the other noises of life. They were such a comfort. It's interesting that I have such beautiful memories of that porch because when I look at it with clearer eyes, I can see something else too. The porch was sagging and tired like the rest of the house. There were trash bags and half red newspapers, Old appliances, A mishmash of furniture. There were things happening inside that house and inside the people who lived there that I couldn't understand as a little girl. Both versions of that porch are true, The beautiful ones and the tired ones. Maybe there's a place like that in your story, A place where you remember one way as a child and understand differently now. Where does your mind go? What do you remember first? The sounds, The smells, The people, The things that made you feel safe? Let yourself be there for a moment. And now, Without taking away anything beautiful about that place, What can you see today that you couldn't see then? You don't have to change the memory. You don't have to decide whether it was good or bad. Maybe both can be true. My mother spent so much time sitting on that porch. She always seemed to be waiting for something, Someone to come home, Someone to leave, Or maybe for a different reality to arrive. My father walked through those swinging screen doors countless times to work, To care for the animals, To fix another old car. The day my father died was the last time he left that porch. We sat outside and we watched him leave for the final time with tears streaming down our faces. That porch held so much joy, Pain, Laughter, Loss, Things I understood and things that took me decades to understand. Years later, I still find myself going back. I sit in my car and I look at that porch, The willow tree, And the place where the barn used to be. Sometimes I think I go there for the same reason that an 18 and a half inch rainbow trout I caught when I was 10 stayed wrapped in tinfoil in our freezer for years. A relic from the past, Proof that the moment existed. Maybe that's what some memories are. Proof. Proof it happened. Proof we were there. Proof we lived it. Is there something from your past that you return to because part of you needs to remember that it was real? And when you picture yourself there, Can you see the person you were then? Maybe a child, Maybe a teenager, Maybe a version of yourself from only a few years ago. Look at them for a moment. What did they know? What didn't they know yet? What were they already carrying that would someday help them leave? I don't remember the last time I walked off that porch through the swinging screen door and went on to live the life I've created. But I know something now that I didn't know then. When I walked out that door for the last time, I didn't realize what I had packed away with me. The belief that there would be more for me in this world than a tired house and a tired heart. And maybe there was something you carried with you too, Something you learned, Something someone gave you, Something you developed because you needed it. Strength, Curiosity, Hope, Humor, Courage, The ability to imagine something different. What did you take with you? And perhaps there are things you don't need to carry anymore. You can leave those there. They can be part of your story without having to be part of where you're going. The porch that raised me wasn't perfect. Neither were the people who lived there. Neither am I, But it was home. And I can love what was beautiful without pretending everything was beautiful. I can grieve what hurt without allowing the hurt to erase what I love. And I can look back at the little girl who slept on that porch and see just how far she would go someday. Before you leave the place your mind has taken you today, Look around one more time. Notice what you want to remember. Notice what you want to carry. And notice what you might finally be willing to leave behind. And then, When you're ready, Come back to where you are today. Not forgetting where you've been, Just remembering that you don't live there anymore. I'm holding space for where you've been, Where you are, And who you are becoming. I'm Debbie, And this is The Becoming Space. Thank you for being here.