Learning How to Be at Home

Reported and photographed by Kathryn McClintock

I don’t like being home. It reminds me of all the things I used to be, and none of the things I am. School has been a haven of learning and freedom. I’ve been able to grow there in my own little microcosm, be it a dorm room or an apartment with a friend. 

But now I’m home, and I have to be. On top of that, I can’t go out to a coffee shop, or to the beach. I’m well and truly stuck in the one place I’d never thought I’d be, right before I launch into my adult life: my parent’s home. I’m sure some of you are in the same position.

I know everything can be an opportunity, but I haven’t tried to fool myself into thinking I’m happy here. Instead, I’ve tried to understand what my childhood home means to me, and how I’ve been shaped by it. I’m going nowhere, I have plenty of time. 

One of my photography assignments has me taking pictures in quarantine, and they are all pictures of my house. Suddenly, I’ve had to stop and think about why that bowling pin has been there forever, or why we just leave a stool in the way of the walkway. Taking pictures of it helps me conceptualize it, like creating a composite map of my house bit by bit.

It sounds silly, but I know I really have been shaped by the physical environment of my parent’s house. Everything in it has been furnished by people who have also furnished me. Does that mean there’s a stray bowling pin somewhere inside, or a stool in front of a mental walkway? It gets philosophical, but I think that’s what our photographs can capture. 

In my state of mind, I’ve found myself focusing on the things I don’t like, the bad memories, or the feeling of powerlessness. Suddenly helping a roommate with their dishes becomes colored by the memory of doing chores for my parents. Tidying up my room feels juvenile when my mom suggests I do it. 

However, the photographs I’ve taken remind me that there are good times too, and things I’ll miss about this house. I’m not sure I’ll fully appreciate that until I’m grown and far away, but I’ll have reminders to look at. 

For many of us, emotions about our childhood can be mixed—and that’s okay. Even though I’d rather be somewhere else, I’m trying to be glad about the opportunity I have to say goodbye to my former self, one last time.