“Ain’t nobody like a homebody.”

Is a sign you will see perched in a few different corners of Magnolia Market by Joanna and Chip Gaines. For those of you who are a homebody at heart, this quote most likely gives you a little chuckle that someone else is indeed feeling the same way.

“I’m in the area, can I swing by?” Is a text you’ll probably never get from me. However, you’re much more likely to get this text: “I’m home, wanna come over and hang out?”

My mom and dad talk a lot about the fact that they love how, even now, as a married adult with a child of my own, I walk up the walkway to their house singing and it reminds me of what I did growing up. They always knew when I got home from hanging out with friends in high school because I’d come up the walkway, past their bedroom window, singing. I loved being home. I was comfortable. It felt like my place.

And even now, 13 moves later (and 4 cities), I am a homebody. That means 2 things, to me.

Every time I go home — to the home I grew up in — it still feels welcoming. No matter what kind of emotions are surrounding the trip (and there have been a variety, between weddings, funerals, graduations, and vacations), walking up the walkway to the front door always feels safe, warm, right.

And being in my OWN home (even if we’re on number 7 in 6 years), where I’m able to relax, be completely myself, free from worry about the judgment of others, is the place I prefer to nearly any other.

You could offer me a week vacation in Cancun. Would I take it? Oh, sure. I love the beach! But — I will be 100% ready to return to my home at the end of that week.

And just ask my husband, he has to give me a pep talk every time we go to a church gathering, Christmas party, or dinner with coworkers. I’d rather be home — even if that means inviting others into our home — than the nicest restaurant in town.

Call me an introvert. Call me lazy, maybe, because sometimes it does have to do with the physical act of getting ready and getting out of my house. Call me anxious. Oh, yes, that has something to do with it, too; I definitely struggle with social anxiety and a sometimes crippling fear I’ll do or say the wrong thing. My mind is great at bringing back all the memories of times I’ve done ridiculous things or said something cringe-worthy.

But you can also just call me a homebody.

I just love being in the comfort of these walls I’ve been blessed to reside within, surrounded by the smell of whatever baked good I’ve got in the oven, the warmth of a blanket while I’m reading a good book, and the sound of my husband opening the door on his way in from work. Surrounded, sometimes, by the mess of toys and mix of dirty and clean laundry, and the sound of my 1 year old laughing while we play hide and seek between the kitchen and the hallway. Always surrounded by the love of the people who reside here.

I’m a homebody at heart because my heart is at home. With my family.


Photography: Jessica Rockowitz Photography + Film


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