I have lived in suburbia my entire life yet never been a part of it. Somehow I am never a part of anything except myself. How many of you also feel that way? That meeting people and swapping idle chatter with them does not seem like enough for you. That you want to be seen and heard for who you truly are. And you know that is not acceptable.

As a small child and teenager I did not question suburbia. It was only after I married and moved to another state that I no longer belonged. My husband was quite content to go off to his job and return in the evening. At home I felt like an alien. I wanted children and had two. But at the age of 32, everything went off the rails for both of us.

The baby was dying and the older child would pay a lifelong price for that, as did the rest of us in this nuclear family of four. I found my strength in a simple desire to acquit myself well in this impossible scenario. But I didn’t do well. I fell down into hell and only truth would guide me from then on.

I write from what I know about hell. And hell is definitely not a part of suburbia. It is outlawed, kept out of sight. I was not a rebel but an outcast. And I remain so to this day.

I am an online outcast from the enlightenment scene. My grief and sorrow proved too much for them and their ideal state was too much for me. I was shattered and knew deeply that my path lay elsewhere.

Fast forward to today. I am still in suburbia, about to get my house painted. Going about the business of being a citizen of this world and deeply alone. I do not mind at all. I am not mind at all. I have left mind behind. Not that it doesn’t run after me pulling at my coattails, but I am all heart these days.

Vicki Woodyard