Many of the places that shaped us are gone. Demolished, renovated beyond recognition, sold and changed by someone else’s life. Writing about a childhood home that no longer exists requires a different kind of effort from writing about somewhere you can still visit — you are working from memory alone, and memory is partial and imperfect by design.
This is also what makes the writing so worth doing. A home that only survives in the memories of those who lived there will disappear entirely unless someone writes it down.
Starting With the Physical Structure
Begin with the building itself. Work through it room by room, or from the outside in, describing what you remember as precisely as you can.
- What did the front of the house look like? What was the first thing you saw when you arrived home?
- What did the kitchen smell like? What sounds did it make?
- Where did the light come in during the morning? Where did it fall in the afternoon?
- What was the texture of the floors, the walls, the furniture?
- Where were the spots that everyone gravitated to? Where did you feel most at ease?
You will not remember everything accurately. That is acceptable. What you remember, and how you remember it, is itself a form of truth.
Placing People in the Space
A home is not just a structure — it is the people who inhabited it. Once you have described the physical space, place the people in it.
- Who cooked in the kitchen, and what did they make?
- Where did the family gather in the evenings? What was happening then?
- Which room belonged to which person, and what does that room evoke now?
- Who argued in which corners? Who laughed loudest in which room?
These placements will often unlock memories you did not realise you still carried.
Writing About the Emotional Geography
Beyond the physical and social, a childhood home has an emotional map. Some rooms were safe; others were complicated. Some corners of the house held a particular quality of feeling — comfort, tension, excitement, peace. Writing about this honestly does not require revealing painful things if you choose not to. But it does mean acknowledging that a home is experienced emotionally as well as physically.
Using Old Photographs and Other People’s Memories
If you have old photographs of the home — even a single image — spend time with them before writing. They will surface details you had forgotten. Speak to siblings or cousins who shared the space; their memories will differ from yours in illuminating ways.
If no photographs exist and no one else remembers, you are the sole keeper of this place. Write it while you can. That home existed. The people in it existed. Your words are the only way they will continue to exist for the people who come after you.