How my house became my home

Hang on for a minute...we're trying to find some more stories you might like.


Email This Story






As the ball was lifted up from the field hockey stick and slammed into the goal, cheers erupted from every player dressed in blue on the pitch. Mead, the house that supposedly never won, had won.

The words Mead, Dale, Hatherley, and Field most likely do not mean anything to you, but for 18 months, my life revolved around those words. These were four of the houses at my school in England. There’s no way to truly capture in words what your house meant to you. It was a place that was always open and where you knew you were surrounded by like-minded people who cared about you. Especially on competition days, you could feel the spirit from miles away, as blue face paint was slathered on and the house name was chanted for minutes on end. 

Much like in the famed Harry Potter series, school life in England truly does revolve around your house. You started and ended every school day in your house. In my house, Mead, every student had a study to share with a friend. You could retreat to your house whenever necessary, whenever you needed to see a friend or a smiling face. There was always food stocked in the house, as well as books, beanbags, benches and any other comfy necessity you could imagine. It was essentially a safe place for all its members to relax, get some work done, or spend any free time you had during the day.

Even though I’ve moved on, I will always be grateful for the experiences and opportunities I had there. Wherever I go, I have hope that I will take a part of Mead with me.”

Over the course of 18 months, I felt the image of Mead change drastically throughout the whole school. When I first arrived, people often gave a sigh when they heard about Mead. We were considered the house that tried but never won. After just a year, I felt a completely different attitude towards us. Members of other houses started asking to come up to Mead and often said they wished their house was more like ours, due to our kind and accepting aura. There was a not a day that I wasn’t proud to be in Mead, but this pride flourished during my last months there.

The people in Mead made it what it was. With around 40 girls ranging from 13-18 years old, it was just like a family; the older girls could look over the younger ones. Our housemistress cared about each and every one of us and coordinated every aspect of our school lives. Everyone, young or old, was equal and each person knew their role in the house. The few dozen people within the house built it up to be what it was.

Although I’m no longer an official member of Mead house, it will always be a part of me. Its walls will always feel familiar and safe and its strength and pride will always be something to be proud of. My blue Mead shirt still hangs in front of my bed, constantly reminding me of everything it gave me. Even though I’ve moved on, I will always be grateful for the experiences and opportunities I had there. Wherever I go, I have hope that I will take a part of Mead with me.

I can still feel the Mead pride and spirit across an ocean and 3,727 miles away.

Print Friendly

Leave a Comment

If you want a picture to show with your comment, go get a gravatar.




Navigate Right
Navigate Left
  • How my house became my home

    hello from... hannah

    Hello from Canada

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    Who are you?

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    Connecting on Connect Day

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    It is not selfish to do what’s best for you

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    Allergies serve as my reminder to not take things for granted

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    I am always tired

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    Find something to believe in

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    The chronicles of the mane

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    The first week

  • How my house became my home

    Columns

    Dear Sophomore Year

How my house became my home