My dad put a box into my sweaty hands when I got out of the car. It was labeled Pots and Pans on the side. I stop to take a look at the exterior of my new home Moving to start a new life after my parents’ divorce has been the most pivotal moment of my existence. As I stepped inside the house, I imagined how I would arrange my new room. Up to this point, it was still weird to not see my mom’s belongings packed up into boxes with our stuff. After unloading everything from the U-HAUL, I went to my room and unpacked my mountains of books. Meanwhile, I reminisced on my time at Maize Middle, my old house that had a broken wooden fence and dead grass surrounding it. In a short amount of time, it seemed I was moving into a completely different lifestyle.

My mom used to take pictures of my sister and I on our first day at school and all of us would go to McDonald’s afterwards to eat breakfast. Everything was peaceful. On the first day of 8th grade, I woke up late, so I sprinted to my dad’s car with a toothbrush in my mouth and one shoe on. Once I got to Wilbur, I was shocked to see no preppy kids. No need to be like everyone else. Nobody criticizing on how you looked or who you were friends with. I loved it. After a while, I made some pretty cool friends that understood what it was like to move from one dimension into a completely different world.

As time passed, I didn’t adjust well to not seeing my parents in the same room. I used to see them as one unit, watching me open my Christmas gifts or seeing them at volleyball games. I became uncomfortable with the notion that my parents would never get back together and that they were not meant to be. Overwhelmed, I didn’t want my parents to have their own house. To see one of my parents every other week. To be comfortable for that week, then have to pack my bag and just move to the next house. Constantly packing and unpacking, week after week.

My dad noticed the toll that the constant packing was taking on me. He advised me to take a step back and not to look at the house, but to look at the people inside of it. He told me that whatever is going on in school or in the house, I can always talk to him; same with my mom. He showed me that I am able to open up the doors and unpack my mind and that in the end, it will all be ok. It won’t matter where I go. My family is my home, my dimension, no matter how many times I shift from one house to another.

My life changed for the better because I learned that it’s not the actual home that makes me feel at peace–it’s the people I share that home with.