I left. I packed up my car and drove away with my childhood bear strapped into the passenger seat. Not just any stuffed animal, but a cream colored, frilly bear with blue eyes. A bear who’s been with me since day one. A bear who’s survived far too many unsuccessful rounds of my mom’s washer, who still smells faintly like home. The only piece I let myself keep. The only softness I allowed on the road to becoming someone new.

I knew where I was heading. Toward freedom. Toward a version of myself I was weary to uncover. I wish someone had warned me that freedom can feel like distance. That growing up sometimes means drifting from the ones you love most, the ones who feel like home. And that home is always rearranging itself.

Leaving for college didn’t just give me freedom and space. It quietly rewrote my place at home.