Growing up, I was so used to my surroundings.

Loud cars revving, police sirens out the window, random yelling, homelessness — these things were normal to me. But moving out to a college town does something to you. My environment changed, and so did I.

When you’ve built your young adult life around college and living on your own, the idea of moving back to your hometown feels uncomfortable.

Living on your own (or with friends), you have this sense of freedom that makes you feel like you could do almost anything on a random day of the week. You knew what grocery stores to shop at, what coffee shops were open, what friends were up, and what time you had to be home (whenever that was). When you have that kind of freedom — and on top of that, your own room — moving back home with mom can feel like a step backward, all of a sudden.

When I made the decision I was moving back home, a mix of emotions came over me. Is this the right move? What will people think of me? Will I grow? These questions were real. And to be honest, all of these doubts and constant overthinking went away quickly. Mostly because I kept busy, missed my hometown, and had support all around. But what actually unsettled me was how much I’ve changed once I came back. 

I remember when it first started happening, I’d walk to my car when it was sundown and if I heard any type of noise that sounded too unusual, I’d immediately look back to see. Nothing. I noticed I did this way more often than usual. I walked with my siblings and parents, to see if they’d feel it too. Nothing. Why was I the only one on edge? I almost felt like people were intentionally staring at me. To be fair, I was usually running errands after work at my local Target in a full suit… But this uneasiness would happen even when I was home. Can you believe we never had a Ring camera in our apartments? Now we do. 

Was it wrong for me to feel like I was going through gentrification-induced stress?

It was as if I no longer felt like a native to my own hometown. It was hard to tell if I changed or if my environment changed me. I’ve built three years’ worth of a community and was hoping to come back to my hometown and build upon that. Then it finally came to me: that was the reason for feeling this way. It was because I’d built so much in my life that if something were to happen, I’d have so much more to lose. And I want to be real with you for a moment. Growing up in poverty, not having much, and having much lower self-esteem — you sort of adopt the idea that you don’t have much to lose. I know that isn’t true now, of course. I have people who’d notice if I disappeared for a day.

I told myself I was okay with not having the best clothes, the best living space, the luxury of cable (remember cable?), and having to work earlier than others. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect how I saw myself. It did help that I bonded with close friends who lived in similar circumstances. Still, I remember I used to shy away from friends coming over, which is probably exactly why moving back to those same apartments felt like such a step backward. Coming back now, I can see how much distance I’ve actually put between that kid and who I am today.

My anxiety wasn’t about safety. It was about how much I finally had to lose.

Growing up, I never had much to protect, so I never learned how. Now I do, and some part of me is still catching up — still checking over my shoulder for a threat that isn’t there, because for most of my life, there wasn’t anything worth threatening.

I’m finally safe enough to build something worth protecting.

So if you’ve ever come back to the place that raised you and felt like a stranger walking through it — you’re not imagining it, and you’re not wrong for feeling it. It doesn’t mean the city you grew up in changed. It might just mean you finally have something in your hands worth holding onto.

If you’re still figuring out how to carry what you’ve built, subscribe to the letter — you’re not the only one.