I was welcomed home by these giants in the sky; massive floating clouds illuminated by a nearly full moon, with beasts of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains exploding out underneath the clouds. I had been driving for 12 hours determined to make it home, but the view stopped me in my tracks and I pulled over, sobs escaping out of my lungs. I was home.

It was a bit of an uncanny and ironic feeling, that seeing these intimidating mountains flowing into a fierce storm that interrupted the rest of the night’s peace, was like being embraced by warm, loving arms. That these cold, icy, snowy, steep, sharp, scary Gods comfort me and hold me in the sweetest way. This melting of intense gratitude and wisdom that I am loved so deeply by them.

To arrive in a warm home with welcoming and excited parents, to see the valley of the West Elk Mountains open up before me, to feel the first snowflakes of the season kiss my cheeks, to drive past cozy homes and businesses filled with people that I love, to move into my own room for the first time in six months, to hug people that had been waiting to reunite with me were all moments of giddiness and thankfulness.

Joy was mingled with exhaustion, overwhelmedness, shame, doubt, fear, guilt. I had no job lined up. I had moved back in with my parents in their basement because I had spent thousands of dollars of my savings and couldn’t afford to be anywhere else. I was seeking immediate and deep comfort and stability. I had been casting spells of my energy for months but I came home to dozens of people eager for more from me. I had no future plans figured out. I was spent in every way. But I needed to establish an income, prepare for the holiday season, move out of my truck, organize my social life and needs, spend time with family, and establish some direction and purpose for this next phase of life. I didn’t want to do any of it; I wanted to melt into my new bedroom (aka my sister’s childhood bedroom) and process and puddle and refuel. But it was scary to do that— it meant having to recognize how truly exhausted and lost I was. it meant having to be vulnerable with what true nourishment my soul needed. To confront these feelings of: how the hell did I get myself into this situation? How did I think I would be able to travel more? I was made for more than this. What do I want right now? How do I pursue what I want? What fuels me and drives me now? Wasn’t I having the time of my life? Why am I such a wreck?

Many of these feelings were fueled by my own sense of doubt and confusion, but my brain was not the only source. So many people I interacted with seemed to grill me on my choices, especially my parents and family friends. They were disappointed and worried that this is where I had landed myself. It was so curious to me because I had reached a deep level of love, acceptance, and gratitude for my journey, freedom, and growth. I discovered this deep internal knowledge that my path is perfect and the patience of my destiny is neverending. And then all of a sudden, I felt that I was at rock bottom and had f*cked up. This transition was going to be more exhausting and lacking in fulfillment than I could have ever expected.

Coming home was crawling back into a space that I had once sought comfort from and fit into perfectly. But it no longer soothed me, and it was scary— where is home? What is home to me? Where and with whom do I find sanctuary?

I still don’t have any answers to these questions or responses to my feelings and it’s tough. Growth can be difficult for others to recognize if it isn’t based on accolades or stability. I can continue to respect my own transformation to quiet the questioning I hear from myself and others. I can trust that the difficulties of this transition will grant me power and knowledge. I can be grateful for the comfort, love, nostalgia, community, and beauty that I do receive upon arriving home. I know that waiting tables and living in my parent’s basement isn’t forever, but I am thankful for this space and the recent exploration and growth I have experienced. I am finding nourishment, even if it’s in places I wasn’t expecting. Even if home isn’t the same space I had once tucked myself into, I can re-fluff the pillows and curl up into a ball that soothes the Ericka of today.