A year ago, I never imagined I’d be calling the back of my minivan “home.” It would’ve sounded like a cruel joke. But now, waking up to sunlight through the windows, I feel something I hadn’t in years—peace.
My family didn’t kick me out overnight. Years of tension, money struggles, and personal issues built up until one day, it all exploded. I lost my job, went through a breakup, and was barely holding it together. Then, during one final argument, my mom told me to leave. I didn’t fight. I just left.
I spent the first nights parked outside a diner, overwhelmed by the loss—of family, stability, and direction. But slowly, things shifted. I started noticing the quiet beauty around me. I made the van feel like a home—blankets, a used mattress, even a rug. It became my little sanctuary.
People might think I’ve hit rock bottom, and sometimes it does feel that way—especially on cold nights. But there’s freedom in knowing this space is mine. I found a part-time job at a coffee shop and picked up digital art gigs. I had enough to get by, and a sense of purpose returned.
It wasn’t easy. Some days were brutally lonely. But I kept going. And then, one day, my mom called. She didn’t say the exact words, but I heard the apology in her voice. We met, talked, and slowly began to rebuild. Not long after, an old friend offered me a small apartment—just as I was ready to take the next step.
Looking back, I see how everything falling apart made room for something better. If you’re lost, know this: your lowest point might just be the beginning of something new. Keep going. You’re stronger than you think.
