I've never been incredibly comfortable with the word 'home.'
To me it's always felt like an expectation. Just one more thing dictating how I feel about a place, or a person.

After I moved out, I swore off the idea of 'home.' It had no real meaning for me anymore because I was off on my own. The illusion of stability vanished. Everything became temporary. Places I lived, people I lived with, favorite coffee shops - none of it was permanent.

It was comforting in a way. That freedom allowed me the time to take off, one-by-one, the expected identities that I'd had thrust upon my shoulders since I was old enough to categorize and classify. Eventually, I said goodbye to the false image of a person I was and embraced my authentic self. I was finally starting to be happy.

After my family rejected me, I swore that I wouldn't set foot back in that town for as long as I lived.

But then, I received an invitation to my sister's baby shower.

There was no way that I was going to miss this, knowing full well it meant I had to confront the people who still were hoping their precious ___________ was still somewhere in my head. That I was the ruse and he was the real thing. I saw it in the eyes of every person who knew me not as myself, but as him. It was like I was an actor known only by the parts I played and not my own self. They didn't know my name, my favorite color, how I like to sleep, what my dreams were like or what I wanted to eat.

Most didn't bother trying to figure it out either. They were too preoccupied with who I had played. One person even said that, "_________ would never really be gone for [them] and that though there was room for Abby, [they] would still always love him."

It broke me.

I plastered on a smile and drove to the shower and took pictures with my sister, her husband (my best friend) and our mutual bestie who arranged everything. However, those words still echoed in the back of my head, like a slinky slowing falling down the stairs. Eventually, it's got to stop.

With every misgendering pronoun, I slunk further into myself and found myself wishing for one thing: home.

I missed the pile of dishes and the sound of my boys snoring a storm up before they worked the night shift. I missed the completely unique way in which my partner laughs, like blowing bubbles onto the top of a pool of water. I missed watching Adventure Time and Steven Universe and eating pad thai, homemade quesarittos and mac n' cheese with crunchy onion topping. I missed playing Undertale and walking at night to try to capture ghost Pokémon down by the dog park.

But most of all, I missed hearing my name being called. I missed conversations where one of them would refer to me in the third person with my personal pronoun. I missed the feeling of just sitting on the couch and watching YouTube videos of film critics.

I don't really know what the point of this is. Except maybe this: it took me going back to the place I grew up and finding it entirely alien and unfamiliar to make me fully realize that at least for now, this is my home and this is my family.

I'll take the cramped buildings and busy streets over wide-open spaces any day. Out there, the views, the perceptions, and the spaces themselves are all just empty for me.

There's so much life here and there's so much living. And I plan to get my fill.