There it was, the that big sign welcoming me back to Texas, followed by the little green sign letting me know that home was only seven miles away. It had been four months since my parents dropped me off and I was left to start figuring life out for myself. Many of my classmates had been home at least once before fall break, some even went home every weekend. This would be my first time back. I had conversations with friends who were older, and they had told me to be prepared. That it was different going home for the first time.
I couldn't agree more. I loved going home and it was so good seeing everyone again. Though, I won't lie I definitely felt kind of like a stranger in my own home. I walked into my room and had the feeling that it was no longer my room. It just felt like a temporary space for me to lay my head for the week. Things I had done before I left, felt strange. I had no idea where anything was in the house since my mom had done some redecorating. I didn't have to wear shower shoes for the first time in four months. There was no line for food and I never had to worry about having my room key with me at all times. I felt relaxed, but I didn't really feel at home.
I had missed some things since those four months. My little brother was no longer a little kid anymore, he had matured and grown so much. Our relationship once consisted of vine references, superhero movie dates, and fighting with each other much like we had when we were younger. When I came home, he had developed into someone who I could still do those things with, but he was also someone I could carry a somewhat adult conversation with. He had taken my spot in driving us around, he had taken on the responsibility of finding time for school, a social life, and splitting time between our parents. At one point I was sitting in the backseat watching him drive us home and cried a little to myself because I was incredibly proud of the man he was becoming.
My brother wasn't the only one who had grown up, so had I. Which made going home feel so different. I had grown in so many ways in my life, that I think it was hard for my parents to understand. For the first half of my trip, it was hard to hold a conversation with them because I wanted them to acknowledge that I had matured and was starting to grow into a strong woman. I think for them they wanted to hold on to me being their little girl, someone who heavily depended on them, for just a minute longer. That's not to say I don't need my parents anymore, I will always need them. It just means that for the first time since I left, it finally kicked in that had actually parted away from the nest.
Going back to my small high school, reminded me of how much I was apart of it. It also made me realize how thankful I was to come from such a small town, though I complain often how little it was, I wouldn't have switched my experience growing up there for anything. Not a lot of people are lucky enough to go back and walk the halls of their high school and have every teacher, and student take the time to ask about your life at college.
The bond with my friends grew stronger over late night talks about everything that had been going on in our lives since we last saw each other. They were also the only ones who I felt really understood me, and how I was feeling.
Going home for the first time is such a strange feeling, that it's so hard to put into words. You've grown as a person, and the place you left has changed too. One week was not enough time to see everyone and tell them about it, but one week was plently of time to make me realize how ready I was to come back to college and contiune to grow.
